Yes, I am a Fan of Parodies, Remixes and Covers

Though my taste in music is quite broad--my iPod has everything from Victoria Justice to Josh Groban to Run-DMC to TobyMac to various American Idol contestants to the Beatles to Twisted Sister to Relient K...and that's just a fraction of it!--some of my favorite artists, past and present, are considered "cover artists".  Throughout high school, I was pretty much addicted to "That Christian Parody Band" ApologetiX's takes on popular mainstream hits, and I got into "Weird Al" Yankovic during my senior year.  Even after that, thanks to my mom, I discovered Michael Ball and Michael Bublé, whose songs are mostly covers of established hits.  As for remixes, I was one of the few active members of the now-defunct dc Talk solo community to like TobyMac's remix albums, Re:Mix Momentum and Renovating->Diverse City, as well as Freaked!, the all-cover tribute to Jesus Freak.  Whether they were remixes, parodies, or covers--which, despite popular belief, are not the same thing--I usually felt that, for one reason or another, the redone song worked better than the original.
In fact, let me explain that former point:

• A remix is the vocals of a song with new background instrumentation.
• A parody is a song with the lyrics changed, usually with humorous intent.  These are often heard among elementary school kids; "Deck the Halls With Gasoline" and "Glory, Glory, Hallelujah, Teacher Hit Me With a Ruler" are examples of this, but so is much of Weird Al's work.  Parodies can also exist in other mediums, as well; Spaceballs and The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy are non-musical parodies.
• A cover is a new version of a song from another artist or band.  Sometimes, the songs end up sounding very different; take a look at Alien Ant Farm's version of "Smooth Criminal" versus the Michael Jackson original.  Contestants on shows such as American Idol, The X Factor, The Sing-Off, and The Voice do covers quite frequently.

Now that that's clarified, let me get to my point: For whatever reason, many people--including many of my generation--don't care for parodies, covers, or remixes, especially the latter two.  The usual statements are: "Why would you take a perfectly good song and mess with it?" "Remixing a song is like admitting you were wrong." Maybe I'm just a sucker for entertainment, but, I'm always curious as to what remixers, parodists, and/or cover artists will do with the original song.  Many times, new elements--extra verses/choruses, a different style of instrumentation and/or vocals, a quicker or slower pace, etc.--make for a different, and sometimes better, listening experience.
Of course, sometimes they do end up butchering it; just yesterday, my ears were assaulted by the "Billboard Remix" (?) of "Leave it All to Me," the theme from iCarly, on the iSoundtrack II CD I recently got from the library.  That's not the only one; on the Veggie Rocks! album, Rebecca St. James ruined the VeggieTales theme song by turning it into a rock anthem.  As for parodies, while searching online for "Randolph the Red-Nosed Cowboy" a few years ago, I found an obscene "spoof" (notice the quotes?) of "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" that was obviously written by some sick-minded individual.
It's no question that entertainment today has become very derivative, but, then again, it always has been.  Though basing movies on video games, theme park rides, board games, and instructional manuals may be relatively new, many classic films--The Wizard of Oz, Star Wars, 101 Dalmatians, and countless others--were based on or inspired by literary works and/or previous films.  It's as King Solomon said in Ecclesiastes 1:9 (NIV 1984): "What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun."  Maybe I'm just a nerd, but I like seeing reinterpretations of established works; after all, that's most of what's coming down the entertainment pipelines these days.
Any comments?

This Is NOT Over Yet!

Late last week, feelings of frustration that had been stewing around my head for a while were really getting to me.  Specifically, my frustration was with people who I had recently met and added as friends on Facebook; though a few of them confirmed me almost immediately, most of them had kept my friend requests pending for countless days, which I took as a sign that they didn't want to be friends with me.  As usual for me, that led to: What did I do wrong? Was there anything I could have done differently? Why does whoever have a problem with me? Do the denizens of this planet despise me that much? Such feelings were seriously eating at me, and they just would not go away...until I came home to a happily shocking surprise: the new bride of a long-time friend, to whom I had submitted a friend request weeks ago, had confirmed me as a friend.
This may sound strange to some of you, but, I believe that was actually a sign from God.  Just as much as an author or screenwriter causes events in his/her characters' lives to teach them lessons, so does the Creator of all allow circumstances to teach His people.  What was the message I got? "Relax, Son; this isn't as bad as you think it is.  There are plenty of people who like you; who would know better than the One who created them?" With all the stressing that I did over that and other matters in the weeks prior, it was quite welcome.
I'm the kind of person who doesn't like to give up hope.  Unless I have incontrovertible evidence that something will never happen, then I still believe it can.  There are people who I haven't seen in several years, and can't even find on Facebook, yet I still believe that, one day, we may cross paths again.  It's not that we definitely will; it's that we could.  Unless I hear of those people's deaths, I'm not going to rule it out from happening; at least, in this lifetime.
Call it stubbornness if you like, but I've always believed that anything can happen in this world.  One person told me twice that something was absolutely never going to happen, only for both events to end up taking place soon after he/she made that declaration, which just makes me laugh in his/her face now.  Sometimes, when I feel like giving up hope, Someone reminds me: "This is not over yet!"

Sharpay's Completely UNfabulous Adventure

Most of you reading this know that Ashley Tisdale was once among my favorite celebrities; in fact, from March 2005 to January 2011, she and Anne Hathaway were my "top two," and Ashley was always second to Anne.  Many of my male friends considered her unattractive, and let me know in more ways than one, but I still defended her honor no matter what.  I wasn't as loyal of a fan as I could have been; though I adored The Suite Life of Zack and Cody and even went as far as renting Picture This from Blockbuster--which I only used when I couldn't find a DVD anywhere else--I watched about fifteen minutes of the original High School Musical, and never even bothered with the sequels.  My defense for the latter was that I liked Ms. Tisdale as an actress, not as a singer; to be frank, her vocals in the "Band in Boston" episode of Suite Life were abysmal, even though she was supposed to be a better singer than that opulent-yet-ditzy heiress London.
Despite my feelings on Ashley's singing talent (or lack thereof), when I heard that her character Sharpay (did they really have to name her after a dog breed?) was getting a spin-off movie, I got my hands on it as soon as I could.  When it came in at the library, I watched it first chance I got...only to be not only seriously disappointed, but also equally offended.  The statement that the makers seemed to be making was completely inappropriate, especially coming from the Disney brand, and I never have found any opinions that agreed with mine, so, I'm sharing mine on here in hopes that it will be heard.
Why was it offensive? Well, let me describe it for you: When Sharpay moves to New York in hopes of singing on Broadway, she has two nemeses: Roger Elliston, who wants his dog to perform in the show instead of hers, and Amber Lee Adams, a beautiful redheaded actress who is quite the mean-spirited diva.  (I'm about to spoil the ending, but, frankly, do any of you really care?) By film's end, Sharpay and Roger become friends, whereas Amber, who despises dogs, is ruined by a plot they concocted.  That would all be fine...if it weren't for the striking similarities between the movie's Amber Lee Adams and real-life actress Amy Lou Adams, who are both beautiful redheaded actresses, and have remarkably similar names.  What is even more shocking is that, prior to Sharpay's Fabulous Adventure, Disney pretty much made Amy Lou Adams a big-name star by casting her as Princess Giselle in Enchanted.
As a longtime fan of Amy Adams, I was shocked to see her betrayed by Disney in such a way.  Frankly, I wonder why Amy didn't sue the House of Mouse for defamation of character.  I know the movies always say, "Any resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, is completely coincidental," but there are too many similarities between Amy Lou and Amber Lee for it to be a coincidence.  Someone involved with Sharpay's Fabulous Adventure has it out for Amy, and she probably doesn't even know about it, which makes me, as her fan, fear for her.
Now, I don't want you to get the wrong idea here; I'm not going to boycott Disney or Ashley Tisdale, nor do I want to start a letter-writing campaign to notify Amy Adams of what the Mouse House did to her.  Disney's productions are made by various producers, directors, screenwriters, actors/actresses, etc., so just one does not define the company or their works as a whole.  Still, it stymies me how such a production could even be made, as well as why no one else seems to have noticed the similarities between Amber Lee and Amy Lou.  All I know is, I'm glad Jennifer Stone is now my "number two"; I don't know how I could have stood behind Ashley after starring in something like that.
Any comments?

"He Is A Nervous Person"

Most of my friends already know that, due to a leak several weeks ago, our house has been under quite a bit of construction, especially the kitchen and family room.  Not only are we getting new floors, cabinets, and such, but we are also getting new appliances; the old refrigerator, stove, and microwave were given to a friend this morning.  Last night and early this morning, those appliances had to be cleaned, including the fridge, and that involved the removal of shelves and drawers.  This morning, I was putting the milk back into the fridge--because we didn't have an ice chest prepared yet--and the shelf fell, causing tea to spill all over my brown dress pants and the (thankfully unfinished) floor.  When it happened, I screamed so loudly that my mom, who was in her bathroom, asked what was wrong.  I told her, but she couldn't hear me, so I told her to come into the kitchen, and I then informed her of what happened.  She gave me a towel to clean up the mess, but told me that, from the way I was screaming, it sounded like I was hurt.
Frankly, that kind of scenario has been happening all my life.  When something goes wrong, even a little thing, I tend to do like Victoria Justice sang: freak the freak out.  Usually, that's the worst thing you can do; one thing I've noticed over the years is the ones who handle situations the best are the ones who remain calm.  I'm reminded of an incident that happened when I was in fifth grade.  Long story short, a classmate who was helping with a project that involved shredding paper accidentally got his hand caught in the shredder.  Thankfully, a teacher--who was also a retired Air Force pilot, at that--did exactly what needed to be done: unplug the shredder.  I wasn't around when it happened, but, if I had been, I likely would have been sent into a panic.
Most of us have had times where we've gotten nervous: delivering a speech to our class, performing in a play with a live audience, an interview for a much-desired job, etc.  However, there are probably few of you reading this who can actually say you are nervous people...but I can say that I am, because it's true.  When I took Spanish class from seventh grade through tenth grade, one of the earliest concepts was the difference between ser and estar.  Both of them meant "to be," but in different ways.  Estar was usually for more temporary traits: being pregnant, sick, happy, sad, a certain place, etc.  Ser, however, was usually for more permanent traits: where you are from, the color of your eyes and hair, your personality, and the like.  As you'd expect, the two were not interchangeable; El está nerviosa may be just as grammatically correct as El es nerviosa, but the meaning is different.  The textbook described the former as "He is nervous right now," and the latter as "He is a nervous person."  When I saw that example, I realized that the latter could easily describe me; I've always been high-strung.
It's true that my chronic nervosity is not as bad as it once was; in prior years, I used to get so upset during crises that I couldn't even say what had happened.  Is being high-strung part of my condition? It's hard to say; I've met others with it who were not, as well as some without it who were, and vice versa.  Whatever the reason, being a nervous person is something that I've always dealt with, and it may likely continue for the rest of my life.
Those of you who have been around me for long periods of time might have noticed how bad my nerviness can be.  Even during an activity that involves sitting down--eating lunch, watching a movie or TV show, even sitting in a church service--I can't refrain from moving my legs.  I could say that started in eighth grade; one day that year, my legs just started moving, and they wouldn't stop.  Still, inability to sit--or stand, for that matter--completely still has always been a problem; a classmate in third grade complained that she couldn't see an educational video we were watching because I moved around too much during it.  However, the problem is: If I don't stay "in motion" somehow, I can't pay attention to what I'm doing, especially if it's something I'm supposed to watch and/or listen to, such as a sermon or television show.  When I first became unable to control my legs, my sister--who always sat next to me in church--would kick me to get me to stop.  I understand why she did it; it was potentially bothering others.  Despite that, though, while not moving my legs, I was unable to pay attention.  One Sunday morning, for whatever reason, my sister and brother-in-law were not sitting next to me during the sermon--I would guess that they were doing Children's Church--and, despite the fact that I was in constant motion throughout the lesson, my eyes were fixed on the preacher, and I heard every single word he said, which is something that had rarely, if ever, happened up to that point.  So, it was either move around and pay attention, or not move around and not pay attention.  What would you choose?
Another problem always being nervous causes is an inability to relax.  "R and R," short for rest and relaxation, is something that is nearly universally desired; everyone needs and/or wants it at some point.  However, though I rest when I sleep just like the rest of the world, I honestly do not know how to relax.  The closest I come to relaxing is watching a movie or reading a book, and even that isn't all that relaxing, given how seriously I take my entertainment.  In fact, in some ways, I like a bit of freneticism; when I was younger, I liked playing board games such as Sorry! and Trouble as well as video games such as Mario Kart 64 and Super Smash Bros. Melee with the maximum number of players--usually four--because the more people that played, the crazier it got.  Even some of my current favorite songs--"Freak the Freak Out," "You Spin Me 'Round (Like a Record)," "What's Goin' Down," "We Didn't Start the Fire," "Can't Back Down," "Lovesick," and many others--are sonic frenzies, but that's why I like them.  I'm not all that into sedate, peaceful, and/or serene music, though it can be enjoyable at times.  Nonetheless, being unable to relax causes one big problem that trumps any others: difficulty getting to sleep, though I'd rather not get into that.
I mentioned in a previous post about my chronic preoccupations.  Some of you may have heard the phrase "perpetually pregnant," used to describe a woman who has one pregnancy right after another, such as 19 Kids and Counting's Michelle Duggar.  Well, I could be considered perpetually preoccupied; as soon as I let go of one bothersome issue, I'm on another kick.  A kick is not the same as an obsession; my infatuation with Hilary Duff and Anne Hathaway was the latter, whereas the former involves something that I want to happen or change, and won't shut up about it until it does.  A perfect example of one of my kicks was back in 2003, where I couldn't stop talking about having pizza for lunch at home on Sunday.  I had one of my infamous flashbacks of my friend Robert and I eating pizza for lunch one Sunday in either 1994 or 1995, and, after that, I couldn't stop telling my immediate family members that we should try it.  They tried everything from punishment to an it'll-never-happen declaration to getting pizza on another day of the week to get me to stop, but I didn't until they gave me what I wanted...in early 2005.  However, it wasn't long after that when I got on another kick, and then another one, and then another one; it was an endless cycle that had started pretty much as soon as I could have been on a kick, and is still going strong now.  If you look back through this blog, many of the posts on here were inspired by kicks.
I will conclude by saying this: I'd like to be able to do away with my nervosity, and be able to relax like a regular person...but I don't see how it is possible.  In fact, I'm currently preoccupied with negative feelings towards myself just because I accidentally walked in front of a moving vehicle while crossing a busy intersection to get into my mom's car, scaring my mom "half to death" in the process.  You may say, "Well, we all make mistakes and forget things sometimes," but, as absent-minded as I have always been, I'm afraid I'll forget something and end up causing dire consequences for me or someone else.  It's already happened, to a degree; I got an "F" on my first test in fifth grade history class just because I forgot to label the four oceans as well as the seven continents, even though I knew them all and could have gotten an "A+".  My fear is that, one day, it will be something a thousand times worse, and it almost was today...but there seems to be nothing I can do about it.
I sure do sound preoccupied, don't I? That's par for the course for me, though; no matter where I am or what I'm doing, there's always something else in the back of my mind.  "I need/want to _____ as soon as I can." "I'm having an issue with _____, and I can't figure out how to solve it." "Where could ____ be?" "Boy, do I sure want to go to _______ this weekend!" No matter how I try, those feelings won't leave...and I've always been flummoxed on how to at least minimize them, if not rid myself of them completely.

Introducing...Danielle Harriet Vornholt!

Last week, I found a new companion.  In the eight or so days since we met, she has helped me study the Bible, kept me in touch with my friends, given me music to drown out the noise around me, and assisted me in reviewing books, among other tasks.  Her name? Danielle Harriet Vornholt.  What's special about her? Well...she is an iPod Touch!
I'm not making that up; a few posts ago, I mentioned that I had named my flat-screen iMac Victoria Kerrie Reeves-Stevens, so, as soon as I bought Danielle, I had to come up with a similar name for her.  Frankly, I haven't known that many people who have named their gadgets; a now-late friend and fellow Apple fan named his computer Mac because it was just that.  Within the entertainment world, the only example I can think of--other than the infamous HAL and "his" parodies, such as MAAX in a Bill Nye computer game--is Bill Myers' Wally McDoogle series, where the protagonist carries around a laptop he calls "Ol' Betsy."  Still, I have known people who named their cars; my sister's first car, an old Chevy of some sort, was dubbed Skippy, and the Le Baron convertible she got next was named Red.  At least one other friend mentioned naming his/her automobile, but I can't remember what the name(s) was/were right now.
I expect you may have some questions, so, I will answer what I think most of you are wondering.  First off: What are the meanings of the names you've given your devices? I know the names are long, but giving them full names was the only way I could think of to bring together my broad spectrum of interests.  All of the following links are to Wikipedia articles about the person/people named, in case you don't know who they are.  My iMac's name, Victoria Kerrie Reeves-Stevens, comes from my favorite actress, Victoria Justice, one of my favorite singers, Kerrie Roberts, and two of my favorite authors, Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens.  My printer, Jennifer Shannon McKeehan, is named after my second favorite actress, Jennifer Stone, the 80's singer (who sings the awesome "Let the Music Play") Shannon, and, one of my longtime favorite musicians, Toby McKeehan, better known as TobyMac.  As for my new iPod touch, she is named after television and film actress Danielle Panabaker, the protagonist of one of my favorite movies, Harriet the Spy: Blog Wars, and, another one of my favorite authors, John Vornholt.
Second off: Why name devices in the first place? Those of you who have used technology for a long time probably have noticed that many mechanical devices--cars, computers, televisions, video game systems, etc.--tend to take on personalities of their own.  I've seen it myself.  I used to have a purple iMac which suffered from moodiness; seriously, for whatever reason, it had days where it just didn't want to work right.  My second iPod nano, which I still have, tended to get addicted to certain songs.  As mentioned in a previous post, the device I was assigned in fifth grade, known as a DreamWriter, would become so buggy that it just had to initialize itself every so often to "clear its head".  I never officially named any of those devices, so, when I talk about them in retrospect, I just refer to them as "my big purple iMac" or "my iPod nano."  However, a name like Danielle rolls off the tongue easier, and it sounds better as well.  I was never allowed to name my family's pets--they didn't like the names I picked out--and I've never had a car, so, naming a device is as close as I've come to either.
Third off: What's with the female names? It's obvious that I have a penchant for such monikers; if I didn't, would this blog be called Siobhan Thinks Differently? Not only that, but, as pretty much everyone already knows, I get along better with the girls/women than guys.  So, if most of my best friends have female names, why can't my constant companions, even if they happen to be digital? To be honest, my iMac's original name was Clark Kent just because of how strong and powerful "he" was, but I only chose that name because the computer was my parents' at the time, and I wanted a name they could appreciate.  When Clark Kent became mine, I changed "him" into a "her," Victoria Kerrie Reeves-Stevens.  I'm not planning on buying any new devices of any sort anytime soon, but, if and when I ever do get more, they will likely have full female names inspired by my favorites from the entertainment world as well.
Lastly: Is Danielle a substitute for a significant other? In a word: No.  Though she may go with me everywhere and help me out quite a bit, I do not--and could not--have romantic feelings towards a piece of technology.  If I ever do have a romantic relationship, I'm sure it'll be much more fulfilling than having an iPod I carry around with me everywhere.
Any comments?

After All These Years, It's Still Just as Amazing

Many of you probably know that I have been a fan of various famous entities--real and fictional, human and non-human--throughout my life.  Some came and went rather quickly, such as the three girls from H2O: Just Add Water, or the blue-haired Joe Kido and his "digital monster" Ikkakumon.  Others lasted a while, but still largely fizzled out at some point: Anne Hathaway and her various innocent roles, from the obedient Ella of Frell to schoolgirl-turned-princess Mia Thermopolis; Hilary Duff and her best-known, literally animated role of Elizabeth Brooke McGuire; ApologetiX and their spoofs of everything from "The Real Slim Shady" to "Sweet Home Alabama" to "You Oughta Know"; Putt-Putt the anthropomorphic car and his various point-and-click adventures; and countless others, including many of which you've probably never heard.  There are only a few famous entities which I can say that I have liked for over a decade, and even many of those became weaker in my eyes after a while.  Mork & Mindy's later episodes were disappointing because of all the pop culture references that would easily fly over the heads of viewers born well after the show ended; Home Improvement became old hat because of too many repeats; That's So Raven's inaugural season was easily the best, but that's the only one not available on iTunes; Garfield's earlier strips were hilarious, but, over the past decade or so, Jim Davis seems to be running low on ideas; and, using Mac OS X makes me realize how terrible previous Mac systems were.  However, there is one--or there are three, depending on how you look at it--famous entity/entities whose works have easily stood the test of time, and sound just as good--if not better--than they did upon first hearing them many years ago: TobyMac, Kevin Max, and Michael Tait, also known as the band dc Talk.
You may wonder: What makes their music have such a lasting appeal? Well, to me, it's rather easy to explain: They combined three different styles of musical talent--rap/hip-hop, rock, and soul/gospel--to make wonderful sounds with a timeless message.  Some people feel that, after they went solo/disbanded, their music deteriorated in quality, but I disagree; in fact, some of Kevin and Toby's solo works are comparable to their pre-solo tracks in my opinion.
It's obvious that dc Talk's music, both as a group and solo, has a lasting appeal to me; I listened to songs of theirs such as "Say the Words (Now)," "Dead End Moon," and "What's Goin' Down" countless times throughout my middle and high school years, yet they still get played on my iTunes and iPods fairly often.  Say what you want about their music, but, I'll tell you one thing: It just never gets old.

After All These Years, I Wonder...Why Was I Fighting It?

You all know that I am a man of conviction.  If I have a long-held belief that's contrary to your views, you'd have a hard time getting me to subscribe to your way, at least without convincing proof.  In many ways, that's good; if I let the oft-expressed negative opinions of nearly everything I've ever liked get to me, I'd end up spending my time involved in activities that I never have considered fun.  Still, recently, some new personal revelations have come to light about my own long-held beliefs that, in all honesty, were started in my own mind.  You may be surprised by this, but I promise you it's all true.
First up is one topic that's been the root of much controversy between me and those I've known: driving.  What started the "I can't" feelings? Simply put, my high school Spanish teacher informed me that she had a friend whose son also reportedly had Asperger Syndrome, and that he--the son himself, that is--felt that he would never be able to drive because of the concentration it would require.  Just like every other high school freshman, I had expected to be able to get my license in the next year or two...but I had never thought about how concentration was a big part of becoming a licensed driver.  When I thought about how easily I got distracted--I once missed part of Star Wars: Episode II: Attack of the Clones--in IMAX!--because my mind wandered elsewhere while it was playing--I realized that I didn't have the concentration, either, and that started a war between my friends, my family, and I.  I defended myself out the wazoo, and even went as far as failing my learner's permit test on purpose the first time I took it, just to get out of any lessons.
I later relented, and passed the test the third time I took it--I failed it the second time, but not on purpose--and soon ended up taking behind the wheel sessions with an older friend.  He and I did three sessions in a parking lot, and one in his neighborhood, and that was it.  The older friend had wanted me to wash my mom's car--which we were using for the lessons--before the next lesson, which I used as a way out; during that last session, I made numerous mistakes that I felt were inappropriate for someone on his/her fourth driving lesson.  It was like walking into class the third week of school and not even knowing my teacher's name.
Even after that, numerous people--ranging from Facebook friends of various ages to family members to teachers--repeatedly tried to encourage me to get back on it, but I did nothing but argue with and/or ignore them.  My permit even expired, and I ended up getting a non-driver ID.  Later on, I learned to walk places and take public transportation, which has helped, but everyone knows it's still not the same as driving.
Now, what I wonder is: Why did I start this whole thing? It's been years since that same Spanish teacher informed me that the fellow A.S. sufferer she knew actually was driving, but I still kept it going nonetheless.  There is a possibility that I shouldn't have my driver's license; after all, there are plenty of people--at least, in my area--whose behavior behind the wheel makes you want to shout, "Hey, dummy! Where'd you get your driver's license; Toys 'Я' Us?" It could end up that I was right all along; however, I'm afraid that the only way that could be proven is me being involved in a terrible accident, and I don't think any of you want that.
Even minus what my Spanish teacher said, the case against me driving is still somewhat strong.  As mentioned, my concentration stinks--Star Wars in IMAX!--and traumatic experiences with other psychological medications make me quite hesitant to try any that could possibly rectify that matter.  Prior to the realization that driving required concentration, I regularly talked about the fact that I was going to have a bright orange car, but that was just as much of a fantasy as when I told my friends I was going to marry Hilary Duff.  If I did get a car, it was going to be whatever my mom could afford and was willing to get me, which likely would have been an old, single-seat truck, not a sporty, neon orange, four-door sedan.  Even my mom has gotten behind my non-driving conviction at times; during an assessment to see whether or not I would get a disability check, she told the psychiatrist, "He says he shouldn't be behind the wheel, and he probably shouldn't."  More to the point, I'm someone who is perpetually preoccupied.  You know how some women, the best-known of which is Michelle Duggar of 19 Kids and Counting, end up giving birth to one kid and quickly getting pregnant with another one again and again? Well, that's how I am with my predicaments; as soon as I let go of one, another one starts plaguing me, and it's been quite constant for pretty much my entire life, which makes me largely unable to relax.
None of the events or beliefs described above matter as much as one I haven't mentioned yet.  Even thinking about it recently has made me wonder whether it was God's divine hindrance or Satan's discouragement.  Here's what happened: In late 2006, an adult friend--not the one mentioned above--started doing driving sessions with me.  He and his wife both felt that I did great, but it all got stopped because that friend got injured.  No, I didn't have anything to do with his injury; not only was I not around when it happened, but everyone who knows me knows that I'm not one to resort to violence, especially towards a long-time friend.  It took my friend a few weeks to recover, and that ended up making my driving sessions go by the wayside.
The question is: Why did that happen? I know some of you might say that it's just coincidence, but I'm a strong believer that everything happens for a reason.  So, when circumstances led to my behind-the-wheel sessions ending, was God trying to say, "Despite the fact that you're doing well so far, and that everyone thinks you should do this, I know this is not for you"? Or, was it Satan trying to say, "Of course you can't drive! You can't do anything! You're as worthless as those middle school bullies said you were, and should stick to sitting around moping and researching all those actresses!"?  Frankly, I'm afraid to even make the call on that one; if I decide it was Satan instead of God, and I end up being wrong, my life will probably end up being over.
As long and "epic" as that just was, there's a completely different issue that I'm having similar feelings about: theme parks.  I think pretty much everyone reading this knows that, despite the fact that I have at least one amusement park practically in my own backyard, I haven't set foot in one since 1999.  Since then, people have been trying to get me to give them another go; even a teacher at my high school was very insistent that I'd like it if I went.  She and I argued back and forth about it, but it pretty much ended in a stalemate: I wasn't convinced I would like going, and she wasn't convinced that I wouldn't.  Others probably felt--and still do feel--the same way she did.
However, I'm currently wondering why I began fighting against them in the first place.  In fact, there was a time in which I couldn't shut up about going there.  I know I said that I wasn't allowed to go when I was younger, but that was an oversimplification; the actual truth was, I was only allowed to go with certain people because my mom was afraid that I would throw a temper tantrum otherwise.  Looking back, I completely understand how she felt; I was quite prone to those back then.  Still, when I did go, I did have fun, and the only reason I refused to go after that was: "My tastes have changed.  I'm not as naive nor as adventurous as I was back then.  I don't think I would enjoy it now."  Still, without actual experience at that age, how could I be so sure that I vehemently argued against those who believed otherwise?
I don't want you to get the wrong idea here.  I'm not giving up on my Christian faith, nor am I wavering about my dislike of sports or anything related to large bodies of water.  Still, after all these years of arguing with others and defending my beliefs and opinions on the matters in the previous paragraphs, I wonder: Why was I fighting it? Was it even worth fighting? Have I been wrong this whole time? I, frankly, have no idea; do any of you?