Lost in Interpretation

The title of this post comes from a screenplay I am currently writing about a young Irishman named Colm who decides to visit his American cousin Dillon. I was going to post a few pages but I had a bit of trepidation about posting it because of its strong adult content, and by that I mean the heavy use of swearing and filthy language used primarily by Colm. He's Irish and he swears a lot. You can't blame the guy, it's just the way he talks. The whole point of the story is that he uses so much thick Irish slang that his cousin can't understand him half the time. He curses a ton and uses the dirtiest of dirty words as if they were nothing. I decided not to post this because I'm sure people would be offended, but hopefully not Irish people, whom I love and adore profusely. If you'd like a copy of the script, I'd be more than willing to e-mail you a pdf version. I love the script and it'd be amazing if it was made into a film someday soon.

I think I am starting to feel happier now that I'm posting things on a regular basis, as opposed to just posting about once a month. My blog is still in its infancy, which is why probably only about 5 of my closest friends are actually reading this right now. I'm fine with that. I can't wait until I hit my one year mark. I'll have to do something exciting for when that happens. But enough on that.

So yes, my car was broken into two nights ago by some crackhead/tweaker and it certainly was a terrifying thing for me. What's the worst is that they stole my stereo face and now my stereo is basically worthless and I can't listen to what remains of my cd collection. At least two of my smaller cd carriers were left unscathed and that makes the blow less devastating. They stole some of my favorite cd's. But for some reason, I'm not screaming at the top of my lungs about it.

However, my car on the other hand, has taken a turn for the worse. With the rear passenger window being decimated and having a black trash bag duct-taped in place of it, my car has taken on the appearance of a hoopde. Having been in an easily avoided yet nonetheless stupid accident in May, my front right headlights are unhinged and hooked on with duct-tape. Now my engines heat valve is on the fritz and I constantly have to be aware of my cooling levels so that I don't overheat it and end up stranded. My car, a 1992 Canadian Acura Integra 4-door sedan of 5 years, has slowly begun to poop out on me. Yes, my car is Canadian. My Dad & I bought it from a guy who bought it off a Canadian lady. It's speedometer is in Kilometers; something that I was wary of when I first started driving it. But now, years later, it's second nature for me. So much so, that I want all the road signs in America to change to metric. Come on USA! Do as the Canadians do! I've done a lot of things to my car thus far into its life (in this case, "her" name is Carolina). I've driven it as far as Walnut Creek, California (near San Francisco) and back without it breaking down once. It's served me well and I want it to live for a few more years. I love my car to death. Well considering I almost died in it when I fell asleep at the wheel (Just once mind you! But still it was incredibly stupid of me) that statement could have proven true. I don't know what more to do. I'm at wit's end. God please don't let my car die. I'll be good to her, I swear. Just don't take Carolina from me. She's all I got! Well, I guess it's just her and Madeleine my red bicycle I got off some lady in Vancouver, WA off craigslist. I can't help giving feminine names to my machines. It's a force of habit or something. It will definitely be a sad day for me when I no longer use my good 'ole Carolina the Acura Intergra for transportation. A sad day indeed.