Hyperactive Hypotheticals from the World of Perhaps

I love hypothetical questions. I probably spend at least 35% of every day thinking about what I'd do if I were a trolley conductor faced with swarms of shockingly inattentive hoboes all over my rails, or whether the life of a child is worth the extinction of a species, or just how much dirt you can take out of a pile of dirt and have it remain a pile. I think they're interesting ways to approach philosophy and ethics, and can also lead to some good story ideas. But, judging how many other people are annoyed by them, I think I might be in the minority here. So, with that in mind, let me shoot you a few hypothetical questions of my own (because my husband is pretty sick of listening to them).

Question #1: Which would you prefer: to have a glimpse of a wholly positive future that you cannot change, or a glimpse of a wholly negative future that you can change only through very hard work and self-sacrifice? Would it matter if it was six months in the future vs. six years vs. six minutes? Think about it, Jack.

Question #2: The wizard of hypotheticals (who looks a lot like Chevy Chase in the April Fool's episode of Community) will lower seven adorable puppies into a vat of hydrochloric acid unless you agree to spend one year protesting on the wrong side, as you personally define it. You could be an anti-choice protestor, you could be a neo-Nazi, you could be an anti-union agitator. (It has to be an important issue, not being on the "wrong side" of zoning regulations. Also, you have to be really into it; it's not beyond the realm of possibility that your actions will contribute to anti-choice sentiment/anti-Semitism/anti-union rhetoric and make the world a slightly more shitty place to live.) You have sixty seconds to choose. Will you protest, and for what cause? The wizard's clock is ticking, what do you decide??

Question #3: Would you spend one month out of every year for the rest of your life eating nothing but unflavored rice cakes and fried spiders if it meant you could have the weather just the way you like it all the time? Assume that this does not affect greater weather patterns; your "zone of comfort" is a literal Bubble Boy-like mini-climate. Also, you can choose the month and it can change year to year. It's your move, Jason Bateman.

Question #4: Never read a book for the rest of your life, or read nothing except paranormal teen romances for the rest of your life? (If you enjoy paranormal teen romances, substitute Spanish-American War battle studies. If you enjoy both those things, substitute the unabridged Oxford English Dictionary.) Ball's in your court, friend.

Question #5: A small but not insignificant number of people -- let's say 4% -- have been replaced with android doubles. These doubles are identical in every way to the original human, except that when asked directly if they are an android, they must answer in the affirmative. (Humans can choose to lie.) Would you:
a) ask your significant other if they are an android?
b) ask yourself if you are an android?
c) accept the answers as valid?

It is your choice whether to continue to love your significant other, or continue to live with yourself. Decisions, decisions.

Question #6: Would you choose to die at the age of 100, after a perfectly normal life, or die at the age of 65, after a life which is perfectly normal except that you don't have to sleep? You will get the same amount of waking life either way. Consider that if you live to 100 your physical/mental condition might not be ideal, but that you'll probably die before your significant other or even your parents if you only make it to 65. You also won't be able to enjoy retirement, but you'll get a lot more free time spread out through each and every day. And don't say that you enjoy sleep, because nobody enjoys sleep, you enjoy the refreshed feeling you have after you wake up. We have to go... deeper. BRAAWWMMMM!!!

Question #7: You are the only conscious, sentient human being. This can without a doubt be proven to you. Everyone else in the world is a meaningless collection of nucleopeptides, dopaminergic receptors, and predetermined actions. You are the only one with free will or what most people would refer to as a "soul." Also assume that you are a fan of reality television. Would you:
a) continue to watch reality television, despite the radical alteration to your concept of "reality"?
b) continue to call in or vote online in support of your favorite players?
c) continue to lie about enjoying reality television to your snobbish friends?
d) not even bother with showering anymore, because hey, what's the point?

Call in your answer to 1-800-REA-LITY, $3.99 a minute.

Question #8: The wizard of hypotheticals returns and gives you a choice between continuing to answer more hypothetical questions and boarding a boat which has a 75% chance of crashing, which will be followed by a choice about who should board a lifeboat: a man who is slated to donate one kidney and one lung, a pregnant woman in mid-labor, a brilliant surgeon who is also a murderer, or the bratty child of a wealthy dowager who will donate one million dollars to the charity of your choice if you save him. How long does it take you to run to the harbor? And... we're done here.

Getting my "driver's permit"

That's ri-god-damn-diculous.

Last week I finally got my driver's permit. Well, my third driver's permit. Ten and seven years ago, I had one, but managed to fail every one of my road tests, due to a combination of poor attention, poor vision, and poor instruction (note to new drivers: you should be the most nervous person in the car, not your teacher). It was a bit of a struggle to even get a permit this time, since my right eye is so bad that I had to get a note from an optometrist saying that I am okay to drive, even though I am functionally as one-eyed as a one-eyed cat in a pretty pink sweater. This necessitated getting a new optometrist here in Maryland, which frankly I wouldn't have done until I lost a contact because I am super-lazy about my health.

I expected more static about my age than I actually got, although I did get some static re: my optometrist's form, since the little old lady behind the counter hadn't ever seen one before and had to make sure it exempted me from the vision test I'd already flunked a month ago. After the knowledge test (which I shouldn't have studied so hard for as it was well and truly nothing) and some paperwork, I was in! I'm a (trainee) driver!

When I left the MVA I was practically quivering with excitement, clutching my brand-new learner's permit, the photo of which makes me look like a mushroom. I sent the message out to all the Interwebs, as is the style at the time. Perhaps this makes me seem like a sell-out to the various punks and zinesters who possibly read this blog, but I am VERY excited about getting my license. I didn't feel any stigma about not having one when I lived in Pittsburgh for the last five years, but since I moved to semi-suburban Baltimore County (and especially before I moved to Pittsburgh, when I lived in a town of less than 2000 people), I've been feeling, well, kind of useless. I can't seem to land a job, since a lot of the retail stores want someone who can commute to different store locations if need be, and I'm restricted to what I can get to on the bus line. (And while there is bus service in the county, it's about as sparse as it is for Pittsburgh suburbs that don't get T service... rather spotty.) Not having a license also makes my eventual goal of getting a nursing degree less likely, since what are the chances that I'm going to get a medical job within walking or biking distance of me? Not very good! I am sure there are also people who would also call me a sell-out for desiring a 9-5, five days a week lifestyle (although, as I'd rather work part time unless it's a "career" job, I guess that's more of a 10-4 three days a week type of lifestyle)... but I need structure like the desert needs the rain, I desire financial independence even though I'm married, and ever since sorting out the situation with my "meth," I've realized that having a job will not necessarily mean a complete shutdown in all other areas of my life, and that I have the power to keep a job for longer than six months. I also would like to be able to go to shows, visit friends in other cities, etc., without having to bug/drag along the resident driver of the house. Even if he's game, there's still things I'd rather do on my own. At this point my freedom means more to me than any possible ecological damage. Can I stop justifying this or should I go another 400 words?

In short, I am now ready for adulthood to begin. But I need the requisite laminated card, which is a driver's license!

So far I've been out three times, and I've found the process a lot easier than it used to be. Normally the view from the driver's seat looks a lot like this:

This time around, though, I'm paying attention to a good 90% of what's on the road. There are still some issues with speed (namely, not enough speed) and turning etiquette, but it's not nearly as bad as when I would stop driving whenever I got confused or distracted by something on the road. I haven't run over any traffic islands... yet. And according to my "driving mentor," I rate a solid nine stars on a scale of eight to ten stars.

Maryland requires a lot from their "rookie drivers." Everyone has to take driver's ed, regardless of age or driving history. So I put in a $200 deposit on driving classes, which are going to cost almost half a grand all told. The classes are being taught by a Mr. "Wigs" (quotation marks theirs), who is either a) a man named Wigzienewski or b) a man whose last name is actually Wigs, and he's balding, but nobody wants to tell him that his toupee really stinks, and he also doesn't understand sarcasm quotation marks, because maybe he's slightly socially maladjusted and never really got subtle social clues? So someone (perhaps a temp desperate for approval) comes up with the idea of printing his name as Mr. "Wigs" in the brochure and everyone at the driving school is snickering at him, and poor Mr. Wigs can't understand why, puzzling it out at night over his sad TV dinner, brushing his sad little toupee. For shame, driving school brochure typographer. For shame.

And with that, I'm out.