Moved Over

After much deliberation, I’ve decided to say goodbye to this little blog. I’m rolling my things together and have realized that this site doesn’t add much value now that I have my own independent site.

If you want to stay updated on my life, creations, and adventures, head over there now and subscribe!


Moving Home

One of the funnier components of living is how we often prioritize things we want and devote our lives to attain them. By the time we get near them, we’re reconsidering their value. As we cross the finish line, we discover we were pursuing hopeless pettiness.

My heart had been set on migrating my website to independent hosting for a long time. For you patient folks, five years seems like a puff of bad KFC on a cold winter’s night but for me it felt like torture in obsessively-compulsively hawing to make up for my hemming.

I have finally done it. I was fearful of the whirlwind I would have reaped in my natural ability to find new and exciting ways to break simple things, but I now have a new unpolished site that’ll be my proper homepage for my random crap I make.

This bodes an unsettling new chapter in my life. A web hosting platform gives me freedom to fail in new and spectacular ways and gives me new and wonderful chances to fail. I have single-page website ideas coming out of my ears, and Iowa is the perfect place to make those corny ideas come to fruition!

Beyond that, what else can I say? I’ve realized that privacy, while overrated, is the default when you realize how little anyone really cares about your thoughts. If anyone wants to make a difference in this world, they should first shut up to be sure they have something worthwhile to add to the narrative. (Proverbs 17:27-28)

Stucky Family v2.7 Release Notes

After deliberatively contemplating the natural existential crisis fitting for most rapid employment shifts, I’ve been able to quell my anxiety far enough that I have a job offer lined up. And this time, it’s personal(ly a passion of mine).

However, though I want to start a week ago, bureaucrats have different ideas (nothing against them, they’re just different). They want to make sure every portion of my existence is bereft of criminality. Philosophical reality of sin nature aside, I’ll endure it for the promise of a consistent source of representative computer data that everyone finds so important.

In other news, things are fantastic! My Hammy Mayonnaise and I have been breaking free from the idiotic upbringing perfectly immaculate guidance our mini-us’s grandparents provided. My Gumdropper Doodle has discovered the inadequacies of shame, pointlessness of blame, and is finding plenty of utility in analytically finding fault without that pesky shame or blame to cloud the senses.

Pretty soon, we’ll be cleaning up with a tidy loss on a business venture that utilizes my Funny Money’s most legal talents and my crippling savant obsessions. More news as we fail!

Freed Up

I would like to formally apologize to all you folks who take the time to peruse my ruminations. I have been insufficiently communicating lately.

If you just want to hear the latest, just jump ahead to “The Adventure of the Past Few Days”.

If you’ve kept up with this latest “social medias” trend, you’ll likely notice a prominent type of person who makes most of the internet’s content. These people say enlightening things like:

  • “I had a burger today.”
  • “I have a questin for u guys. Do you think its normal to publicly broadcast my deepest issues to people I dunno personalee?”
  • My child did something normal, but I think it’s proof that mine is better than yours.”
  • “I’d like to harness a little of your guilt today toward giving the birthday present you weren’t going to give me to a 501(c)3 organization.”
  • “I just took the ‘how low is my self-image’ test and I scored Potato.”

This behavior once irked me. I tried to compensate for years on social media by turning my personal feed into a stream of jokes. About half a year ago, Facebook decided that I couldn’t schedule posts and had to log in to their profile to collect data on me improve the user experience. To nobody’s dismay, I moved my time elsewhere.

Moons later, a few of my blog posts on this site offended certain unnamed individuals whom I’ve talked about previously on this blog. To avoid disrespecting my parents, I chose to withhold any further information about them.

Somewhere in the shuffle, I also started developing a profound respect for the concept of narratives. The most abstracted concepts still abide by laws of perspective. I’ve hammered out more information on it here and here, but the simplest way I can say it is that we view the difference between “milk, eggs, and bacon” and “eggs, bacon, and milk” far more than reality.

“With great power comes great responsibility.” We’ve all heard that famous story of a young man swinging across skyscrapers of thought amidst downtown European cities. What Voltaire fails to mention, however, is that with great awareness of power comes great anxiety!

My newfound respect for the power of narrative-crafting drove me to a fearful flushed froth of fretful frantic fervor. Though I’ve obviously been doing it for a while now (see the rest of this site and the Philosopher Accountant page), I had been hitting much more intensely than I’d realized.

This narrative-induced madness made me ineffective for a season. Suffice to say, I didn’t talk much about my personal life beyond confidential matters with my Nummy Gummers. Unfortunately, that’s not my personality. I have believed the water of transparency helps the corpse of truth arise from the murky depths of obfuscated delusion. Stopping the flow of public thought is probably not impacting the world in the slightest, but hurts me to no small end.

Therefore, I’m getting back into expressing my personal life here, starting with the adventure of the past few days.

The Adventure of the Past Few Days

I drive a truck. It pays the bills to help stave off my family’s inevitable decay that leads to death which will encompass us all. Optimism aside, truck driving is a great job when things go well.

However, when things go poorly, you could say that things rhyme with “cat atrophy”. A late shuttle to transfer freight will force the facility’s drivers to wait five hours and still complete their route around midnight. A truck breakdown in a low cell reception area could mean a half-mile walk to a nearby building to use a phone. Traffic jams could throw a driver out of regulation for hours of service driven.

In the mix of the industry’s inherent chaos, I was driving down a country highway interchange when I hit a patch of black ice. By God’s grace, I traveled off the road by two or three truck-lengths in a straight line without hitting anyone or damaging anything.

You might think this story is about my engagement with first-responders to prevent tangling my company up with the DOT, or maybe it’s about my ability to stay low-stress in a near-survival situation as I waited to get rescued or my fuel to run out. This isn’t one of those stories.

That story was the setup for today’s story, where I was in a safety meeting across Skype with my boss’s boss, my safety manager’s boss, some other guy probably with “Chief” or “Vice” at the beginning of his job title, and my boss sitting next to me.

In a nutshell, they labeled the meeting as “an opportunity to find out what happened and see if we can learn from it”. In reality, it became a nitpicking session to discover what I had done to justify the event as a “preventable incident”.

I’m one to admit when I’m wrong, but only on the grounds of this thing called “truth”. The data affirmed that the only difference in my speed regulation would have made me go off-road by one truck-length instead. I had been doing everything right.

I affirmed to them that if they labeled the event preventable or avoidable or circumnavigable or “not the company’s fault because it was totally the driver’s”, I’d walk.

Let’s talk about blame versus fault for a minute. Blame is the narrative that someone should take responsibility for something. Fault is a scientifically provable statement of factual failure. Someone will feel shame when they internalize blame, but everyone should discuss fault. In fact, most psychotherapy is discovering fault and reconciling its injustices.

Blame is a waste of time. People will argue and scream at each other to assign blame. Most of the time, however, the true fault lies in realms beyond the blamed parties.

I don’t care to get political about this healthcare issue we have, but the issues we’re seeing aren’t technically the fault of any president of the 21st century. Logically, one of the past two had to have made it worse, but this was a problem in the 70’s and 80’s, so start by faulting Carter/Reagan first.

If you want to get anywhere with anyone, shut down any talk about blame and start talking exclusively about fault. Declaring blame is the best way to never get to the bottom of something. For example, my schedule has now been freed up tremendously because of my unwillingness to work under the charge of individuals who confuse my name as “George” instead of “Greg” while they tell me I’m a bad boy.

Cleaning Up & Moving On

My family, as you may have guessed, needs to survive. This survival requires numerous objects like food, shelter, and internet.

Unfortunately, things like food and paper products don’t grow on trees. We have to pretend to trade things by rubbing a piece of plastic through a block. If the complicated light array displays a readout that implies a number on a distant computer server exceeds the number connected to the added arbitrary amounts defined by the organization with the block, we get to walk out of there with both the things we wanted and the convenience of not having to run from a man in a blue suit.

This sophisticated arrangement is called “buying things”, and it’s apparently normal to do it that way these days. I’m supposed to spend time somewhere else doing things that people want in exchange for them increasing that number in the computer server by a negotiated amount.

However, I like doing some things more than other things. Most people call that preference a “career”. I want to change my career from hauling large expensive objects that automate boring human tasks to changing information in small expensive objects that automate other boring human tasks.

From the outside, going from “truck driver” to “IT” appears like a shift, and that’s why my narrative-crafting requires an intermediary entry-level job to prove I’m adequately competent before they trust me with anything legitimate.

Therefore, I’m going into tech support, where I tell befuddled individuals with less experience working with the logical task automation devices how to perform a variety of essential diagnostics, such as:

  • Try to turn it off, then turn it on again
  • Check that the power plug is firmly and securely plugged in
  • Did you turn the screen on?
  • Was your PC recently submerged in a bathtub or are you underwater right now?
  • Have you removed all eels from your hovercraft?

However, it gives me the opportunity to prove that I know computers, which will likely lead to more promising opportunities to ensure an adequate means of exchange for both food and shelter.

By the way, I’m currently looking and eager to prove my worth, so hit me up if you want tons of competence and ambition with no proven work experience

A Crass Fast Blast Through A Padded Passed Past

Andy Rooney once kinda famously said, “Life is like a roll of toilet paper; the closer you get to the end, the faster it goes.”

Some seasons in life blast through faster than you can count, memorialize, analyze, process, and forget about them.

I’ve recently been so studiously industrious and stupidly studious that I’ve neglected to tell you about what I’ve been dying to undertake.

To start with, I’ve come to terms with that silly narrative reality that I was late to discover but you’ve likely known since you started the endless popularity contest (assuming my readership demographic is constrained by the boringness of words, of course). 

A Recap of Narrative

There is a “reality” around us, though some philosophers like to pretend it’s complicated. That reality has non-negotiable rules (like gravity making stuff fall) and negotiable variables (like stuff falling slower when you pull the planet out of the way).

There is also a “narrative/image/optics/perspective/attitude” contained inside each and every sentient being. It draws connections between physical things. Each one is different and perfectly logical, though not necessarily based on reality.

Most issues come from conflicting narratives. Gummy Schnoogers finds her narrative perfectly sensible that everyone would consider laundry going inside the laundry receptacle, while I tend to pay attention to more important things like SpaceChem or peeing and don’t have time for that sort of pettiness.

Narrative conflicts are a large reason wars break out, children throw tantrums, laws get writ, and my kind sleeps on the couch.

End Recap

I possess a unique genetic defect that I can only trace as something recessive that I got from my 2nd nephew 1.7 times removed. For some reason I naturally dislike narrative.

That’s not to say I can’t use it. I’m obviously writing real good to you here and know how to get big thoughts through little words.

What I am saying is that I despise the fact that narrative blends itself so intimately with the truth. I wrote an entire list of self-help concepts (and am still wrapping up one about Christianity) to “cure” that malady.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to free myself from it, and I fear they’re interminably linked.

The problem comes strictly from our brains, which I’ll show with an example:

  • TACO

A computer would see the words above and interpret them as raw information. They wouldn’t understand any implications. Since my best friends were computers (you’ll be missed, Pentium 3) they taught me this perspective:

  • 1 TACO

Humans, however, fill in the blanks with a story:

  • (someone) is CONSUME(ing)
  • a TACO
  • that is BURNING
  • in its RESULTS

Narrative makes reality hard to process at its most rudimentary level. Some of the more imaginative people take their narrative and run far with it:

  • My aunt Matilda (whom I love very dearly but not recently since she died) was once on a vacation in Bombay when she decided she’d CONSUME
  • a type of food, of which was foreign in consistency and shape to her palate, yet reminded her of the somewhat familiar Mexican TACO that she had grown up with in her native land of Uzbekistan
  • and, as she was pining for the fields of her native land, and overall upsetting the other patrons with her BURNING desires to CONSUME more TACOs
  • created most unpalatable RESULTS for a woman of her class and stature, electing for comfort over propriety due to a non-TACO TACO BURNING an infectious intestinal malady of severity unknown to most unaccustomed to gas stations.

As you can imagine, encoding this to reality can obstruct friendships with all but the most keenly delusional imaginative. I’ll probably write a book on it someday.

Narrative American

Narrative American

The last time I posted, I expressed our family’s general disapproval of leftism. Before that, I expressed a general disapproval of social media. Today, I’m going to express a general disapproval of myself and/or the world around us.

More specifically, I’m going to share a general problem I’ve had likely since my foray into learning my native language and the essence of love through a guy in a purple and yellow suit singing a variation of “This Old Man”.

The world around us exists, at least to our general consensus. Deep down we have no proof of that beyond our experiences, but roll with me on this one, okay? The world around us exists.

Pick an object, any common object, I’ll use a key as an example. The key is comprised of brass atoms and shaped in a specific form. However, it has no inherent value alone since value is a creation of living things perceiving it.

So that key is interpreted by human minds. Most other creatures, except maybe brass-eating bacteria, treat a chunk of crafted brass as an obstacle or, at worst, a life-threatening blade of doom. But humans see things with more complicated eyes.

A human usually associates a key as a tool for a specific purpose, and most keys don’t have much value to anyone. However, one specific key on a specific keyring might be worth a small panic attack if misplaced at the wrong time.

Further, the concept of a key holds its own philosophical implication. From “KEYstone pipelines” to “KEY to the city” to “John Maynard KEYnes”, the philosophical implications of a key recall pre-existing symbols and representations which have little to do with a factory-stamped chunk of brass.

There is one truth and as many narratives as the number of perceivers. Further, the perceiver doesn’t even have to witness the physical thing either! You’ve been thinking about a key without even seeing one and presume that keys in the exotic land of Iowa function relatively in the same manner as wherever you read this marvel of modern technology.

We process this existing world through our senses (and usually imaginations) and come to conclusions. Those conclusions encode themselves in our minds as “chair” or “car” or “Ralph Nader”. The trouble with our encoding is that it’s pretty defective.

We assign patterns that shouldn’t be there (Mega Millions lottery tickets, anyone?) or ignore obvious patterns (by what safe method of transport do you convey yourself daily to your place of employment, good sir?). This (largely somewhat) effective system gets us into some trouble a world of hurt.

For one thing, these patterns become progressively less and less attached to that true reality that the information originally bases itself upon. Over time, our intuitions develop a keen sense of prejudice that guides us boldly and confidently into some really stupid decisions as we require less and less brainpower to satisfactorily skate through life.

Everything I’ve just said could easily be met with “Yeah, so? That’s life. You’re noting the obvious. I’m going to go internet somewhere else more meaningful and read Florida Man.” Hear me out before you read elsewhere.

This inherent delusional thinking hard-wired into our psyche develop into a farther-reaching implication. Heads of state, doctors, pastors, teachers, and hall monitors are all subject to those comforting delusions. The people who wield most of the power in this world are biased toward those prejudices.

Further, the wielders of +3 Social Influence aren’t the only ones violently placating their bias. Essentially everyone everywhere has a prodigiously and pellucidly perverted imperspicuous perspective. Feigned urbane circuitous flaggellations aside, we’re all stuck insisting our inaccurate belief of the truth is more true than the truth!

In a nutshell, it means that anyone getting by in this world never needs to concern themselves with what really is and perpetually consume themselves with what appears to be.

My likely low-grade ODD and high-functioning ASD combined with my mother’s NPD created a profound disregard for implied narrative from my childhood’s emotional inflexibility coping with a woman’s manipulation of narrative to cast all personal responsibility from herself.

I now know what I’ve done. For the last thirteen years I’ve traversed through a series of progressively wilder career choices due to an obliviousness to what I appeared to be. I went from “young ???” to “young aspiring accountant” to “young aspiring accountant who couldn’t get a job” to “accountant who gave up that life to be a truck driver”.

I don’t regret my decisions, but I’m reaping them either way. I could throw some shade on those other people aware of how wrong-headed I was who were too fearful to bring it up, but I also appeared (probably still do) to not give a flying Dutchman about their thoughts.

Blame is a child’s game. From here, I have given up my military aspirations and intend to head back into accounting after hauling appliances around adds more “un” to “rotund”.

Maybe it’ll be nonprofit accounting or maybe something on the supply-chain/logistics side. No idea. Plans are for people with actual deadlines to get somewhere.

Only God knows what happens next, which is quite comforting, since I don’t know what I’m doing. Of course, I haven’t met anyone who really does, but some of them are really good at narrative crafting!