Friday, September 7, 2007
Missing out...
So, friends, I am sitting in my apartment feeling a bit melancholy. My family is heading on a vacation this weekend, and I'm missing out. My sister, her boyfriend, my parents and two of their friends are heading down south for a week at the lake. Alas, my job and lack of finances are keeping me here in LA. During my high school and college years, the family made an annual trek up to a small channel of lakes in Minnesota. Man, those were the days. It is my hope that in a couple of years the family vacation will include yours truly once again.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
My bad.
So, I was rather touched to know my MIA status was noticed and commented upon. Mad props to those who gave me crap for not blogging. Basically I've been busy and here's a brief re-cap of my life since vacation. I've been working crazy hours because I'm training some people and can no longer blog during my lunch hour (the Man keeps tightening his grip), I'm having a great time hanging out with friends, and am still trying to get the movie project off the ground. More exciting is that I had a revelation of sorts last week while talking to Jackson and will most likely be either going in a different direction in general or pursuing something different at the same time. A blog must be devoted to this, so I will (Yes, I will) do a post about that this week. In the meantime, here's a humorous quip from an email I sent to a friend today to tide you over. Some of you might relate...
At the age of 7, I began my illustrious baseball career by joining the prestigious cap league of Spencer, Iowa. Needless to say,the Lamplighter Motel baseball franchise was ecstatic to have a 2nd grader of my stature recruited to the team...OK, "assigned" is more accurate since teams were determined by neighborhood/geographic divisions. At a whopping 4 feet tall, weighing in at about 40 pounds, I was a force to be reckoned with. My father affectionately referred tome as "2-D" as I was not of sufficient weight to be on the 3 dimensional plane of existence. Oh, and if you think I have a fro now, you should see pictures of the 7 year old version of Craigeroo. At our first practice (during which I sported a pair of brown corduroys that I'm certain invoked severe jealousy among my teammates), my knowledge of baseball was not only showcased, but cemented for the year--nay, a lifetime. We had to pick our numbers for the fashionable Lamplighter Motel cap league shirts and, of course, the big time 4th graders got to pick their numbers first. Most of the 2nd graders were dismayed as all of the "good" numbers would be taken (#1, #2, etc.), and all were afraid they would be stuck with the cursed goose egg...well, all except Craigeroo. I quickly scribbled down my number of choice and handed it to coach Hart. After a quick double take and a knowing smirk, he nodded and put down #63 for star right fielder Craig Luttrell. To this day, the#63 remains close to my heart.
At the age of 7, I began my illustrious baseball career by joining the prestigious cap league of Spencer, Iowa. Needless to say,the Lamplighter Motel baseball franchise was ecstatic to have a 2nd grader of my stature recruited to the team...OK, "assigned" is more accurate since teams were determined by neighborhood/geographic divisions. At a whopping 4 feet tall, weighing in at about 40 pounds, I was a force to be reckoned with. My father affectionately referred tome as "2-D" as I was not of sufficient weight to be on the 3 dimensional plane of existence. Oh, and if you think I have a fro now, you should see pictures of the 7 year old version of Craigeroo. At our first practice (during which I sported a pair of brown corduroys that I'm certain invoked severe jealousy among my teammates), my knowledge of baseball was not only showcased, but cemented for the year--nay, a lifetime. We had to pick our numbers for the fashionable Lamplighter Motel cap league shirts and, of course, the big time 4th graders got to pick their numbers first. Most of the 2nd graders were dismayed as all of the "good" numbers would be taken (#1, #2, etc.), and all were afraid they would be stuck with the cursed goose egg...well, all except Craigeroo. I quickly scribbled down my number of choice and handed it to coach Hart. After a quick double take and a knowing smirk, he nodded and put down #63 for star right fielder Craig Luttrell. To this day, the#63 remains close to my heart.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Back In L.A., Itchin' to Blog
Yes, I am back. I had an excellent trip to Iowa, finished Harry Potter, and am ready to write another blog...almost. After I have collected my thoughts and settled back in, I will post a worthy post.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Homeward Bound...
Everyday's an endless stream
of cigarettes and magazines
And each town looks the same to me
The movies and the factories
And every stranger's face I see
Reminds me that I long to be
Homeward Bound
I wish I was
Homeward Bound
Home, where my thoughts escaping
Home, where my music's playing
Home, where my love lies waiting silently for me...
-Paul Simon
Indeed, I am heading home this weekend and am very much looking forward to a vacation. Going home is an interesting experience for me--much different than it used to be. Throughout college and even grad school I missed the "good ol' days" in Marshalltown. Those of you who know me well (all three of you reading this) know that I am prone to melancholy reflection, but perhaps not the extent to which it used to affect me. In high school I missed being a little kid. In college I missed high school. In grad school I missed college. Even though I knew that none of these previous time periods were the utopias I pictured in my mind, I idealized them nonetheless. For instance, much of my freshman year in college was wasted pining over my high school days, even though said high school days were filled with anxiety, unfulfilled romantic longings, and one awkward pubescent incident after another. I mean, come on! How great could high school really have been??? This "grass was always greener" mentality prevented me from fully appreciating my present situations. I was convinced I longed to be back home.
I finally turned the corner three years ago. I had been studying in Scotland for 9 months and had become rather homesick. I couldn't wait to get back home. As I was at a strange, transitional place in my life and didn't really know what to do with myself, I decided to stay in Marshalltown for the year. Why not? It was home. It was the place where I had acquired my fondest memories...but the utopia was no more. I soon realized that the attempt to relive the glory days was sad at best. I was a guy in his late twenties, living with his parents, and working a job that paid very little. It was the closest thing to a wasted year I've ever had and, God willing, ever will have. Needless to say, I was finally ready to get the hell out of there. And I did.
Having been away for a couple of years, I am now able to appreciate my old stomping grounds again. I look forward to visiting, but am ready to leave by the end of the week. I love spending time with my family, playing with Murphy (mom and dad's awesome dog), and the open landscape. I look forward to driving through the countryside and visiting with old friends (the few that still remain in town). Ultimately, however, Los Angeles is now my home. Although I am still prone to spells of reminiscence, I am investing my effort and energy in the present so that this time of my life will be, retrospectively, another one of those "grass was always greener" eras.
of cigarettes and magazines
And each town looks the same to me
The movies and the factories
And every stranger's face I see
Reminds me that I long to be
Homeward Bound
I wish I was
Homeward Bound
Home, where my thoughts escaping
Home, where my music's playing
Home, where my love lies waiting silently for me...
-Paul Simon
Indeed, I am heading home this weekend and am very much looking forward to a vacation. Going home is an interesting experience for me--much different than it used to be. Throughout college and even grad school I missed the "good ol' days" in Marshalltown. Those of you who know me well (all three of you reading this) know that I am prone to melancholy reflection, but perhaps not the extent to which it used to affect me. In high school I missed being a little kid. In college I missed high school. In grad school I missed college. Even though I knew that none of these previous time periods were the utopias I pictured in my mind, I idealized them nonetheless. For instance, much of my freshman year in college was wasted pining over my high school days, even though said high school days were filled with anxiety, unfulfilled romantic longings, and one awkward pubescent incident after another. I mean, come on! How great could high school really have been??? This "grass was always greener" mentality prevented me from fully appreciating my present situations. I was convinced I longed to be back home.
I finally turned the corner three years ago. I had been studying in Scotland for 9 months and had become rather homesick. I couldn't wait to get back home. As I was at a strange, transitional place in my life and didn't really know what to do with myself, I decided to stay in Marshalltown for the year. Why not? It was home. It was the place where I had acquired my fondest memories...but the utopia was no more. I soon realized that the attempt to relive the glory days was sad at best. I was a guy in his late twenties, living with his parents, and working a job that paid very little. It was the closest thing to a wasted year I've ever had and, God willing, ever will have. Needless to say, I was finally ready to get the hell out of there. And I did.
Having been away for a couple of years, I am now able to appreciate my old stomping grounds again. I look forward to visiting, but am ready to leave by the end of the week. I love spending time with my family, playing with Murphy (mom and dad's awesome dog), and the open landscape. I look forward to driving through the countryside and visiting with old friends (the few that still remain in town). Ultimately, however, Los Angeles is now my home. Although I am still prone to spells of reminiscence, I am investing my effort and energy in the present so that this time of my life will be, retrospectively, another one of those "grass was always greener" eras.
Monday, July 16, 2007
On Turning 30...
Yes, friends, today is the first day in nine years that my birthday means anything (well, maybe 25 since my car insurance went down). As I have a tendency towards melancholy reflection, I have tried not to ponder the ramifications of this day too much, but I do suppose some thoughts are expected/necessary. These are the random thoughts that are spinning in my head:
When my father was my age, I was a two year old and he'd been married for at least seven years. I know I am part of a different generation, one which procrastinates settling down, but I can't help feeling like I am lagging behind in the family department... especially since I have yet to have a relationship last more than a few months... and it doesn't look like this will be changing any time soon (sorry mom and dad, better look to your daughter for some grand kids).
I don't feel like I'm 30. Maybe it's always this way-- at 25 I didn't feel 25, at 20 I didn't feel 20, at 50 I won't feel 50, etc. I feel more mature than I did at 20, less apt to act rashly or run my mouth off without thinking, but I definitely don't feel like a full fledged adult at this point. I am finally starting to desire many aspects of adulthood however, though this might be by default or resignation. I wonder if you wake up when you're 40 and go "Oh, now I'm an adult. Cool."
I thought I'd be in a different place at 30. I guess I always assumed I'd be locked into a career, whether it be acting or whatever, and I also assumed I'd be married (this is the 25 and younger Craig talking). I am basically neutral on this position because at times I would like the stability, at others I enjoy the freedom.
In the past year I've started having those "I'm not getting any younger" feelings. These are accompanied by a frequent investigation of my hairline and a much more rigorous routine at the gym. I am, however, in better shape at age 30 than I was at 24.
I hope for a productive year. Hitting this milestone has motivated me to take advantage of all life has to offer--I no longer wish away time at any juncture...even when I'm bored at work.
I'm glad I'm in LA. Out here it's normal to be my age and single, unsettled and still searching. If I were any place else, especially back in the Midwest, I think I would be pretty depressed about my lot in life at this point.
I understand more than ever that appreciating the process/journey, while frustrating and difficult (particularly when I don't see the immediate results I desire), is tantamount to happiness and fulfilment.
On Turning 40..
My other damned knee isn't working properly now. I better meet a woman soon because this comb over isn't fooling anybody and my last visible ab is rapidly vanishing.
When my father was my age, I was a two year old and he'd been married for at least seven years. I know I am part of a different generation, one which procrastinates settling down, but I can't help feeling like I am lagging behind in the family department... especially since I have yet to have a relationship last more than a few months... and it doesn't look like this will be changing any time soon (sorry mom and dad, better look to your daughter for some grand kids).
I don't feel like I'm 30. Maybe it's always this way-- at 25 I didn't feel 25, at 20 I didn't feel 20, at 50 I won't feel 50, etc. I feel more mature than I did at 20, less apt to act rashly or run my mouth off without thinking, but I definitely don't feel like a full fledged adult at this point. I am finally starting to desire many aspects of adulthood however, though this might be by default or resignation. I wonder if you wake up when you're 40 and go "Oh, now I'm an adult. Cool."
I thought I'd be in a different place at 30. I guess I always assumed I'd be locked into a career, whether it be acting or whatever, and I also assumed I'd be married (this is the 25 and younger Craig talking). I am basically neutral on this position because at times I would like the stability, at others I enjoy the freedom.
In the past year I've started having those "I'm not getting any younger" feelings. These are accompanied by a frequent investigation of my hairline and a much more rigorous routine at the gym. I am, however, in better shape at age 30 than I was at 24.
I hope for a productive year. Hitting this milestone has motivated me to take advantage of all life has to offer--I no longer wish away time at any juncture...even when I'm bored at work.
I'm glad I'm in LA. Out here it's normal to be my age and single, unsettled and still searching. If I were any place else, especially back in the Midwest, I think I would be pretty depressed about my lot in life at this point.
I understand more than ever that appreciating the process/journey, while frustrating and difficult (particularly when I don't see the immediate results I desire), is tantamount to happiness and fulfilment.
On Turning 40..
My other damned knee isn't working properly now. I better meet a woman soon because this comb over isn't fooling anybody and my last visible ab is rapidly vanishing.
The Seminary Chronicles: In the Beginning (Conclusion)...
Sept. 2001: At 1:30 am, with our belongings securely stowed in our dorm, Jackson and I sat in a smoky Waffle House in Nicholasville, KY, dining on some much needed bacon and pancakes. It had been one hell of a day. We'd traveled over 650 miles to reach the place we would call home for the next several years of our lives, and a true sense of accomplishment resonated between the two of us. Excitement toward the possibilities that lay ahead overshadowed the grueling misadventures of the day.
Although we didn't realize it at the time, our somewhat auspicious adventures on that September day in 2001 would affect us in profound and unforeseen ways in the future. For instance, the maniacal blue tarp, which had single handedly stripped me of all hope, sanity, and manhood that day, would play a recurring role as tormentor throughout our time in Larabee-Morris Hall. No matter how many times we vacuumed and cleaned, tiny shreds of that god-forsaken tarp inevitably turned up in some nook and cranny of our domicile (perhaps it's most conniving feat was somehow turning up in Jackson's loofah). Even seemingly insignificant characters we encountered that day would play major roles in the future. The less than cordial girl on the phone? She turned out to be not so less than cordial after all. (She cordially married Jackson three years later).
For me, that day would mark the beginning of a series of very difficult lessons in my life; the first stages of a painful re-shaping of my understanding of God, myself and the world. It began the stripping away of many immature disillusionments, one of which being that God provides smooth sailing to those who obediently go to seminary, another being that those who are obedient necessarily go to seminary in the first place...
Although we didn't realize it at the time, our somewhat auspicious adventures on that September day in 2001 would affect us in profound and unforeseen ways in the future. For instance, the maniacal blue tarp, which had single handedly stripped me of all hope, sanity, and manhood that day, would play a recurring role as tormentor throughout our time in Larabee-Morris Hall. No matter how many times we vacuumed and cleaned, tiny shreds of that god-forsaken tarp inevitably turned up in some nook and cranny of our domicile (perhaps it's most conniving feat was somehow turning up in Jackson's loofah). Even seemingly insignificant characters we encountered that day would play major roles in the future. The less than cordial girl on the phone? She turned out to be not so less than cordial after all. (She cordially married Jackson three years later).
For me, that day would mark the beginning of a series of very difficult lessons in my life; the first stages of a painful re-shaping of my understanding of God, myself and the world. It began the stripping away of many immature disillusionments, one of which being that God provides smooth sailing to those who obediently go to seminary, another being that those who are obedient necessarily go to seminary in the first place...
Friday, July 13, 2007
The Seminary Chronicles: In the Beginning (Part 5)...
We had reached our destination and not a moment too soon (at this point my bladder was well beyond capacity). It had stopped raining and we were walking around the seminary campus looking for our dormitory. This should have been a relatively simple endeavor given the small size of the campus, but we were utterly clueless and the grounds were empty. Jackson finally spotted a solitary person on campus; a pretty young woman talking on her cell phone. (Hey, things are looking up!) We were sweaty and disheveled, so I don't know what I expected, but we got the impression the woman didn't take a liking to us at all as she merely shrugged when we asked her for directions.
We eventually located our dormitory, the illustrious Larabee-Morris Hall. We entered the lobby and found a host of young men gathered around a table engaged in a game of Risk. The RA greeted us with a friendly "Hey dudes", and gave us the keys to room, #310. After relieving myself (finally), we parked our vehicles as close to the door as possible and I began the arduous task of removing what was left of the tarp . After hacking away the conglomerate mess of duct tape and plastic with a pocket knife, I evaluated the damage. Surprisingly, most of my belongings were still in tact and not as damp as I anticipated. With new found hope and strength, we entered the side door.
My spirit immediately sank to new lows. Rather than installing an elevator, the engineers of Larabee-Morris Hall had seen fit to construct a narrow spiral staircase as the only means by which to reach the third floor. I was tired, I was pissed, and I now faced two hours of hauling my belongings up countless winding stairs. Could things possibly get any better? Of course they could. It was pouring outside again.
My first impressions of Asbury Seminary? Ungodly humid, void of modern conveniences, and desperately lacking cordial females.
We eventually located our dormitory, the illustrious Larabee-Morris Hall. We entered the lobby and found a host of young men gathered around a table engaged in a game of Risk. The RA greeted us with a friendly "Hey dudes", and gave us the keys to room, #310. After relieving myself (finally), we parked our vehicles as close to the door as possible and I began the arduous task of removing what was left of the tarp . After hacking away the conglomerate mess of duct tape and plastic with a pocket knife, I evaluated the damage. Surprisingly, most of my belongings were still in tact and not as damp as I anticipated. With new found hope and strength, we entered the side door.
My spirit immediately sank to new lows. Rather than installing an elevator, the engineers of Larabee-Morris Hall had seen fit to construct a narrow spiral staircase as the only means by which to reach the third floor. I was tired, I was pissed, and I now faced two hours of hauling my belongings up countless winding stairs. Could things possibly get any better? Of course they could. It was pouring outside again.
My first impressions of Asbury Seminary? Ungodly humid, void of modern conveniences, and desperately lacking cordial females.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
"When You Come Back Down"
Your memory's the sunshine every new day brings
I know the sky is calling, Angel, let me help you with your wings
When you're soarin' through the air I'll be your solid ground
Take every chance you dare I'll still be there
When you come back down
When you come back down
-Nickel Creek
I know the sky is calling, Angel, let me help you with your wings
When you're soarin' through the air I'll be your solid ground
Take every chance you dare I'll still be there
When you come back down
When you come back down
-Nickel Creek
The Seminary Chronicles: In the Beginning (part 4)...
Sept. 2001: It's raining and I'm pissed. We were lost somewhere in Kentucky (Jackson wanted to take the scenic route). I'd needed to take a leak for over an hour, a box of books was digging into my ribs and the tarp was now nothing more than a sticky, soggy mass of peeling duct tape and a few strands of blue tarp (my father's ropes were as solid as ever, big whoop). The sun had set an hour ago and the batteries were dead in my CB. To make matters worse, I'd never been on more winding, narrow roads in my life and I was certain my co-journeyman had no idea where we were going.
Through either intuition or receptivity to the murderous psychic vibes I must have been transmitting, Jackson wisely pulled over so we could briefly regroup. Although that still, small voice in my heart told me I should get out of the truck and talk to my buddy, the discomfort and frustration kept me firmly planted in my seat (man, why did I quit smoking?). Jackson sheepishly made his way through the rain to my window carrying the rain spattered directions his mom had given him. He grimaced apologetically as he looked at the pathetic bundle in the bed of my truck. The good news: We were only twenty miles from our destination. The bad news: We had to back track in order to find our way. Man I had to piss.
Through either intuition or receptivity to the murderous psychic vibes I must have been transmitting, Jackson wisely pulled over so we could briefly regroup. Although that still, small voice in my heart told me I should get out of the truck and talk to my buddy, the discomfort and frustration kept me firmly planted in my seat (man, why did I quit smoking?). Jackson sheepishly made his way through the rain to my window carrying the rain spattered directions his mom had given him. He grimaced apologetically as he looked at the pathetic bundle in the bed of my truck. The good news: We were only twenty miles from our destination. The bad news: We had to back track in order to find our way. Man I had to piss.
The Seminary Chronicles: In the Beginning (part 3)...
The trip was taking longer than expected and we had hit a couple of snags. There was ridiculous construction around Indianapolis and we had taken the wrong route. After retracing our tracks and taking the proper detour, we were almost positive we were on Interstate 65 South heading towards Kentucky. The major concern at this point, however, was the progressive disintegration of the tarp. Although our strategy of plastering the cover with vast amounts of duct tape had proven effective momentarily, it was proving to be a futile endeavor. It had gotten to the point where each stop involved a disheartened evaluation of the dilapidated tarp, followed by a shrug and more pointless application of tape (we were almost through the third roll). Thankfully Jackson was a constant source of humor as he assured me we'd be there in a few short hours. We removed as much of my luggage as we could and crammed the cab of my truck with the boxes of pictures, books, and clothes (Jackson even offered to take my CD binders in his Subaru). It was cramped and far from comfortable, but the adventure continued. Our hopes remained high; there wasn't a cloud in the sky.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
The Seminary Chronicles: In the Beginning (part 2)...
September 2001: After three or four rest stops (Jackson had a small bladder) and several games of "your car" (a cunning game of strategy in which one "gives" the most dilapidated car he sees to the other), we had crossed into Illinois and decided to grab a bite. I had already used up the roll of duct tape my father provided me in an attempt to stop the shredding of the tarp. It seemed like every time we stopped, a new section of the tarp was sporting a thin tear. I wasn't too concerned (the sturdy knots my father tied were invincible), but I didn't want my belongings flying out if the tarp retained too many holes.
So, after a quick bite at McDonald's (no time to lose--we had to make it to Kentucky by sundown), I ran into Wal-Mart to purchase another 2 rolls of duct tape. After a brief discussion, we decided that patching the holes was a failing strategy. The new plan of attack: cover that puppy. Jackson grabbed the roll, I grabbed the end of the tape, and we plastered the entire back portion of the tarp with poor man's plaster. It didn't look pretty (turquoise truck + blue tarp + duct tape = Clampet mobile, "your car"), but I was confident in our craftsmanship. With the wind at our backs, the journey carried on.
To be continued...
So, after a quick bite at McDonald's (no time to lose--we had to make it to Kentucky by sundown), I ran into Wal-Mart to purchase another 2 rolls of duct tape. After a brief discussion, we decided that patching the holes was a failing strategy. The new plan of attack: cover that puppy. Jackson grabbed the roll, I grabbed the end of the tape, and we plastered the entire back portion of the tarp with poor man's plaster. It didn't look pretty (turquoise truck + blue tarp + duct tape = Clampet mobile, "your car"), but I was confident in our craftsmanship. With the wind at our backs, the journey carried on.
To be continued...
Rant: This Movie Means...
My buddy Mike and I watched "Children of Men" this weekend. We are both of the opinion that watching movies should not (generally) be a passive experience, but rather one in which we actively examine the themes and ideas. As a Christian, I naturally look for or identify with salvific themes and experiences portrayed in film. Film is clearly a powerful medium as it stimulates in each of us emotional reactions to the experiences of particular characters and situations, which brings a sense of "sharing" in the art form. "I get that!" "I relate to that!" "That perfectly expresses what I felt when..."
All this being said...
It bothers me when people claim a movie is a direct allegory for a particular experience or belief. It's one thing to say that a film draws a parallel between (or clearly illustrates) a certain idea or experience; it's another to say this film is an allegory for this idea. Case in point: Children of Men. There are certainly parallels that can easily be drawn between the message of the film and faith. The main character is pursuing the boat "to the promised land" on pure faith. A child alone holds the key to the "salvation" of humanity. These are helpful themes to notice and my experience as a Christian will certainly evoke such messages.
Based upon a couple of articles I had read, however, some people remain convinced that this movie is actively and actually an allegory for these Christian stories. In other words, some are certain that the director was purposefully and intentionally using this movie to present the Christian story or ideas through allegory. It's not. I did not draw all the same conclusions about the movie's themes in the first place, but that's beside the point. Mike and I had our ideas, bounced them off each other, then watched the commentary special feature on the DVD. Unless you thought the director's vision revolved around the dangers of globalization, you were wrong.
Anyway, I'm not trying to be over critical. Part of the beauty of film is the fact that we bring to the table our own ideas and experiences and we connect with the art in a meaningful way. It's important to recognize salvific themes and indeed they are abundant. I just think it's crucial to extract these ideas as opposed to hoisting them upon or trying to hijack a film to fit our experience or agenda.
For a further thought: JRR Tolkien explicitly claimed his Lord of the Rings trilogy was absolutely not an allegory for WWII (the man apparently despised allegory), yet there are still those that remain unconvinced.
All this being said...
It bothers me when people claim a movie is a direct allegory for a particular experience or belief. It's one thing to say that a film draws a parallel between (or clearly illustrates) a certain idea or experience; it's another to say this film is an allegory for this idea. Case in point: Children of Men. There are certainly parallels that can easily be drawn between the message of the film and faith. The main character is pursuing the boat "to the promised land" on pure faith. A child alone holds the key to the "salvation" of humanity. These are helpful themes to notice and my experience as a Christian will certainly evoke such messages.
Based upon a couple of articles I had read, however, some people remain convinced that this movie is actively and actually an allegory for these Christian stories. In other words, some are certain that the director was purposefully and intentionally using this movie to present the Christian story or ideas through allegory. It's not. I did not draw all the same conclusions about the movie's themes in the first place, but that's beside the point. Mike and I had our ideas, bounced them off each other, then watched the commentary special feature on the DVD. Unless you thought the director's vision revolved around the dangers of globalization, you were wrong.
Anyway, I'm not trying to be over critical. Part of the beauty of film is the fact that we bring to the table our own ideas and experiences and we connect with the art in a meaningful way. It's important to recognize salvific themes and indeed they are abundant. I just think it's crucial to extract these ideas as opposed to hoisting them upon or trying to hijack a film to fit our experience or agenda.
For a further thought: JRR Tolkien explicitly claimed his Lord of the Rings trilogy was absolutely not an allegory for WWII (the man apparently despised allegory), yet there are still those that remain unconvinced.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
The Seminary Chronicles: In the Beginning (part 1)...
September 2001: My journey to Asbury Theological Seminary began on a sunny August morning in 2001. My father helped me load up my 1997 Turquoise Ford Pickup at 6 am and after several re-loads, I was ready to embark on an adventure. The bed of the truck was loaded to the max with everything imaginable: a small fridge, an entertainment center, a bicycle, you name it. Because I had to drive all the way from central Iowa to central Kentucky (a thirteen hour drive), dad tied a bright blue tarp around my belongings with yards of rope to ensure a safe journey. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. After a hug from mom and dad, I was off (I pulled out of the drive way with the Doobie Brother's "Listen to the Music" blaring).
An hour or so later, I met up with my fellow journeyman, Jackson, at our rendezvous in Eastern Iowa. My parents had supplied us with CB's so we could radio back and forth to communicate necessary bathroom breaks, point out particularly ridiculous vehicles to one another, and generally entertain ourselves with humorous observations and banter. We grabbed some breakfast, took some pictures so as to document the adventure, and got ready for the second leg of our journey. I needlessly checked the ropes my father had secured the tarp with (the man can tie a knot like an eagle scout), and made sure everything was in order, which it was...well, wait a minute. There was a tiny bit of fraying in the middle of the bright blue tarp where the corner of the microwave had left it's mark. Not to worry. Dad had supplied me with half a roll of duct tape just in case. After patching up the minor inconvenience, Jackson nodded his approval and we were off.
To be continued...
An hour or so later, I met up with my fellow journeyman, Jackson, at our rendezvous in Eastern Iowa. My parents had supplied us with CB's so we could radio back and forth to communicate necessary bathroom breaks, point out particularly ridiculous vehicles to one another, and generally entertain ourselves with humorous observations and banter. We grabbed some breakfast, took some pictures so as to document the adventure, and got ready for the second leg of our journey. I needlessly checked the ropes my father had secured the tarp with (the man can tie a knot like an eagle scout), and made sure everything was in order, which it was...well, wait a minute. There was a tiny bit of fraying in the middle of the bright blue tarp where the corner of the microwave had left it's mark. Not to worry. Dad had supplied me with half a roll of duct tape just in case. After patching up the minor inconvenience, Jackson nodded his approval and we were off.
To be continued...
Integrity
I've been pondering lately the importance personal integrity and how little I have thought about it. I am realizing the important role community plays in this aspect of life, particularly in the body of Christ. While I realize the potential danger in trying to live up to the expectations of others, here are my observations/thoughts on the matter.
It's much easier to let things slide when you're more or less on your own. In fact, it's often a matter of ignorance or, at least, routine. There are the obvious short comings and habitual sins that we become accustomed to--you know, things we know aren't good for us but become callous towards. There are other patterns that develop, however, that we are unable or unwilling to realize without the help of others. I have found that these negative aspects of my life are rarely brought to my attention verbally or directly, but rather through relationship and exposure to community at large (conviction by proximity, so to speak).
This is not a matter of comparing oneself to others. Perhaps nothing can be more damaging to relationships and self perception in general than measuring ourselves against others. Such evaluation/comparison inevitably leads to: 1. Feeling worthless (or at least inadequate), 2. Feeling superior (at least I'm not like that guy), or 3. A ridiculous cycle of self consciousness, jealousy and a feeling of isolation in the midst of community.
That being said, without relationships and and communal involvement, stagnation is quite often inevitable. I am challenged and encouraged by interactions with the people at my church. It isn't a matter of feeling a need to be like so and so in this way, or not be like so and so this way, but rather the experience of reciprocal learning as we walk through life together. Being around people I admire and relate to challenges me to be a better man. It forces me to examine my own integrity by addressing the question: Do I believe and act in the same way I present myself and, thus, how I am perceived? In many areas I know I do not, but community forces the issue for me. This is a good thing.
*Disclaimer: This post is not about worrying how we are perceived by others, but rather about how living in community helps us address and develop integrity.
**Final Disclaimer: Please don't hate me for writing this post. I know I don't write as clearly as Jackson and others. Man. I need to be more like them...well, at least I didn't write Left Behind.
It's much easier to let things slide when you're more or less on your own. In fact, it's often a matter of ignorance or, at least, routine. There are the obvious short comings and habitual sins that we become accustomed to--you know, things we know aren't good for us but become callous towards. There are other patterns that develop, however, that we are unable or unwilling to realize without the help of others. I have found that these negative aspects of my life are rarely brought to my attention verbally or directly, but rather through relationship and exposure to community at large (conviction by proximity, so to speak).
This is not a matter of comparing oneself to others. Perhaps nothing can be more damaging to relationships and self perception in general than measuring ourselves against others. Such evaluation/comparison inevitably leads to: 1. Feeling worthless (or at least inadequate), 2. Feeling superior (at least I'm not like that guy), or 3. A ridiculous cycle of self consciousness, jealousy and a feeling of isolation in the midst of community.
That being said, without relationships and and communal involvement, stagnation is quite often inevitable. I am challenged and encouraged by interactions with the people at my church. It isn't a matter of feeling a need to be like so and so in this way, or not be like so and so this way, but rather the experience of reciprocal learning as we walk through life together. Being around people I admire and relate to challenges me to be a better man. It forces me to examine my own integrity by addressing the question: Do I believe and act in the same way I present myself and, thus, how I am perceived? In many areas I know I do not, but community forces the issue for me. This is a good thing.
*Disclaimer: This post is not about worrying how we are perceived by others, but rather about how living in community helps us address and develop integrity.
**Final Disclaimer: Please don't hate me for writing this post. I know I don't write as clearly as Jackson and others. Man. I need to be more like them...well, at least I didn't write Left Behind.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Monday, July 2, 2007
Blogging is hard
So, a couple of my good friends blog consistently and always seem to have something interesting to say, whether it be some profound theological gem or some ordinary experience they can wax poetic on/about. Alas, I am sure I have had many such experiences in the past few days, but I am at a loss. Hence, in case this is interesting to anyone (or myself when looking back in a few months), here is a quick recap of my stellar weekend.
On Saturday night I went out in Hollywood with a couple of new friends. It was only the 3rd or 4th time I've been in Hollywood during the night time, which is ridiculous since I've been out here for over a year and a half. For some reason the place intimidates me or at least makes me uncomfortable. I just can't seem to compete with the trannies--they always have higher heels and prettier hair. Anyways, it was a lot of fun and not nearly as scary as I always seem to hype it up to be. We grabbed a beer and went to an improv show that one of our friends is in. Low key, good times, fears faced.
On Sunday I stepped up my involvement at church by handing out bulletins and shaking hands. It feels really good to become involved again, especially after a virtual absence from church for the past couple of years. It's always great to find out there are people you can connect with, even in Hollywood. I wish I would have become active at Ecclesia (the church) before now, but such thinking is pointless--rather, I am focusing on the thankfulness and excitement that comes with becoming integrated once again.
Random thought: I had a weird dream last night that I was going bald and had to shave my head. This probably means I've been spending too much time worrying about growing beyond my prime. Better buy some Rogaine just in case.
On Saturday night I went out in Hollywood with a couple of new friends. It was only the 3rd or 4th time I've been in Hollywood during the night time, which is ridiculous since I've been out here for over a year and a half. For some reason the place intimidates me or at least makes me uncomfortable. I just can't seem to compete with the trannies--they always have higher heels and prettier hair. Anyways, it was a lot of fun and not nearly as scary as I always seem to hype it up to be. We grabbed a beer and went to an improv show that one of our friends is in. Low key, good times, fears faced.
On Sunday I stepped up my involvement at church by handing out bulletins and shaking hands. It feels really good to become involved again, especially after a virtual absence from church for the past couple of years. It's always great to find out there are people you can connect with, even in Hollywood. I wish I would have become active at Ecclesia (the church) before now, but such thinking is pointless--rather, I am focusing on the thankfulness and excitement that comes with becoming integrated once again.
Random thought: I had a weird dream last night that I was going bald and had to shave my head. This probably means I've been spending too much time worrying about growing beyond my prime. Better buy some Rogaine just in case.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
I was an island...
I was told by nearly everybody that Los Angeles can be a very difficult place to make friends and find community. When I moved out here in late October of 2005, I thought this was apropos. I was embarking on a solitary journey that would provide plenty of alone time to figure out who I was. I was coming off a rough couple of years and I thought a bout of solitude would prove necessary and beneficial (I know, I know, leave it to me to move from the middle of Iowa to a crazy city to find solitude).
Truly though, I spent the first year virtually by myself every night, which might sound depressing or unhealthy, but I really believe it was necessary for me. After two years of serious spiritual and personal turmoil I needed to get away from everything I had become accustomed--everything that made me comfortable. Basically, I felt like a leap of faith into the unknown was crucial to my restoration as a man. Sometimes healing and growth can only occur when we are completely out of our element. I have never been an advocate of the "just me and God" mentality, but sometimes an extended stay in the valley is necessary for renewal (for those of you familiar with the San Fernando Valley, no pun intended). All that being said, I always had an amazing group of friends and family that supported me via phone on a daily basis, which kept me grounded. Although I experienced overwhelming anxiety at times, I never felt alone.
Anyway, what's the point of this story? Where's the payoff? These last few months I have seen and felt the need to become involved in community again, but my year as an island has made this difficult. I have felt extremely awkward around groups of people at times and have dragged my feet rather than jumping in. This past weekend, however, I attended a retreat in Santa Barbara through a church I started casually attending recently. I knew no one. While I have indeed made some friends out here and have been involved in some activities prior to this weekend, this was the first time I've been thrust into a situation like this in months. Although this proved challenging and extremely uncomfortable, it was the best thing I could have done. Not only did I meet some wonderful people that I look forward to investing in and allowing to invest in me, I was surrounded by believing people that share in a love of the arts. It is a remarkable thing to engage with a group that share both spirituality and creativity. I was blessed and am thoroughly excited about such a community.
Truly though, I spent the first year virtually by myself every night, which might sound depressing or unhealthy, but I really believe it was necessary for me. After two years of serious spiritual and personal turmoil I needed to get away from everything I had become accustomed--everything that made me comfortable. Basically, I felt like a leap of faith into the unknown was crucial to my restoration as a man. Sometimes healing and growth can only occur when we are completely out of our element. I have never been an advocate of the "just me and God" mentality, but sometimes an extended stay in the valley is necessary for renewal (for those of you familiar with the San Fernando Valley, no pun intended). All that being said, I always had an amazing group of friends and family that supported me via phone on a daily basis, which kept me grounded. Although I experienced overwhelming anxiety at times, I never felt alone.
Anyway, what's the point of this story? Where's the payoff? These last few months I have seen and felt the need to become involved in community again, but my year as an island has made this difficult. I have felt extremely awkward around groups of people at times and have dragged my feet rather than jumping in. This past weekend, however, I attended a retreat in Santa Barbara through a church I started casually attending recently. I knew no one. While I have indeed made some friends out here and have been involved in some activities prior to this weekend, this was the first time I've been thrust into a situation like this in months. Although this proved challenging and extremely uncomfortable, it was the best thing I could have done. Not only did I meet some wonderful people that I look forward to investing in and allowing to invest in me, I was surrounded by believing people that share in a love of the arts. It is a remarkable thing to engage with a group that share both spirituality and creativity. I was blessed and am thoroughly excited about such a community.
A New Era...of sorts
So, I guess it takes me a year or so longer than most of my friends to catch up with the times. I suppose this fact is apparent by how I dress, the catch phrases I use, and basically any other trend I'm behind on, so I guess it follows suit that I would be the last one to start a blog. I think two childish factors contributed to my decision to begin a blog: 1.) I am generally a jealous person and felt left out, and 2.) My father recently discovered text messaging (if he can adapt, so can I). Perhaps more than these contributing factors, however, I think I might actually have something of interest to say. After all, living in Los Angeles provides plenty of perspective and humorous tid bits that some might find enjoyable. If nothing else, I've wanted to start a journal for quite some time and this seems to be an effective medium through which to keep those I care about informed.
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