Snooki had a Baby…..

…and my window won’t go up.

Snooki had a baby.  Why and how I know who and what Snooki is is a mystery…the melange of valid and trivial information floating around in my head is strange…total devastation in the Northeast and Ashton and Demi are having a hard time with their divorce and Snooki had a baby.  And now my window won’t go up.

I am employed by the USPS.  I drive a rural route down here in the Carolinas (which sounds more romantic than saying NORTH CAROLINA…”Carolinas” sounds soft and warm and welcoming….something I need to remember going into winter)…delivering mail year round…6 days a week now after the last mail count and resulting downgrade.

It’s funny how when you are cooking pizzas for a little bit of money, it’s a JOB…but when you join the UNION and they pay you a little more it becomes a CAREER. If you are in the midst of Art School (my capitalization), you think of yourself as an ARTIST…but when you deliver mail 6 days a week you darn well better think of yourself as a mailman. What’s your option?  You wake up doing it…and go to sleep knowing you’re going to do it all again in the morning.  (Some dairy farmer somewhere is thinking, “yeah?!  So?!!”).

Anyway…back to Snooki and my window.  My window stopped going up in the middle of the route yesterday.  Luckily, it was stuck in the down position.  It would have been really awkward to deliver the mail if my window had stuck in the closed position….so that it is stuck open is a good thing.  It is a good thing.  I went to the parts store and bought the ninety dollar part…sure that that would fix it (because what else could it be?)…installed it in the dark with the trouble light giving me fits…and it didn’t work.  It was the OTHER THING that was broken.  I need to buy the OTHER THING now (the switch)….that’s another hundred or so dollars if I can’t find it at the junk yard.  Usually my method of repair is to just shotgun it…repair everything that might be wrong for like 189.61 in parts and then inwardly crow that I didn’t have to pay someone 250 dollars to diagnose it right the first time and just fix what was wrong.  Admitting the problem is the first step to RECOVERY, right?  “HELLO…I’M PETER AND I WORK ON MY OWN CARS”.  I hear people say, “I’ll have my MAN look at it”…like if they just throw a little money at it, the problem isn’t a problem and the greasy stranger will make it all go away. Old habits die hard for me….we aren’t in the full on, full time panic mode anymore… “we need a lightbulb!!!!what are we going to do??!!!  No…it’ll be alright…we get our EARNED INCOME CREDIT in another couple of months…we’re going to make it.”…but I still feel like I’m running around like a headless chicken when the cars are screwed up.

So, back to Snooki.  I’m trying to quietly figure all this stuff out.  If you are LOUD AND LOST and they decide that it might be funny to put you in situation where they film you day in and day out (and you can sing like a FREAKING BIRD…no…that’s Beyonce…that’s someone different than Snooki)…you might be RICH.  What’s right about that?

Dire Straits sang about “Money for Nothing”…but it seems like the narrator of that song was griping about somebody that was actually doing something.  Now we have a bunch of role models…(and how about those STEROID FUELED, NON-HERO ATHLETES?  WHERE IS THE HERO THAT YOU NEVER HAVE TO DOUBT?  Oh, sorry….I digress…)  a bunch of role models…a bunch of role models…what was I saying?  Oh, yeah…a bunch of “role models” that people with even less ability emulate to lesser effect.  There isn’t much that I can think of that is more pathetic than a watered down imitation of a watered down life.

So it’s a rant.  I know it and should stop it , but I can’t.  I RANT.  (and how about IRAN?  what the heck is that all about?)  Maybe I’ll figure something out by the time I get my window to work again.

About Peter Rorvig

I'm a non-practicing artist, a mailman, a husband, a father...not listed in order of importance. I believe that things can always get better....and that things are usually better than we think.

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