Crash Into Me

Tonight, I had a dialogue with my dad that lasted until 1:30am. We started by debating whether or not the part in "Crash" where the housekeeper saves the bitchy Sandra Bullock is essentially Christian (another way to say that is if it is a reflection of God). Then we went into everything, talking about movies and theology and humanity and God. It's funny how any topic brought up in a conversation like the one my dad and I had tonight seems worth discussing. Anyway. This was a good conversation. It was the first conversation that I can remember where we both logically discussed and argued our sides of a topic, agreed sometimes, and left in good spirits with one another. It was the first time I told my dad that the past 2 years had been rough because I was trying to find my identity, which I had previously placed in him and Mom. It was the first time I told him that I knew I could disagree with him and still be right.

At the end, I could tell my dad was tired and that he needed to get some sleep. We had been standing in the doorway between our den and the kitchen (its a large doorway). I crossed over and gave him a hug. He returned the hug then tried to let go after the typical hug-length had ended, but I didn't let go. I tucked my mouth into his right shoulder blade like you do in meaningful hugs, placing my nose millimeters above his gray Texas Tech t-shirt. I didn't want to let go of him, because for the first time that I can remember, I felt love for my dad. I truly, deeply, honestly loved him. I wanted to hold him for hours, to share the love that comes from physically embracing another human being. The only way I can describe my feeling is that I had a desire to hold my father for as long as I could. If that's God, thanks.

Uncle Jim's Camera

These are pictures that I took with my uncle's amazing camera.

Run Lola Run

"Run Lola Run" is the most creative film I have seen in quite some time. The film combines the use of live action and animation, utilizes unusual editing and cinematography, and dictates a creative story through a unique narrative, all brought together to create a fast paced, heart felt, feel good but also nerve racking story about love and determination and divinity.

The film is quite complex, especially in its main character. Lola, a realist with a savior complex and a crummy family, receives a call from her boyfriend Manni that sends her into a frantic chase for money. During this chase, we see what Lola is capable of doing in a time of crisis and the outcomes of the people she encounters along the way (shown through a creative technique that I found fresh and original).

I wonder how much screen time is Lola running. We see close shots of her running, crane shots, shots of her from basically every angle. One has to wonder, with all this running, what is she running for? She is running because she wants to save the man she loves. And yet, a flashback shows that she is unsure about her dedication to him, a point that seems extremely real to life. We don't usually know our feelings for those we love, and yet the majority of movies paints pictures of characters (supposedly imitating real life) as having this steadfast knowledge of their undying devotion to their lovers. In "Lola," the main character knows that she doesn't know how she feels. This is an admirable admittance about life for a film.

Nevertheless, she runs. She uses her mind to try to find a solution. Primarily, her solution is logical--ask her father (a high end banker) for money. This makes sense. And yet, both times (you have to watch the movie to understand), she not only does not receive the money but also discovers that her father is cheating on her mother. Only when Lola asks for some divine intervention does she receive the solution that works. It's strange that Lola could not get the money from a logical place like her father, but she could get the money from betting in a casino, a risky, illogical, and unlikely place to get 100,000 marks. Lola could not solve her problem on her own. A strange thing for a filmmaker to say.

I keep thinking about what I think makes great movies. My criteria used to be that the best movies said something. However, my friend Mihir said that wasn't a valid way to judge movies because every movies says something. The more I think about it, the more I think he's right. All movies say something. I know this. But when I said "say something," I meant that they have a significant message, something of value to say. While I will agree that the best movies must do something original or inventive, they must also say something significant about life and human nature. Roger Ebert said "the greatest films are meditations on why we are here." I think that's true.

The more I think about it, the more I consider this film a great film. It says that all our planning and thinking is inferior to chance or God or divine intervention, that we can do all we can and not succeed, yet we can do nothing and then succeed. It shows how much of our lives are not in our control. I approve.

Record Time

For a while, I have been into records. It's such an interesting ordeal, the process of putting a record on the record player. And that you have to stay in one place to listen to the music is something I value--it makes you slow down. It's an experience. My friend Drew gave Mihir and I a record player as a college gift, and we loved it for a while. Then the turntable got wobbly, and it made the music sound warped when it played. It became unbearable after a time, so we just stopped listening to records. However, I remember my dad saying that he had saved his record player from the 70s, and that it was just sitting in storage somewhere in our house. I asked my dad if I could have it, because I would get enjoyment out of it, rather than have it just sit in the closet. He said no, because he wants to save it and hopefully sell it one day, because it's in good condition, he says. That made me mad, but I guess he has the right to do what he wants with it. Nevertheless, I kept bugging him. So...

Today, my dad and I pulled out his old record player from the coat closet to see if it would work. We unpacked the equipment, checked the fuses in the receiver, adjusted the turntable, and prayed that it worked. For a moment, it wouldn't work. I had to physically spin the turntable to get it going. But then, we figured out that you had to move the needle in order to start it. Me and Dad high fived as Boston's "More Than A Feelin'" blasted in our kitchen. We started at 9pm and didn't finish listening to songs until 11pm. Then he went out to the garage and came back with a cardboard box, saying that I could set the record player on it in my room if I wanted to. I wanted to. I was so happy that I don't think I communicated my happiness to him, which sucks because I want him to know that I appreciate him trusting me with the player.

As I type, I'm listening to America's self titled album, and I really like it. I'm surprised that I would like a band this quickly, but I do. Here's to records and generous fathers.

August and Satellites

It's official- I love Counting Crows.

Maria came from Nashville with a suitcase in her hand. Hey, mister, if you're going to walk on water, you know you're only gonna walk all over me. When everybody loves me, I will never be lonely. Help me stay awake, cuz I'm falling asleep in perfect blue buildings beside the green apple sea. And Anna begins to change her mind. I wanted to see you walking backwards, to get the sensation of you coming home. She's been dying, and I've been drinkin'. I'm almost drowning in her sea. Love is a ghost train, howlin' on the radio. 3500 miles away, but what would you change if you could? I dreamt I saw you walkin' up a hillside in the snow.


I want to be the last thing that you hear when you're falling asleep. I will not be an enemy of anything, I'll only stand here waiting for you. I want to say goodbye to you, goodbye to you, goodbye to all my friends, goodbye to everyone I know. Spent my nights in self-defense, cry about my innocence-well, I ain't all that innocent anymore. I will wait for you in Baton Rouge. I can't find my way home. Well I don't need you, believe me. Don't wake me-I was dreamin'. So she takes her pills, careful and round-one of these days she's gonna throw the whole bottle down. She sees shooting stars and comets tails. Got no where but home to go, got Ben Folds on my radio. Keep some sorrow in your heart and mind, for the things that die before their time. If you think you might come to California, I think you should. Someday, I'm gonna stay, but not today.

First Semester Ghost Train

Mihir will not be returning to ACU next semester. This means that he will not be my roommate anymore. Mihir is going to go to a community college in Austin, work at a Starbucks or a bookstore or a record store, and live in an apartment. I am going to miss him. Next semester is going to be difficult, yet exciting, because most of my time at ACU was spent with Mihir. Maybe that's not true. But what's true is that the majority of the time I spent hanging out, being social, not doing schoolwork, was with Mihir. We would go smoke at the rocks together, or more recently, on the drains outside of Barrett. We would smoke by that storage unit behind the old folks home, with the motion detecting light that would eradicate any hope of secrecy. We went to the Leaf a few times and smoked in downtown Abilene. We did a lot of smoking, now that I recall. We would go to Hastings, and he would look through the records, always buying some even though he was always low on cash. He would sleep with his laptop going, playing a movie, something that I assume helped him sleep. He would get up and leave without saying anything (I learned to adjust). I would get him bread from the Bean. We would stay up late talking. That's one thing I'm going to miss. Mihir had insomnia, so he would be up watching movies, and I loved having someone to talk to. I'm going to miss that guy sitting propped up in his bed, spitting into a water bottle, playing his nasty black guitar (playing isn't just-he was making noise). I'm going to miss him.

But what excites me is that I no longer have a safe-haven friend to go to whenever I feel lonely or want to hang out. I'm going to have to make friends. Everything will be new again. Because, honestly, I haven't made any really close friends so far. I know that takes time, but I'm still acknowledging the fact that I haven't. I'm going to get to see what type of person I really am.

I sent this to Mihir, this is for Mihir, but I'm putting it here so I will have a copy of it in the future so I will remember life with him.

Mihir, I'm going to miss you man. Let's face it- we got really close this semester. I'm sad to see you go, because I depended on you so much this semester as a friend. We did everything together. But I'd rather see you alive, happy, motivated, than dying, depressed, and lazy. I hope Austin is everything you hope it will be for you. I hope you find your purpose in life down there somewhere. In a way, this is a closing chapter in our relationship, because we won't see each other for months on end. But I want you to know that you became a brother this semester (a little brother, I guess, because I was often taking care of you). I will always care about you man, you will always mean something to me. If you get lonely or if you think of something you've never thought of before at 3 am, don't hesitate to call or text me. And you are always welcome where ever I am. Love you man.

The Girl Who Wasn't There

This is the second day that I can't go to sleep. I think I caught Mihir's insomnia. So what did I do with my extra time? I listened to Counting Crows.

I don't know why I want to know who Maria is. Maybe because she is mentioned in so many songs. She is a ghost to anyone who listens to the Crows. She is a phantom. And a piece of her is in every song, according to Duritz. So I guess I am justified in my interest in her. But tonight, she has become an obsession. Hopefully, just for tonight.

I had heard about an article in which a reporter from some 801 magazine goes in depth to try to find out who Maria is. He does everything he can from talking to the number one fan to tracking down Mr. Jones himself. All roads lead to nothing, and the reporter concludes with many theories and no answers.

One theory that I latched onto is that Maria committed suicide. It totally makes sense. In the "Round Here" music video, the Maria character is last seen falling into water and sinking. The lyrics say "she looks up at the building, says she's thinking of jumping," but it never says she actually jumps. The music video seems to confirm that she jumped. If she did jump, it would make sense that Duritz would mention the strange coincidence in "Mr. Jones." The real Mr. Jones said there was actually a Maria there the night the songs speaks of, but the Maria was a friend of Jones' father, not someone Duritz would have known for a while. Considering this, it makes sense that he writes about the Maria. If Adam's Maria had committed suicide, then anyone with the same name would cause him to remember the Maria he knew.

In "Mrs. Potter's Lullaby," Duritz says "there is a piece of Maria in every song that I sing." Two plausible reasons for this are that 1) Maria was a girl who broke his heart and he thinks about all the missed chances and everything all the time, or 2) Maria killed herself, Duritz thinks of her often, and he misses her. I think the latter supports my theory.

I take refuge in the idea that Maria killed herself, because it means that the matter is settled. If Maria is actually still out there, that means that Duritz is still haunted by the memory of this woman, and that sucks. Plus, if she's still out there, that means that Duritz has lied to all his fans (with great detail, no less), and that sucks too because Duritz feels like family.

I think I might be getting into troubled territory with Duritz becoming family. I feel like I can relate to Duritz so much, yet I have never met him or know anything about him. I just know that he sings about a lot of girls and is in pain. But I think I latch onto him because if I were to write songs, they would be like his in that I have a girl who haunts me and I am perpetually sad. I hope the next Counting Crows album talks about Duritz's happiness and how he found the love of his life who wasn't Maria, showing that he moved on. That would be nice. This obsession with Maria is ridiculous, seriously. Oh well.

Christmas of Actually Good Movies #4: Billy Elliot

After watching "Billy Elliot," I had to take 30 bags of leaves from my backyard to the curb out front, all in darkness. The entire time I was working, I tried to understand why I liked Billy Elliot so much. I knew that I liked it a lot. But I couldn't figure out why. After all the bags had been moved and my jeans had been thoroughly dampened, I came to some conclusions about why I like "Billy Elliot."

First, I like it because it is well made. Now I'm not quite sure what "well-made" actually means, but I understand it more than I did 6 months ago. For me, a movie is well made if it can repeatedly come up with interesting shots and stick with them. No cutting for close ups. If a movie can stay with a great shot, it is well made in my mind. As for "Elliot," I can remember several shots that were noteworthy: the ballet teacher standing in the gym smoking; Billy and his father checking in to the ballet school; Billy sitting in the car on the ferry with his ballet teacher in the reflection of the window. These are good shots. If a movie isn't well made, it can't go any further in my mind than "it was aight."

Second, I like it because the main actor Jamie Bell (who has since been in movies like "King Kong" and "Defiance") is likable and talented. He plays troubled well, and his crooked smile is amiable.

Third, I like the story. A boy rejects the social norms of what young boys are supposed to do and pursues ballet, even when his family is against him. A memorable scene is between Billy and his father right after his father found him in his ballet class. The father tells Billy that he will no longer dance because boys aren't supposed to do that. Boys are supposed to do "football, or boxing, or wrestling. Not friggin' ballet." But Billy doesn't believe it. Why not, Billy asks. Why can boys not dance? It is apparent that Billy's father is rooted in a society that has rigid gender stereotypes, and he doesn't want his boy dancing because that means he's gay. But Billy is not gay. He even has a friend who is gay (secretly), but Billy is not. And when Billy sees Michael as he is about to leave and kisses him on the cheek, I took this gesture to mean that Billy will always be his friend no matter what, that Billy supports him and can be trusted.

Billy studies secretly for a while, then is forced to tell his family that he wants to dance. At first, the family is horrified. They don't want a gay family member. He will be normal, you can almost read in between the lines of their anger. But Billy only wants to dance. Billy describes what it is like to dance to the board of the Royal Ballet School, and to be honest, I cried. I cried because how he feels about dancing is how I feel about movies.

"Don't know. Sorta feels good. Sorta stiff and that, but once I get going... then I like, forget everything. And... sorta disappear. Sorta disappear. Like I feel a change in my whole body. And I've got this fire in my body. I'm just there. Flyin' like a bird. Like electricity. Yeah, like electricity."

Dancing is everything to him, the thing that makes him happiest. Billy articulated how I feel about movies, and in doing so, validated my thoughts that films make me feel like nothing else. (Sidenote, you know a monologue is delivered perfectly when it doesn't have the same effect on you as it did when it was said in the movie. Just sayin)

I like this movie because I can actually see the joy Billy gets from dancing, and therefore, I get joy too. I get to watch someone doing what they love. Well, I know that Jamie Bell is acting, but he could have fooled me.

This is the second film where the main characters are told something untrue. In "Revolutionary Road," April is told that the American Dream is the only way to happiness; in "Billy Elliot," Billy is told that boys act a certain way. I wonder, in the movies to come, how many movies depict characters being told lies. I wonder.

Christmas of Actually Good Movies #3: Revolutionary Road

Today is day 3 of my Christmas of Actually Good Movies (the first day I watched "127 Hours" and the second day I watched "Identity." I don't know if I'll ever write about those movies. Not because I don't like them, just because I'm lazy). Today I watched "Revolutionary Road," a film that I liked very much from the first viewing. I think I may have watched the director's commentary on it, but I'm not sure.

The film is a story of April (you could say it's about her and her husband, but she is the real heart of the story), a wife and mother during the 50's, who knows that she has been lied to by society. She knows that the American Dream is a sham, a goal created by someone somewhere that now suffocates the life and dreams out of the oblivious masses. April is not oblivious. She knows that she was meant for a life of more than living in a house on a street where all the houses look the same, more than having and raising kids because that is what she is told to do, more than blindly accepting ideas about how life should be by the social influence of those surrounding her.

I'm not interested in retelling the film--it's good enough that you should go see it yourself. Twice. But anyway, what I'm really concerned with is two things: Michael Shannon's character John, and April's character in the last 20 minutes.

John reminds me of my friend Mihir--a sane man in a crazy world that tells him he's the crazy one. Sure, John doesn't have social skills and makes people uncomfortable. That's only because he knows the quaint, polite society is fake and uncaring. He will say what he thinks because he knows he is right and he wants other people to see it too. It's interesting to watch John, his parents, and the Wheelers interact. John's mother is horrified that she has a son who doesn't fit into the neat social stereotype that she does. When John speaks, his mother turns her head in both disgust and embarrassment; but the Wheelers listen. The three take a walk in the woods, and only now can John relax--he is with people who understand. The Wheelers see the madness in America, they see the madness in spotless houses and social etiquette and always being fine. In the woods, the three talk about how the Wheelers are leaving for Paris, getting out, finding freedom. John asks why they are leaving, and Frank (Lio DiCaprio) responds that they can't stand the hopeless emptiness. "Hopeless emptiness," John responds. "Now you've said it. Plenty of people are onto the emptiness, but it takes real guts to see the hopelessness." The three understand that America and its promises of happiness and fulfillment are lies.

The Wheelers and John seemed to connect on a deep level in the woods, which makes the next time the Wheelers, John, and his parents have lunch so interesting. Frank tells them that he and his family aren't going to Paris after all. The look on John's face shows his feeling of betrayal. John doesn't understand why this couple who seemed to get it would step backwards when they were one step from the door. But as he talks his way to reason, John confronts the Wheelers with the truth that at least Frank had failed to realize: it is more comfortable to stay than it would be to leave. It is easier for Frank to get promoted and work on some computer job than for the family to go to Paris and start over. The lure of comfort plants Frank on 115 Revolutionary Road, where he will have a well paying job and a nice front lawn, but his soul will die.

At this second lunch, April's soul begins to die. And after some time alone in the woods, April hatches a plan. This plan consists of partial surrender. She will become the woman that America wants her to be. The following morning, Frank comes downstairs to find April surprisingly making breakfast and most importantly, not angry. Her personality in this scene is the most interesting thing about the movie to me. April is cold. Yes, she says all the right things, she asks about his new job and sounds interested, she walks him to the door and straightens his tie; but under it all is a cold subversion, a woman who will play the part because she has a plan in mind. Because she knows that the only thing people want is not to be interrupted. "Hi, how are you?" "I'm good, how are you?" "I'm good." We don't want to know how anyone really is. We would rather assume that everyone is fine than to know that everyone is fucked up. So when Frank asks April if she hates him or anything, she calmly denies it because she knows Frank only needs to hear what he wants to hear. He doesn't care if he knows, deep down, that it isn't true. As long as she smiles at the right time and socializes with the friends and reads to the kids, she's fine.

This film makes me think about how Americans don't want anyone interfering in their machine lives, and yet we wonder why we all feel so alone. In one moment, John and the Wheelers are real people to each other, talking about real problems. But this moment is the only moment of genuine people interacting genuinely in the movie. The rest of the time, people talk to each other because they're supposed to, because it makes them forget that they feel alone. And in each scene, April dies a little more and more until there is nothing left.

I think I love this movie because I relate to April so much. I knew that if I didn't get out, I would die. I think I died a little bit. But despite it all, I found a way to escape. I'm running. And somewhere, April is running too.

Requiem for a Dream Poem

I watched the "Requiem for a Dream" commentary and was inspired to write this poem.

.......

Two people find themselves
in paradise.
Somehow, someway,
they have captured happiness.
Their smiles quickly radiate the warmth
of hope,
and they embrace while standing at the gates
of heaven.

But they do not make it through the gates.

We're so close, they say. So close to being happy.
But the dream that was so near slips from their grasps,
and happiness hurtles down the black pit of despair.
A compromise here, settling there,
until they weep in vein, their clothing is no longer white.
The dream is gone, leaving a place where contentment can no longer reside.
This is hell. This is hell.

This is hell.

Oh, let us never experience the sweet taste of happiness.
For then, we will never know what we have missed.
But now our tongues long for the honey of a fruit no longer in season.
We cry out to suck the juices of the apple that will make our problems dissolve away.
But, once again, we have done it. We ate again from the tree in the garden.
The apple was not pure, the deceiver did his job.
And now our bodies long for satisfaction from an evil food,
a desire we cannot reverse.
So we must walk throughout this earth with our ever hungry body,
waiting for the day after eternity when we will be satisfied once again.

Wedding Bells Too Early

I met a girl that I think is cute. The problem is, we have only spoken a few times. We had a class together, but the class ended today, and I'm not sure that I will ever have another chance to interact with her because we don't have mutual friends. I think I'm going to adopt the attitude of if we're supposed to meet again, it'll happen or whatever. It just sucks in the meantime.

Meanwhile, I have two good friends who are thinking about getting married to their respective girlfriends. Thinking like, I just need to save up enough money and then I'll propose. When one of them told me, I was taken aback, namely because they are my age and will be getting married. That's something adults do. I'm still a kid. He said he has to save around $10,000 and then he will propose. I told him he should just play the lottery. Then we started speculating about what we would do if we won a huge amount of money. Almost Married Friend #1 said he would buy a ring, a house, and then put the rest into savings. Almost Married Friend #2 said he would do the same sort of thing. I said I would get new speakers in my car.

I think getting married now, at 19, is a dumb idea. You haven't lived at all. You haven't lived on your own even, for that matter. You will be chained to your parents because $10,000 won't last you through college and through the first few years of marriage. I want to tell them to live a little on their own, experience life through your own eyes before you see it through married eyes.

They might respond that they are so in love that they can't imagine life without their girlfriends. I don't know if that is dangerous or not. What happens when this amazing feeling wears off, when it's not exciting to make out anymore or to hold her hand or to tell everyone "this is my girlfriend"? I think it's dumb to depend on someone that much. Then again, I'm not in that position, so I don't know what that's like. So for now, I'm going to continue living, and looking every now and then.

Garden State Revisited

After viewing "Garden State" a second time, I have realized that the message of the film is different than I originally thought. I used to think it was essentially an existential film, telling viewers that we only have one life, so make it good. But I now understand that while that is a theme, it is a tangent from the core message, an extension reaching from the root. The root of the film says that love is what makes life worthwhile and significance.

The film delves into death and is a well made movie with complex characters with problems. I like the crane shot at the funeral that shows all the people in rows from high above, then comes down and you can see the headstones in the same row composition, a subtle reminder that we are all going to die eventually. I like how Natalie Portman plays Sam with the subtle hints that she is a girl who has been hurt before and now she's jaded: "oh my god, you're like so freaked out right now." She is an individual who is assertive and unique, someone who used to be naive enough to let anyone love her but is now a girl who reveals her heart, then quickly corrects the mistake by separating herself from others with lies. She lies so she can feel like she has control over her life. I like Zach Braff's Andrew Largeman, an emotionless, numb guy who has experienced trauma and has been medicated enough that he can't feel anything.

The film shows people attempting to find value, but never getting it. Characters like Largman's cop friend and the inventor of the silent Velcro are people who have (more or less) gained worldly success. They have importance and wealth, respectively. And yet, the cop only became a cop because there was nothing else to do. He grew up, stopped taking drugs, but his life is still average. The Velcro guy has all the money he could ever want (and used it to buy a ridiculous mansion that feeds into his Medieval Time obsession), but he's not taking advantage of it. It doesn't make him happy.

The man at the bottom of the abyss has the wisdom for Largeman. He talks about having the important job of "guardian of the infinite abyss," but then he says that that's just ego stuff. What really matters, he says, what really makes life worth-while, is being with his wife and child. That makes everything meaningful.

Maybe that's why Largeman's mom wanted to die, because the whole family was so distant from each other that none of them ever experienced that love that makes life livable.

And so when Largeman tells his dad that all he has is his life, that that's it, he's not saying that he should go for every hedonistic experience, to squeeze every drop of pleasure out of life. He has found that trying to live a meaningful life void of love is impossible. Love is real.

After the second viewing, I realized that the film is not a carpe diem film, but rather a memento mori film. This made me feel good about liking it.

Musings During Church III

Today I sat in a pew for the first time in a long time. I think it was/is good for me to take a break from church, because now I come ready to listen and dissect, rather than just absorb.

This new approach lead me to wonder about several things. The first has to do with lyrics from a worship song. They say,

This is what it sounds like when you sing heavens song
This is what it feels like when heaven comes down
This is what it looks like when God is all around

I stood in a large auditorium, looking at a well-adorned stage of muted colors and expensive looking steel slabs, singing with other wealthy white people, away from sorrow or pain, always happy in this place because God is here and no one is sad when they know Him, ready to listen to a sermon (crossing our fingers for a video clip) and then head over to Chili's.

I had a hard time believing that the place I was standing was an accurate representation of what it looks like when God is all around. We weren't helping anybody. We were just making ourselves feel better. We were inwardly focused. I didn't like that.

And another thing--I wonder if we worship through song every week because it is viewed as the highest form of worship, and because it makes us feel more Christian. Because come on, we sing every. single. week. And all the songs are basically the same, pertaining to when they were written. The longer ago it was written, the more eloquent it is; the closer it was written to present day, it basically says "God is awesome and powerful and we love you!" Which isn't a bad thing, I just think we can worship saying other things to. For example, where are the lamentations? Where are the songs describing our pain and suffering? I don't think I've ever heard one sung in my church. We always talk about how we are broken people, yet all our songs seem like they come from the mouths of angels. Maybe I should write a song about the suffering of Christianity.

God,
You said to love the poor,
so I did and felt in danger.
You said to love my enemy.
So I was humiliated in front of my family when I didn't retaliate.
You said to give everything and follow you,
So I have pain in my stomach because I haven't eaten in 2 days.
You said to not conform to the world,
So I am more lonely than I've ever been.

Where is the Kingdom? It's here? Well, I couldn't tell,
because my head hurts, and my heart burns,
but you said the last will be first.
So I keep my mouth shut, hoping that one day you'll make things right.

It doesn't rhyme. Oh well.

Do you see what I mean though? We sing every week about the same thing. That has to have some impact on our idea of God and what is acceptable to Him.

I wonder what would happen if we had a Lament Day at church. All the songs are sad, the lesson is about hopelessness, and we cry together. I wonder what that would do for the church. I think it would allow us to become real to one another, instead of these fake plastic toys we are right now.

I realize that I am all criticism and no solution. I don't like that about myself.

When did sermons become centered around time? What would happen if a person had something to say, so they listed their three points, then sat down? Why does church have to be the same amount of time every single week? It is a product of time-centered America. We couldn't make plans if we didn't know when church was going to end, so we make church the same amount of time each week and mold it into another time slot in our day. I don't know if people could handle changing times of church each week. I don't even know what life would look like if everything wasn't centered around time.

Relationships

I was on my way to the dorm from the library with my laptop, a few movies, and a starbucks in my hands when I saw the sunset. I considered going on, but sitting outside, looking at the beautiful light seemed more appealing, so I sat down. Soon after, Jake came up and sat next to me. We chatted for a while, then I got to wondering. "I wonder how long we will be friends" I thought aloud. "For life," he responded. It's sad, but I will never be able to believe someone again when they say that to me. "Instead of wondering how long we'll be friends," I concluded, "I think it's better to enjoy the time we have now. To see it as a gift." "Agreed," Jake nodded.

And with that, I taught myself to view every relationship I am in as temporary, as short-lived, as ephemeral.

Manhattan

I guess I'm just not used to watching a film that has such a strong level of artistic maturity, so when I saw "Manhattan," Woody Allen's black and white wonder, I was repeatedly overwhelmed by the precision and confidence of Allen and Gordon Willis, the cinematographer.

The film begins with shots of the city with a voice over by Isaac, a perfectionist and (although it's too easy to say, it's true) a neurotic, working on the first chapter of his book about a man living in New York. Then we move into a scene with four people in a restaurant, Issac and his 17 year old girlfriend Tracy, and Issac's friend and his wife, Yale and Emily. The composition in this scene really affected me. The camera shot over the shoulder of Yale and Emily, looking at Tracy and Issac, and I don't know why I feel that this composition makes this scene one of the best dinner table scenes I've ever watched.

Another scene of beauty is at Issac's apartment. The entire scene is one shot, far away from the actors and never moving. On the right, a staircase leads up to a higher floor that leaks light into the room below. On the left, Tracy is lit, sitting on the couch. There is a room slightly behind her and to the right that is lit, and another room lit further right. Despite all this light, there is much darkness in the room. It's not foreboding or haunting; no, the darkness is nonthreatening and subdued. As Issac talks to Tracy, I got the impression that the filmmakers wanted to keep some distance between the characters and the audience.

Later, Mary, Yale's lover, is introduced. Immediately, it is obvious that she and Issac have complete opposite personalities. She finds all the art he likes to be bullshit, and she finds Ingmar Bergman, Issac's revered director, less than appealing. What doesn't make sense is that two people who have nothing in common would want to have a relationship with one another. Does that happen in real life?

The most powerful scene in the film comes when Mary and Issac stumble into the planetarium after being chased by an electrical thunderstorm. This whole scene shows silhouette shots of the two walking, discussing esoteric topics. But at one point, the two stop rather close the camera, although their faces cannot be seen save the outlines. Here, Mary expresses interest in Issac, but he refuses. The expression is subtle, the rejection equally as subdued, but I found it to be the most emotional scene in the film.

The plot develops as Mary and Issac become involved after Mary breaks things off with Yale, but then she realizes that she still loves him and starts it up again. Issac is devastated and meets with Emily. What's strange to me is how calm she is about her husband cheating on her. She says that she thinks people in marriages should be allowed a few slip ups or freebies, to paraphrase. Tracy expressed the same ideology. It seems that everyone in the film thinks that way except Issac, who, for whatever reason, believes marriage should be a closed deal, no cheating, nada. Maybe he feels this way because he has had so many bad relationships (2 failed marriages) and he knows that even one slip up can mess up everything.

In the end, Issac realizes that he loves Tracy and races to go catch her in typical Hollywood movie fashion. He catches her just before she leaves for the airport (she planned on studying in London for 6 months). Issac tries to convince her to stay, but she won't. He says that he loves her, he remembers that with her, he had some of the most relaxed and enjoyable times in his life. But she, strangely, shows the maturity and says that 6 months isn't so long. And if they love each other, it won't be that bad.

I don't understand the 42 year old--17 year old scenario. Was Allen just trying to depict a relationship that hadn't been explored before? In the final scene, Issac says that "I don't want that thing I like about you to change." Tracy sympathetically resonds that "not everybody gets corrupted. You have to have a little faith in people." I feel that that is an optimistic outlook on humanity, if anything. For some reason, I think I've heard people talk about Allen and say that he has all these questions about love and life, but never any answers. I feel like this is at least one answer. That people may change, but not always in ways that really matter.

The whole film was an homage to films from the 30's, as made evident by the scenes of overly playful music without any dialogue (him and his son picking out a toy boat, Mary and Issac coming out of a theater and arguing about what they think, etc).

I loved this film. I think I loved it because it was so well made, because I forgot that the actors were acting and that I wasn't watching a documentary. Because the emotions on the screen felt real. I think that should be the aim of movies everywhere.

A Late Reflection Pt. 2

Dear God,
My understanding of what it means to “follow” You is seriously convoluted and perverse, because I did not figure out how to do it on my own, but merely listened to what others told me. So now I resent anything that has to do with actions involved in following You in the aforementioned sense. It’s so fucked up right now, my brain is. I really want to love You and all that, but I don’t know how. And I feel that any step I make towards discipleship in the form of reading my Bible, praying, etc. is cheap, hollow, and corny. What is going wrong? What am I doing wrong, more likely? Give me a desire to read the Scriptures and an ability to learn from it what was intended.

It would be nice if I could go back to the time when I loved God, even if I never read the Bible or fasted or served. I FELT like I loved God. That illusion made life so wonderful.

Extreme Days

On Thursday, for the first time since leaving home, residing in a foreign city with strangers and unfamiliar customs and buildings, I felt at home.

For the past few weeks, I had been telling Bek that I wanted to watch "Extreme Days," the movie of our growing up years. I remember it being funny, and I wanted to watch something funny. However, while we watched it, I didn't realize that the film carried much more with it than just humor.

When we were in middle school, I had a group of friends. We hung out together, went to church together, and knew each other better than anyone else. The group consisted of Me, Hunter Watson, Chad Corley, Rebekah Edwards, Karlie Hatchett, and Sarah Winkler. We were average, church-going middle schoolers, and at that time I was a carbon copy of Hunter. We would often go to Bek's house to swim, watch movies, and eat food. It was a familiar place at which I felt comfortable.

One day, I don't even remember when, I brought "Extreme Days" to watch a Bek's house. My family owned the movie because my sister and her cool older friends watched it and loved it, so I thought it would be great. When we watched it at Bek's, we all loved it. So much so that we watched it again a few weeks later. The film became beloved in our group, an inside joke that gave us inside jokes to quote and laugh about. To this day, if I ask Sarah or Bek "is it on, or is it on standby," they will instantly start laughing. It's a classic.

Well, we got older, and we began to go over to Bek's house less and less, until we stopped going all together. Our group dissolved, morphed into other groups and eventually faded away.

Now to Thursday. It was only me and Bek watching "Extreme Days" in her room. I felt like we were the remnants, the only ones left from a group that no longer exists, as if we had survived or something. As we sat on her bed, the movie started, and we watched with glee how funny the movie still is, even though we are older. I was surprised to find that the character Matt is one of the funniest characters I have seen on film anywhere. He is hysterical. Everything he says made me crack up. Even thought the movie is terribly made, it still had a place in my heart, even after all these years.

As each scene played out, it would jump into my memory seconds before it came on screen. I would remember each scene right as it started, and I would remember the humor with fondness. I found that "Extreme Days" is a part of my past that I don't resent, but actually draw joy from. "Extreme Days" makes me feel like I am home.

Along with the feeling of belonging, the film actually presented a point of perspective for me. One of the main characters, Brian, makes a move on the girl character, and she gets spooked and leaves for home. Brian's brother Will finds Brian in shambles, eating his weight in donuts. Will says something that is probably really cliche, but I haven't heard it that often and it makes sense to me. He says that "Jesse [the girl] was given to us as a gift," as if the time in which she was with them was limited from the start, and that every moment she is with them does not guarantee another. I think that's how we should view every relationship. Things change, and people leave, and the world doesn't stop for anybody, and we should learn to use that as motivation and insight, not depression. Picking someone at random, if I lose contact with Jake and don't speak to him for years on end, I need to realize that his presence in my life was a gift, and that I should cherish the time and experiences I had with him. I think this makes each relationship, each encounter more meaningful and precious.

All I know is, I feel at home now. Which is good, I guess. Haha.

Therepy

There are some songs that go along with your changing life that provide the melodies and crescendos of your spinning, hurtling world that will never be like it's former self. Songs that make you feel like you're making progress, that each step is a step of victory and advancement and change. Songs that make you feel like you have so much more to live and to live for, as if the life you lived no longer holds onto you because you have learned to accept that things will never be what they once were and that life is not worth wasting through nostalgia and memories and thoughts that get you nowhere but down. Those songs. They make you feel uncontrollably, wildly alive.



Don't worry, I'm not forgetting about you all. Only her.

Filmfest

On Saturday, November 5th, 8 men from ACU came together to create a film in 24 hours to compete in the ACU 24 Hour Film festival. Here it is.



On Friday afternoon, the day before the competition, I asked around to see if anyone in Abilene had a boom pole, a necessary tool if we were to shoot audio in the short film. Uncle Jim called a guy he knew and asked him, and the guy said he did. So I contacted him and got the address of his business where the pole was located and headed over. Come to find out, the guy thought I meant mike stand, not a boom pole. So I got a mike stand. Awesome.

Anyway, 11:45pm rolled around, and I headed over to Jordan Havens' room, the RA of 1st north and the organizer of the Mabee Production team. At midnight we checked the ACU filmfest website for the control elements that had to be in our film and began brainstorming. 4 hours later, a rough script was ready. I went to bed to get 4 hours of sleep, trying to prepare for the day ahead.

8am rolled around, and I was less than excited (namely because I was so tired). I thought "we haven't done too much-we could just not make the film." But as I was thinking that, I got a text from Jordan asking where I was. I sighed and hustled downstairs.

Only Jordan and one other guy were in the room when I arrived, and we started talking about shooting schedule and locations. Eventually the whole crew dragged in and we were about to get rolling. The only thing was that our main actor Matt Varner was at breakfast. We texted him and told him he needed to hurry, and we headed to the library.

Our first location was in the downstairs library. The lights were off in the back part, and we thought it was a better location than a row over that was lit by florescents. Then we moved to Walling Lecture Hall, where several extras showed up. Then we went to the art building and shot the Frankenstein scene. After that, we headed over to my aunt and uncle's house, followed by Pam's Pets shop, then Monk's coffee shop. We had an hour break to get food, then we shot at Taylor Elementary, and finally the fountain downtown. Shooting was done, but editing was next.

I had a very difficult time trying to capture the tape, but eventually, eventually got it working. It had taken an hour to figure out, so now I was beginning to edit at 8pm. Jordan had some mysterious appointment and didn't return until 10pm. I wanted to be finished by 10:30pm to have more than enough time to export and upload, but I didn't end up finishing until 11:40pm. We had to have an email sent by 12am with the url in it. We clicked upload and it said 20 minutes. We freaked. As we got closer to the deadline, we began to panic more and more. As 12am clicked away, we were still not done.

We had ours submitted by 12:01:06. The committee gave us grace.

The whole time we were filming, I had a terrible feeling. I doubted that our film would be any good at all, and if it wasn't, Jordan would never want to work with me again, none of the guys on my hall would never want to work with me again, I wouldn't be able to get any actors ever again. Basically, I was not optimistic. But when the final cut had been made, I stood back and realized that we had created something of high quality. Our shots were magical. The plot was snappy. The film was enjoyable. We had done the only thing I cared about--we had made a film I was proud of.

The Godless Void of Safe

I felt like reading today. I had seen "Blue Like Jazz" by Donald Miller on the Paste best books of the decade list, which surprised me because I had heard of dozens of people who had read it. I thought I would be able to siphon some wisdom from it, so I borrowed it from Drew McConnell. In the crowded, bustling cafeteria, I read about Don's view of God when he was younger, how God was a wealthy man with a cheer leading daughter and a football playing son, a god who was affluent and respected like a proper Englishman. This got me thinking as I left the Bean--who/what do I think God is?

I think boys with high Nike socks, straight-billed baseball caps and lanyards swaying out of their pockets claim to know God, even when they joke with a neanderthalic cadence about jacking off or girls or sports or a number of other meaningless topics. But I don't think they know God.

I think middle aged mothers with short hair that just passes their jaw bone, pants reaching slightly above their waist, athletic shoes and cross jewelry claim to know God, even when they idolize their children and their husbands and live protected lives in protected homes, eschewing the hurting world because they'd rather read a Francine Rivers novel. But I don't think they know God.

As I walked through the courtyard composed of juxtaposed concrete and grass, I tried to think of what I thought of God, and if I even thought He exists. I took a seat on a swinging bench that faced another bench just like it and I asked myself if I believed God was sitting in the bench opposite me. I tried to make myself picture the invisible God, I tried to force myself to believe that He was there, but I couldn't. I didn't believe God was there, despite what I had heard all my life, despite his omnipresence, a phrase used by people that, I think, don't actually believe it. I didn't think God was there.

Now, I found that I didn't believe that God DIDN'T exist. I do believe that. I believe God is with people when they're hurting, when disaster strikes, when there is pain. I concluded that I don't believe God exists in the dull, plain, boring lives, the lives that aren't painful or sacrificing or unjust. Now I do believe there is pain in suburban, cultivated life, I just don't think it's real pain. Oh no, my Mercedes Benz just got rear ended and I don't have enough money to pay for the repairs because I just bought Dallas Cowboys season tickets. That's not pain, at least not in my eyes.

I discovered that I believe God only exists in places where there is pain. But I just thought about that and remembered festivals and parties in the Bible where people were rejoicing because God delivered them, like the Israelites. I believe God is there too. I guess I don't believe God is here because I don't need Him. I don't. I can survive, going to school, hanging out with friends, watching movies, and never talk to Him, never read the Bible, never do anything religious. Millions of people have lived this way, I have lived this way. It is possible to survive without God. Now, before all you protective Christians rise up and yell that without God, the universe wouldn't be spinning and everything would dissolve into chaos and whatever, I know. I have this contradiction going on in my brain where I both realize that God maintains the universe and keeps life existing; but on the other hand, I feel as if He is strangely removed from the people who don't want anything to do with Him because their lives are fine without Him. And without Him, I mean people actively participating in religious activities (reading the Bible, praying, etc). Why pray to God when everything is peachy keen already? Why act like you need God when you really don't see a need for Him?

This is where I am, living a life that is protected enough that I don't need God. I don't need deliverance from poverty or hunger or pain or terror. I know that I can feed myself for the next month if I had to. I can even go and see a movie that I know nothing about save that critics say it is next year's Best Picture winner, and not worry about having enough money for necessities. I am safe. That's the problem. I have no need for God.

I was just blindsided by the idea that fasting is an immediate way to force yourself to realize that you need God. You need His help because otherwise you're going to vomit because you're so hungry. But is that how it's supposed to be? We live lives that don't need God, so we have to fast in order to conjure up a reason to need Him? That seems fake to me.

So God, that's where I am. I'm here, in a place where I don't think you exist. I ask that you put me in a position where I need you every day, that you show me how to be okay with this type of life, that you tell me what is right, or anything else. Because I haven't heard from you in a while, and I feel like you could tell me something important.

I'm Sorry I'm A Christian

A friend showed me this clip the other day, and I've thought of it often. This is Chris Tse, a slam poet who has caused controversy with this poem. He didn't intend for that though. He just saw the wrong actions of people who claim to be Christians but strayed somewhere. Before I saw this, I had similar thoughts to the ones he says.



There is so much wrong with us. When I walk past and interact with people who I know claim Jesus as their god, I understand an attitude that is no way compatible with Jesus' teachings. An attitude of arrogance, of pride, lacking empathy and lacking kindness. I see so many people who don't give a shit about anyone else, and they claim to love God above all else. Something's wrong. We've made it too easy. It's too easy to be christian, or at least to claim Christianity and pass off as one in this culture. There is no suffering anymore. We sit in our pews with our atomic family and our friends of the same skin color, singing songs about loving God and giving all we have, then we go out to eat while millions starve, we send our kids to private schools to protect them from the world we're supposed to help, we live in our own house, not knowing our neighbors because we don't have to depend on anyone else to survive. There is no suffering anymore. And yet, we're suffering because we don't know true Christianity. I often fear that the entire nation of America will stand before Jesus after having prophesied, cast out demons, and performed miracles all in his name, and he will say to us `I never knew you; DEPART FROM ME.'

We don't suffer, when suffering is the staple of our calling. That's messed up.

God, show life, true, real life, to the ones who are searching. Let them find the dusty, rocky road that leads to You while all the others are fascinated with the road lined with neon lights and fast food restaurants. Let those dedicated enough to endure suffering find You. And have mercy on the rest.


"I'm sorry that I only hang out with christian friends, and we do nice, christian things like pot luck dinners and board game nights while somewhere, a man beats his girlfriend again."

Cornerstone Pt. something: Does Technology Unite or Divide Us?

Today, I heard the best Cornerstone speech so far.

The speaker was Bill Rankin with the speech "Does Technology Unite or Divide Us?" He started out with a video, claiming that he couldn't make it to the presentation today, but a good friend of his who is big in technology and wears jeans, tennis shoes, and a black turtleneck would be speaking instead (Steve Jobs). I did believe him for a fraction of a second, hoping that Jobs would speak, not considering that ACU would have made a huge ordeal of it, announcing it and making him speak at chapel and whatnot. Nevertheless, Steve Jobs did not speak. Rankin did, dressed like Steve Jobs.

At the beginning of the speech, Rankin asked us to consider if technology unites or divides us. He talked about how technology can be used in two ways: competition or collaboration, showing examples via his power-point of the Native Americans and their spears being slaughtered by the Europeans and their rifles. He then showed us a clip from the 1992 film "Baraka," where a time lapse effect is used to speed up daily occurrences of people. We see humans in a factory rapidly constructing dozens of pieces of technology; we see people flooding in and out of subway stations, out of business buildings, so quickly and fluidly that it seems like a human river; we see thousands of eggs filtering through a conveyor belt, and we see baby chicks on a similar belt, being dropped from level to level, having their beaks burned off, and being crowded in a room with thousands of other chicks and chickens, all for the purpose of feeding our consumption.

It was at this point that Rankin phrased an idea that I will never forget. He said, "our lives are built on the blood of others." He talked about how we all have either an iPhone or an iPod, and that these wonderful devices were created by people in a factory with such terrible working conditions that some workers there thought it would be better to kill themselves than to continue working. He said that Americans consume 32 times more than the rest of the world (the stuff we consume that he was talking about, I'm not sure). And we do things just because we can. Our lives are built on the blood of others. We have so much, and most of us don't consider where it came from, who made it, how it got into our possession. To us, it began its real existence on the shelf of that store from which we bought it. Where did my bed come from? Where did the computer I'm typing on come from? Where did the food I eat come from? It's difficult to think about this because I have no starting point--I don't know how to make a shirt, so I can't picture someone making one. Maybe we've fallen so far because we no longer know what it takes to create the things we consume. I'm baffled--how do you even make a shirt?

Rankin showed us the dilemma of our consumption, and with that he showed us our responsibility. We can not merely consume and refuse to consider how it came to us or what affect it has on the rest of the world. For symbolic purposes, he had us turn our phones off for two minutes in honor of those who killed themselves at the price of our consumption. I had to remember how to turn my phone off because I don't do it often enough. While silent, I tried to imagine that I was one of the workers at the Apple factory who was about to kill themselves, to put myself into their mindset. I thought, "all this, so Americans can have something they don't need. Something so they can have fun." We have more money than most people in the world, and we need more things than most people in the world to make us happy. That's why Jesus said money and possessions are dangerous. Because the more you have, even more you feel you need.

However, Rankin showed us that there was hope. Technology is used for competition and consumption, but it can also be used for collaboration and restoration. He then showed us three clips illustrating how technology was used creatively to bring the world together, to share hope and beauty. The first was Playing for Change, where street musicians around the world played and sang "Stand By Me," which was recorded by a man who combined them all to make a beautiful song. Then we saw another clip, this one was of different youtube videos that had been spliced together to make a song, again beautiful. The third was a virtual symphony of voices, all singing one song to their individual computer screen. All of these videos had the theme that technology can unify to create something wonderful. Each left me feeling hopeful about art, as well as humanity.

This was the best Cornerstone speech we've had so far, because it both unmistakably reveals a problem, shows both hypothetical outcomes, and presents an optimistic hope in the future. I am left with a desire to do something, to take hold of the responsibility that comes with my lifestyle, and live responsibly. How do I do that? I think if I consider it long enough, and even ask God, I'll find an answer. I think God supports those trying to live with others in mind.

Understanding the Film

I'm reading a book called "Understanding the Film," a very helpful book for me, despite being written in the 70's. What it ultimately is teaching is how to watch film well. And the way to do that is to begin to perceive what you are seeing. Look at each scene, each picture that is shown to you, and question why it is there, what purpose does it serve.

Thanks to the coaching this author has given me, I've taken the idea of perceiving and applied it to life. I've tried to perceive so many more things than I normally do. And it takes effort. I have to consciously remind myself to do it, and then I'm tired afterward. It's a beatdown to live well.

Here are some quotes from the book:

Hollywood will continue to produce the kinds of movies we demonstrate that we want to see unless-or until- we demand something else.

"The task I am trying to achieve is, above all, to make you see." D.W. Griffith

Film shows us what it is like to be human.

Clever Title That I Can't Come Up With At The Moment

I'll forget about you long enough
To forget why I need to.

........

I felt a part of something today. I felt like I belonged to something important, something beyond my construction, something perfect.

That something was the night strike. Around 4:45 today, I was debating with myself whether or not I wanted to even go. I felt obligated, like I was becoming unwillingly tied down and shackled to an unwanted task. Looking back, I don't know if this was an evil force working on me or if I was just fearing intimacy. Because that's what the night strikes basically are. A group of people ride around and drop off food to people, all the while saying "God bless you" and making small talk while en route. I had decided that I wasn't going to go (because I'm in college, I can decide what I do and I do not do) and hung out in Drew's dorm room for a while. Later, I looked at my phone to check the time, and I was surprised to discover that I still had enough time to make it to the strike. Realizing this gave me some sort of emotional boost, and I headed out the door.

When I arrived at Love and Care, I walked up to see a bunch of unfamiliar teenagers loitering around the entrance. I knew they were college students here in order to earn service hours, because that was what happened last week. Strangely, I saw several people I have classes with. I saw Julie packing sandwiches and Janet loading the truck. As I walked through the door, David greeted me by name, and I patted him on the shoulder. It was then that I knew. I knew that I have started to become a part of a community of people who care about the same thing I do--serving and loving the poor. And what made it better was that I knew the routine. I knew that the ice buckets will go to Momma Jo and they go in the truck in the bottom sliding doors on the left. I knew the regular procedures, and all the other kids didn't. I know this is pride, but it feels good to know how to do something that others don't. Now, I'm not saying that I know everything about the strikes--by all means. I just knew a few things that made my knowledge greater than that of the others my age.

Anyway, preparations had ended, and I thought Audrey wasn't coming this week, but suddenly she appeared, we were prayed out, and everyone loaded into the truck and van. Today marked the first time that Janet acknowledged me. And not only that, she acted friendly towards me. I view Janet as the momma bear of the operation, probably because she has the strongest will out of any of the volunteers. It was nice to hang around with her in a fun way. That whole last paragraph didn't make any sense. I realize that. It's 2:45am. Cut me some slack.

I copied how Janet interacts with the people who come to the truck, and it made me feel more comfortable because I felt like I knew what I was doing. That was nice.

Overall, I felt as though I belonged. It was wonderful. I know for sure I will be going back next week. And the week after that. I'm beginning to care about the regulars at Love and Care. I think that's special, and holy.

Blankets

"Blankets" by Craig Thompson was the book that I needed to read at this moment in my life.

I was aimlessly wandering through Paste magazine's website, not looking for anything in particular, just something to occupy my mind. I stumbled upon "The Best Books of the Decade" list, and, seeing as how I love best of lists, I jumped on it. I didn't know most of the books, and the ones I did know I hadn't read, save "The Road," which was SPOILER number 2. I don't appreciate McCarthy's style of writing. It seems starch and unapproachable. I know he's supposed to be a talented and visionary author, but I just don't see it. Anyway, the list had titles that piqued my interest. First was "Middlesex," written by the author of "The Virgin Suicides." I wanted to read it because (here comes the logic) I liked the movie "The Virgin Suicides," and I assumed that a book by the same author would be good. We'll have to see.

The book that looked most interesting was "Blankets." The sparse description of it on the list informed me that it was A) a bildungsroman (my absolute favorite type of story) and B) a graphic novel. I had never read a graphic novel before, and I assumed it would be an easy read, like the comics. So later that day I made a trip down to the Abilene Public Library, picked up the titles (along with some movies. Come on, free movies? I'm not passin' that up), and went to find a place to read.

I ended up in the downstairs of the ACU library, in a secluded spot behind rows of shelves, a place where I can cease to exist to the rest of the world for a while and just read. I cracked open the book and before I knew it, I had read 50 pages. Graphic novels are easy to read.

I found that I saw my problems in the problems of the main character, Craig. While I don't share the experience of being bullied at school and church like he was, we both have overbearingly religious parents, both experience the same problems with religion, and both have loved and lost. It's strange how much of his experience in love was exactly like mine. I mean, come on--the girl he loved was named Raina!

Anyway, it felt so good to read a story about someone who went through what I am going through, to see the pain I feel in someone else's eyes. And, most importantly, to see how he survives, how he moves on. That was probably the most rewarding part of the book. To see what he does that helps him cope. He loved her so much, and yet found a way to handle the bombarding repetition of those feelings and live, painfully at first. That's important--it didn't end all at once. He had to go through thinking about her, yet knowing that he can't be with her. And finally, finally, he let's go.

"How satisfying it is to leave a mark on a blank surface. To make a map of my movement--no matter how temporary."

Years from now, if I want to remember how I felt today, I'll read this book again.

Landslide

Oh my god. That's it. I get it. I understand "Landslide." At least, the song perfectly aligns with what I think.

The landslide is life--people moving away, leaving each other, going to Florence, getting a job in Boston, you missing your chance, not seeing each other at a reunion, buying a new car, reading a book, all the things that make up the pragmatic, unflinching, ruthless, cold event of change, the subtle, unnoticeable, unalarming drifter that weaves in and out until the patters of our lives are no longer woven the same way.

She has been on the journey. She has finished the task. She "took [her] love and took it down," removed it from the high pedestal it was on. It no longer is the center of existence. She "climbed a mountain and turned around," she has complete the cycle of love and loss. She saw what she loved in the snow-covered hills, but life--the landslide-- brought it down. It turned the crystal-clear reflection of love into a shambled, crumbled mess of nothing.

And now she's looking back, seeing how she was "afraid of changing, because [she] built [her] life around you," a love. The singer has said this song is about her decision to leave a band--I think it is about someone moving on from love and encouraging the other to do the same. In this way, this double meaning, it is art.

She couldn't change, she was unable to make herself do it for so long, "but time makes you bolder, even children get older," she says. "I'm getting older, too." She is realizing that she has gained the ability to say goodbye.

And now, she turns to him. "Take my love, and take it down." Let go of what we had. Learn to live-- "climb a mountain and turn around." Go through the struggle, the pain of loving then having to let go. "And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills," she tells him, "the landslide will bring it down." Life will help you heal. If you still love me, it will fade. This is not an angry message or bitterness--this is the wisdom of one talking to a person she cares about and will always want the best for. And now, the best thing to do is let go.

I have never understood this song the many times I have listened to it. But today, for the first time, it all made sense.

Abilene Life

I spent the day walking around Abilene with my uncle's old film camera. This is what it produced. Enjoy.

Oh Man

God, being bold scares the shit out of you.

A Long December

Today I spent the day with Drew, and I found that my loneliness disappeared.

We planned to spend the whole day together, so I got to his house around 10 am. No sooner had I pulled up that I found a lanky, tall, joyful kid running to meet me from his house. We hugged, I said hi to his dad, we got into the car and drove around. We were looking for something to do, and our friend Ben didn't get out of football practice until 1, who we had planned on picking up. But we picked up Cassi instead (not saying she's a replacement) and went to see Sarah at her job.

I feel like today I played a greatest hits of my life.

Sarah works at Jamba Juice. I ordered a wheatgrass shot and we mulled around talking aimlessly but mostly loving seeing each other. After a while, we said goodbye and walked around. Somehow we ended up on a hill overlooking the freeway, and I took a picture of Cassi walking away from us.


The hill was more like a cliff, seeing as there was a sharp drop into a steep slope scattered with rocks and dandelions. We talked about God and art and the difference between paths and roads.

Then we picked up Ben, the most peculiar sophomore in high school in that he seems like he is our age and should be in college. I think his deep voice helps that. We drove back to Drew's house and chilled for a while, then Ben had to go to church at 4, so Drew and Cassi took him. I went home and slept for a while.

At 6, the dinner at Drew's was scheduled to begin. I arrived to find a few people on his sister's balcony, laughing and wanting to climb the room. As more people arrived then stopped arriving, we found that everyone was here, so we started to eat.

Basically, we just shared love with each other. We told stories and laughed and Jake put out a match with his mouth and was then dosed with water. I saw Mihir and Stephen and Matt Ryan and Jake and Drew and Cassi and Sarah and Ben Goff around a table, and I felt as though I was around people I knew. People I loved. People who knew me, even though I think I'm different.
These people hold as much of my past as I do. And it felt good to share a meal together.

Later, people left and we started to watch a movie, but we were interrupted when Drew's sister and friends came home from a volleyball trip. I saw Drew see his sister for the first time after being away several months, and now I think about the first time I saw my sister after she went to A&M. Separation makes people want to see those they cannot, and when they finally do, the moment is beautiful.

The group still at the house gathered around for what seems like now a grand finale to the day: Drew and I played several songs on the piano and guitar, respectively. "Landslide" was the first, and at least from my perspective, it was magical. We dimmed the lights so everyone was no one and the music was our only concern, and it was a beauty. I think God conducted my fingers along the steel strings, allowing me to play for everyone a song that holds magic within its melody. It was in the moment that I lost consciousness of all else that I found myself at home, among those I love and care for, no longer lonely.

Now, the others are gone. Everyone has left to attend to the duties that demand attention. Only Drew and I are left. He is reading a book beside me, unaware of how much peace I feel. I feel at home around him. I guess that's what it means to have a best friend, to be able to be with one another without saying anything, but knowing that being together is more than enough.

I have heard people talk about hearing a sermon they needed to hear, or read a book that spoke to them, and I never understood until now. I needed to be here today. And today, being with my best friend, made me not feel broken. I can only assume that God is here, sitting in the distance between me and Drew, showing us that this type of love and brotherhood and friendship is what was meant to be all along.

We listened to "A Long December" all day. It was perfect for the cool weather and the sunny drives. It was perfect for today.

The ACU Connection

This is exactly what I didn't want to happen.

I'm in math class, and my teacher said 'Ben, I know something about you. I played bingo with your aunt the other night, and my husband went to the church your mother's family went to growing up.'

Basically, I know your whole family, so now I know who you're supposed to be!

Damn it.

Love and Care

Yesterday, I went on my first Wednesday night strike with Love and Care Ministries. And although I felt awkward at the beginning (what's new), towards the end, I found that I felt more comfortable with the people I was with than I had in a long time.

A night strike is when a group of volunteers take sandwiches, cookies, drinks, and chips (all together in recycled bread bags) to homeless people. I know, sounds like service that's too good to be true. But it is real. It's simple, and it's real.

I arrived at the Love and Care Ministries headquarters around 5:20, not knowing what to do or where to go. When I walked in the building, a middle aged couple was stuffing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches into bags. Immediately I stereotyped them. The woman looked like every other upper middle class woman with her large hoop earrings and bedazzled belt. The man looked like the husband of that type of woman, just an average Joe who probably works for a bank or something. Anyway, I walked up, we introduced ourselves, and I started to help bagging. We started talking about where we were from, what school I go to, what church they go to, that sort of thing. All the while, a few other people trickled through the kitchen where we were working, loading things into a large moving truck. We finished bagging and started putting the boxes of food into the truck. While doing so, the couple and I began to talk about movies, because I told them that that's what I wanted to do. I found out that the couple loves old movies, but also watches recent, good films like I do, mainly because of the woman. Preparations wrapped up, and after sitting on the truck for about ten minutes, we had our group in a circle. There was a woman who looked 50-ish, had multiple piercings and tattoos, was tall and skinny. A man dressed like a full cowboy, complete with the hat, long white hair, beard, and boots and his (strangely) normal looking wife were talking with a man who was were what looked like a mechanic's uniform. I soon found out he was the truck driver. Then there was three girls that looked my age, one with braided hair, topped with a red raider hat. She reminded me of someone, but I cannot remember now who.

Anyway, we said a prayer, loaded up into the back of the truck (which reminded me of a rhote dang from Thailand, except bigger) and drove. We went to several different housing complexes and handed out food to people. That's it. We would ask their names, and the others in the group would ask if there was anything they could pray about for them. We went to a place under a bridge where 5 homeless people were, and some of the people in our group, the veterans I suppose, knew them by name. There was a lady with a dog whose name was the word for best friend in french; a man who claimed to be a part of the House of Yahweh; a man who kept reminding us that being homeless wasn't his thing, he was only in this situation for a short time; and two men who seemed normal as anyone else.

We went into a neighborhood, and as the wife of the cowboy prayed with one lady, another lady sprinted out of her house screaming "I need some of that too!", referring to prayer. A few of us intertwined arms and prayed for her, and cowboy's wife was positively stirred by this experience.

We brought food to a man named Mr. Jones, and while we were en route when his name was mentioned for the first time, I obviously sang the chorus of the song with the same name by Counting Crows. It was then that I discovered that Counting Crows were the bedazzled wife's favorite band. My respect for them grew.

All in all, as the sun set, I found myself at home with these people. We talked about small things that are inconsequential, but it didn't matter because we were doing exactly what Jesus told us to. I'm going back next week.