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.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
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
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