Stupid Decision Time

Those of you who know me and often associate with your humble author in the flesh may have noticed a difference in me of late: A certain carelessness of demeanor, cocksure posturing, and devil may care glint of malice in my eyes. I am living on the edge. Fear is merely a dream of thought I only half grasped before letting go. My actions are no longer dictated by the safe, the undestructive. Prudence is behind me. Only impulse and action lie before me.

I hear the questions shouted back at computer screens across the country "What's gotten in to James?", "As he gone mad?", "Does James's rebel without a cause posturing makes him ten or twenty fold more desirable to women?". The answers to these questions are - in reverse order: 18.5, I'm not angry, and it's not what's gotten into me it's what's gotten into my wallet. No, it's not a capital one card. Those only protect you from Vikings, and Vikings no longer frighten me. No, what I carry now is a simple card showing that I have health insurance. That's right, after over two years of living without a net, the health insurance back baby. This means I can do something stupid - anything stupid. If I want to taste broken glass, I can. If the sudden desire to challenge an alligator to wrastle overcomes me, I shall not resist. I'm insured. It's all good.

You see. The only thing keeping me from doing really stupid things has been the fear of paying some exhorbinant amount of money for the emergency room. I may want to do stupid things, but I'm still a cheap, cheap bastard. Now, If I - say - break my leg trying out my home made spider man web slinging rig, I don't have to pay for the visit. I only have need to pony up a co-pay. Co-pay comes from the Latin for "a whole heck of a lot less than paying for the whole thing. I can handle that. So, now nothing stands between me and the absolutely ridiculous decisions I've wanted to make for two years now.

Since I am sure everyone's wondering what decisions I'm going to be making, allow me to elaborate on just one. I'm going to learn how to break dance. I've always wanted to be able to break dance, and I don't just mean being able to strike some poses. I want to spin on my head. I want to do flips. I want to defy physics by pressing myself up with but one hand on the floor. I want get a crew together and get in beefs with other crews - beefs which will only be solved by pulling out the cardboard and getting it on dance style. When an evil developer threatens to close the youth center I want to join forces with the rival gang and kick him out of the neighborhood with the sheer power of our combined popping and locking.

"But James," you say, "You can't breakdance. Your just an uncoordinated white kid. You'll hurt yourself. That's stupid." I know. It is stupid. It's completely insane. Only a complete idiot would attempt to break dance with my set of skills. I am that complete idiot. Only - lest you forget - I'm a complete idiot with health insurance. That's like a get out jail free card. So what I hurt myself? I can afford it. So please, if you see me out on the streets of New Brighten getting completely funky, don't try talking sense to me. There is no sense to a man with health insurance and no responsibilities. None at all. Now if you don't mind, there're some suckas outside just begging to get served.

Shalom