157 bones to pick (part 2)

(for part one, see blog 154)

I'm trying to piece together my beliefs and it's not an easy thing so I decided to start with what was easy: complaining. Here's a few more specks of discontent:

3. Conformity
The Bible says that God reveals aspects of himself through his creation (Romans 1:20). As such, if there's one thing that's abundantly clear from the universe he created, it's that he loves variety. Clouds, colors, insects, animals, minerals, emotions, tastes, smells - the world is awash in variety. And if there's one conclusion to be drawn from the diversity we find in nature, it's that God loves variety. But you'd never know it by looking at most Christians in most churches.

And yes, there are exceptions but exceptions do not make the rule. And yes, look closely enough and every believer is an individual, no two snowflakes alike and all that. Granted, every snowflake might be unique, but they're all still SNOWFLAKES. And that's how it is with so many Christians. Yes, ask them specific questions and you'll get specific answers but as a whole, it's still mostly snowflakes.

What I mean to say is, there's a kind of group-think conformity that permeates much of evangelical Christianity ( as well as other Christian groups), and to a degree, that's natural because birds of a feather. . . But just because it's natural doesn't mean it's right or that it's the way things ought to be.

For so many years, being in church felt like being in a kind of creative prison. I was never able to fully express my unbridled thoughts. I remember once I was working for a church and one day at work I was working on a screenplay or something and there was a bit of dialogue where one of the characters swears. And my pastor comes walking by, reads over my shoulder, points to the word, "shit," and says, "well now that's a nice word isn't it?" Well, yes it is a nice word if it's being spoken by a non-christian character who happens to swear.

With criticisms like that, it's no wonder we have such lame art (especially movies, although there are a few exceptions).

Anyway, my point is that so many times as a Christian, I felt like the leaders around me were trying to push me into these tiny boxes. It's like in Bible classes before church where as a kid, the answer to every question the teacher asks is either, "pray" or "read your Bible"

To be continued...

156 questioning my conservativism

Two friends of mine, Blake and Christine, just came back from a trip to New Orleans where they went to help with the clean up effort. Lots of gnarly stories about devastation and corruption and hopelessness. And here's the bit that surprises and saddens me. My first reaction is blame - I blame the people for not getting out when the warnings went out, I blame the governor and the mayor for talking too much and not doing enough, I blame the police force for their corruption.

And then it struck me. These questions come out of a mind that leans right politically. And it saddens me because they're elitist questions asked from the comforts of Hawaii. And all that blame does nothing to help those affected by Katrina. And I wonder what other insensitive, reactionary tendencies I've developed as a conservative.

It's all very confusing to me because from the moment I was introduced to conservative ideology, it made sense to me and I started reading books (Limbaugh, Cal Thomas, Bernard Goldberg, Laura Ingraham, Bill O'Reilly, and others) and I built up a world view that toed the party line. And that's not entirely a bad thing because it did get me to start thinking about government and social issues whereas before I was blissfully ignorant of what was going on around me, but now I'm starting to question elements of conservative group-think.

See, it saddens me that my first reaction is blame and a cynicism centered around racial and class stereotypes. And stereotypes aren't the product of spontaneous generation, they come from somewhere and in my case, I think a lot of mine came out of what I had learned from conservatism.

And so now I'm a bit confused. I don't want to simply jettison my conservative beliefs, but I don't want to turn into an insensitive, conservative blowhard.

Anyway, it's almost 11:30pm and I've got to work tomorrow at 6am which means I have to get tup at 4am in order to have enough time to shower, shave, and make lunch.

More thoughts soon.

155 all I have...

You know, I started out writing a blog about why I'm a Christian despite the fact that I've got issues with God and his church. But I quickly ran into a brick wall. See, that's part of what I'm trying to figure out. In point four of blog 153, I talked about how I'm trying to figure out what I believe and how that belief affects the way I live. I'm not really ready to lay out reasons for why I'm a Christian, and I suppose that should be a scary place to be...but I'm not scared.

See, even if I can't explain it and even if it's never explained to me, I know I'll still believe in God and his son Jesus. I know I'll still be a Christian, even if I'm a poor representative. And it seems odd to me that I can't really articulate why that is. I mean, I've been in church almost all my life so I've got lots of handy, dandy religious phrases in my pocket that I can put on display, but I'm tired of pulling from that deck of cards, and besides, it's not my deck.

What if I were to jettison all of the religious terminology I was raised with and tried to articulate the reasons I choose to live as a Christian. What would I say?

1. It's all I have.
Truth be told, this may be the most honest answer I can give at this point in my life. It's not very compelling and it's not as sexy as those God-delivered-me-from-drug-addiction testimonies. Frankly, it's kind of embarrassing. But it also happens to be true.

I don't know any other way to live, and even though some might say I'm missing out on a world of experiences (sins, to resort to a religious term), I couldn't do it. I can't just stop believing that sex outside of marriage is wrong or that doing the right thing even when no one is watching is still the right thing. The commandments, the rules, the guidelines in the Bible are so woven into who I am that I doubt I could just drop them.

But why not? What would keep me from just going out and getting laid (apart from the fact that I don't have a girlfriend and that I know about as much about seduction as a tree knows about algebra)? Let's say that right now my cell phone rang and on the other end was some other Christian girl I used to know who decided that fornication wasn't a sin anymore and that she wanted to exercise her newfound freedom with me. Why wouldn't I go?

(Just to clue you in, I'm staring at that question, trying to come up with an answer. I've been trying to figure out what to write for about fifteen minutes now, and it's not because I'm trying to think up a reason not to go and sleep with this woman, it's the opposite. I'm trying to figure out why it is that I wouldn't...because I wouldn't...but I'm not sure why.)

You know, I can't explain it, but I just wouldn't go. It would be like me trying to do something just completely out of character and against my instincts - like trying to gnaw one of my fingers off. And I don't want to make a huge deal of this as if I'm all smug and self-righteous. I like to think I know what I'd do in some racy situation, but I don't, but I'd like to think that I'd resist the temptation and walk away. But why would I do that? And again, in my mind, that's just not done. It's wrong and I don't want to do it.

And back to my original point (that Christianity is all I have), living without rules would be a kind of chaos for me. I need the structure and order and stability that the Bible provides, because, for me, a world without borders is wooly, uncharted wilderness. And I don't want to go there.

Call it a crutch, call it a cop out, call it whatever you want. It may be all that I have, but it's also something I need.


There are more reasons I want to write about but it's late and I've got work tomorrow. This is turning out to be a really interesting exercise.

154. bones to pick (part 1)

So I have this disjointed faith that I'm trying to piece together (see point four from blog 153). And I'm not sure where to begin, so I'll begin with what comes easy: complaints. I've got some bones to pick with the key figures of my faith (God and church) and maybe I could start by just listing a few of them. And I'll start with...

1. Relationship.
Everywhere in the church, there's all this talk about a relationship with God. It's as if some people have God's unlisted cell phone number and chat away their unlimited minutes. I don't have that number. See, in my understanding of relationship, one of the key elements is communication and communication implies a two way interaction. I ask a question, the other party answers. I make a comment, the other party agrees or disagrees, discussion ensues, and relationship happens.

Now I can only speak for myself, but 99 percent of the time I try to have a conversation with God, it's a one way deal. And yes, I try to wait and listen and I try to have faith that I'll "hear" something but it's usually just crickets and passing cars. And yes, I read the Bible and I love the stories and the strangeness and the odd ways God interacts with his created, but that's not exactly a reply. I mean if I ask, "why am I still single?" I'll open up to where I'm reading in the Gospels (I'm working through Mark right now) and watch Jesus debating with religious officials. And the one seems to have little to do with the other.

And it wouldn't be so bad if there were more Christians talking about struggling with relationship issues when it comes to God, but I don't hear it. Instead, I hear stories like, "God told me to do this and that and then the other thing worked out in a miraculous way." And I hear phrases like, "Christianity isn't a religion, it's a relationship." And then I wonder what I'm doing wrong...well, I used to wonder, now I just accept that I was born with broken spiritual antennae.

But then without the element of relationship, how can you have...

2. Love
Do I feel loved by God? Well, if I say, "no," then I'm an ungrateful, insensitive bastard right? And while I agree with the insensitive accusation (see blog 148 and point number one above), I take issue with being called ungrateful. I know God performed an act of unimaginable humility by squeezing his power and infinity and his wildly creative will down to the size of a human being in the man Jesus. And then this man Jesus lived a pure, more than generous life and let himself be crucified in place of a murderer (see Matthew 27:15 - 26). He lived his life trying to spread love and in return was given bloody, vile, injustice.

I understand that God did those things for me. I believe them to be true, that they really happened 2000 years ago. But this is something I know and understand in my head. Somehow it doesn't make its way down to my heart. And I want to know God in both places, both my head and my heart.


Okay, that's all for now. I'll try to continue this list in the next couple days. In the mean time: questions? comments? kudos? cash?

153. five thoughts on a Monday night

1. I have a kind of a head ache. More accurately, it's the aftermath of having all four wisdom teeth pulled last Wednesday. The upper left hand side of my mouth hurts every time I swallow and the lower right hand side of my mouth hurts when I eat. And even when I'm not eating or swallowing, it still sort of pulses. When I go to sleep I can count my resting heart rate by the throbbing in my mouth. I know that's not really a headache, but my mouth is in my head and my mouth is aching so it's still a headache right?

2. I'm on a diet. It's called the pull-your-wisdom-teeth diet. I love to eat, but I hate pain more. And it sucks the way rice and other little pieces of food get caught in the holes. And then it sucks trying to figure out if there's really something stuck in there or if it's just my imagination - hard to tell through the ache. The dentist gave me this odd looking syringe thing that's supposed to help me wash out the back of my mouth, but gargling seems to work better. And when I'm chewing my food, it feels like everything is getting crammed into those orifices and I get all paranoid and so I don't want to eat.

It's a very effective diet.

3. In lieu of a girlfriend, I've been buying books (and actually trying to finish them). Two new titles that I'm especially excited about:

_The Rapture Exposed_ by Barbara R. Rossing. It's about how the view of Revelations and the end times made popular by authors like Tim LaHaye (_Left Behind_ books), Hal Lindsey (_The Late Great Planet Earth_), and others. I've always had suspicions about the whole "rapture" idea, and this book seems to be all about dismantling that idea, returning us to a more hopeful, more constructive (and a more accurate) reading of Revelation.

_The Great Giveaway_ by David E. Fitch. The subtitle says it all: Reclaiming the mission of the church from big business, parachurch organizations, psychotherapy, consumer capitalism, and other modern maladies. Personally, I'm not so sure parachurch organizations and the advances of psychotherapy are such bad things but I am very interested to see what Fitch has to say about how the church has sold itself out to the voracious consumeristic culture that's overtaking the world like so much Kudzu.

4. It's a long time coming and I think I have a long ways to go still (maybe a lifetime's worth), but I'm trying to piece together my own belief system when it comes to God and Jesus and the church and culture and community and how all those things are supposed to work. I have lots of disjointed, fragmented ideas, and I'm trying to piece them together into a coherent whole, something I can use to structure my life, something that's useful, and positive, and culturally subversive. I want to know what the Kingdom of God looks like and I want to know how to get the world under its umbrella.

In short, I want to have a belief/faith system that I can be excited about instead of one that I'm ashamed of, which is kind of what I have right now.

5. As you can see, lots of ideas running through my head. I'm hoping to blog about them individually in more depth soon. And I'm also hoping to get busy writing some new stories (and editing some of my old ones).

152. for a friend...finally

A friend of mine wrote an especially brutal, transparent blog. She talked about a time when she was at spiritual rock bottom and how God found her there - poked his head in out of the blue, unexpected but not unwanted (welcome, in fact).

Anyway, reading that blog reminded me of the introduction (what she calls an Overture) to Anne Lamott's amazing book, _Traveling Mercies_. I told this friend of mine that I'd share this introduction but I've been unable to because I've either lost the book or loaned it out to someone who hasn't returned it (if this is you, keep the book because...). So I was at Borders today and bought another copy. It's one of those books I just have to have on hand, like a security blanket.

In this introduction (sorry, Overture), Lamott talks about how she came to accept Christ into her heart. It's the most hilarious conversion story I've ever read. You'll see.

I only share the section where she accepts Christ. There's lots of stuff that comes before and a bit more stuff that comes after, and then the book really begins. Buy this book! You won't be disappointed. If you are, I'll buy your copy off of you.

Oh, and I don't know if the publishers have little bots that scurry around the internet looking for posts like these, posts that lift reams of text from copyrighted books without asking permission. Read it while you can and if you know someone who knows someone who might know someone associated with the book in some business-like fashion, please don't tell.


Flea Market

In the dust of Marin City, a wartime settlement outside Sausalito where black shipyard workers lived during World War II, a flea market was held every weekend for years. In 1984 I was living in a mother-in-law unit on a houseboat berthed at the north end of Sausalito, on San Francisco Bay. I was almost thirty when I moved in, and I lived for the next four years in a space about then feet square, with a sleeping loft. I had a view of the bay and of Angel Island. When it was foggy, San Francisco across the water looked like a city inside a snow globe.

I got pregnant in April, right around my thirtieth birthday, but was so loaded every night that the next morning's first urine was too diluted for a pregnancy test to prove positive. Every other day, Pammy (her best friend), who still lived in Mill Vallley with her husband, would come by and take a small bottle of pee to the lab that was near her home. I did not have a car. I had had a very stern conversation with myself a year before, in which I said that I either had to stop drinking or get rid of the car. This was a real no-brainer. I got around on foot, and by bus and friend.

The houseboat, on a concrete barge, barely moved even during the storms of winter. I was often sick in the mornings. On Weekdays, I put coffee on, went for a run, took a shower, had coffee, maybe some speed, a thousand cigarettes, and then tried to write. On weekends, I went to the flea market.

[I'm taking out a large chunk of text where she talks about the flea market and how through this flea market she finds a small church. It was the singing that drew her in, but only as far as the doorway.]

Eventually, a few months after I started coming, I took a seat in one of the folding chairs, off by myself. Then the singing enveloped me. It was furry and resonant, coming from everyone's very heart. There was no sense of performance or judgment, only that the music was breath and food.

Something inside me that was stiff and rotting would feel soft and tender. Somehow the singing wore down all the boundaries and distinctions that kept me so isolated. Sitting there, standing with them to sing, sometimes so shaky and sick that I felt like I might tip over, I felt bigger than myself, like I was being taken care of, tricked into coming back to life. But I had to leave before the sermon.


That April of 1984, in the midst of this experience, Pammy took a forth urine sample to the lab, and it finally came back positive. I had published three books by then, but none of them had sold particularly well, and i did not have the money or wherewithal to have a baby. The father was someone I had just met, who was married, and no one I wanted a real life or baby with. So Pammy one evening took me in for the abortion, and I was sadder than I'd been since my father died, and when she brought me home that night, I went upstairs to to my loft with a pint of Bushmills and some of the codeine a nurse had given me for pain. I drank until nearly dawn.

Then the next night I did it again, and the next night, although by then the pills were gone.

I didn't go to the flea market the week of my abortion. I stayed home, and smoked dope and got drunk, and tried to write a little, and went for slow walks along the salt marsh with Pammy. On the seventh night, though, very drunk and just about to take a sleeping pill, I discovered that I was bleeding heavily. It did not stop over the next hour. I was going through a pad every fifteen minutes, and I thought I should call the doctor or Pammy, but I was so disgusted that I had gotten so drunk one week after an abortion that I just couldn't wake someone up and ask for help. I kept on changing Kotex, and I got very sober very quickly. Several hours later, the blood stopped flowing, and I got in bed, shaky and sad and too wild to have another drink or take a sleeping pill. I had a cigarette and turned off the light. After a whiile, as I lay there, I became aware of someone with me, hunkered down in the corner, and I just assumed it was my father, whose presence I had felt over the years when I was frightened and alone. The feeling was so strong that I actually turned on the light for a moment to make sure no one was there - of course, there wasn't. But after a while, in the dark again, I knew beyond any doubt that it was Jesus. I felt him as surely as I feel my dog lying nearby as I write this.

And I was appalled. I thought about my life and my brilliant hilarious progressive friends, I thought about what everyone would think of me if I became a Christian, and it seemed an utterly impossible thing that simply could not be allowed to happen. I turned to the wall and said out loud, "I would rather die."

I felt him just sitting there on his haunches in the corner of my sleeping loft, watching me with patience and love, and I squinched my eyes shut, but that didn't help because that's not what I was seeing him with.

Finally I fell asleep, and in the morning, he was gone.

This experience spooked me badly, but I thought it was just an apparition, born of fear and self-loathing and booze and loss of blood. But then everywhere I went, I had the feeling that a little cat was following me, wanting me to reach down and pick it up, wanting me to open the door and let it in. But I knew what would happen: you let a cat in one time, give it a little milk, and then it stays forever. So I tried to keep one step ahead of it, slamming my houseboat door when I entered or left.

And one week later, when I went back to church, I was so hungover that I couldn't stand up for the songs, and this time I stayed for the sermon, which I just thought was so ridiculous, like someone trying to convince me of the existence of extraterrestrials, but the last song was so deep and raw and pure that I could not escape. It was as if the peole were singing in between the notes, weeping and joyful at the same time, and I felt like their voices or something was rocking me in its bosom, holding me like a scared kid, and I opened up to that feeling - and it washed over me.

I began to cry and left before the benediction, and I raced home and felt the little cat running along at my heels, and I walked down the dock past dozens of potted flowers, under a sky as blue as one of God's own dreams, and I opened the door to my houseboat, and I stood there a minute, and then I hung my head and said, "Fuck it: I quit." I took a long deep breath and said out loud, "All right. You can come in."

And that was my beautiful moment of conversion.

151. on expectation

Expectations. Today, my band was supposed to pay for this pre-Hula Bowl event. We're not sure who dropped the ball, but long story short, we didn't play.

I can't speak for the other guys in my band, but as for myself, I really wasn't that bummed about it. I mean I would have liked to play and it's screwed up that I had to haul all my gear out to the Aloha Stadium (and pay $5 for parking) only to be told that it was a no go. I probably had the right to be really pissy and I could have thrown a hissy fit but it wasn't that big of a deal to me and so it was pretty easy to write off. The people who got us the gig and the lady with the Hula Bowl seemed a lot more upset with the situation than I was (the event was organized by some Christian group called Livin It).

And I was thinking about this on the drive home. I don't know if it's a bad thing or a good thing, but I don't have a lot of expectations in my life, at least not anymore. It amazes me, watching a show like Airline where you see customers with crazy, unreasonable demands. I mean some people can't understand why the plane left without them when they were only ten minutes late. These are probably the same people who, if the shoe were on the other foot, would be complaining about late departure times had they shown up an hour before departure time and gotten on board and then had to wait for a late passenger. And it's not like these people just accept that the plane left, it's like they expect the plane to turn around, taxi back to the gate, and pick them up. They get all nuts yelling discrimination, reverse discrimination, unfair this, and unfair that.

There are times when I actually can't watch that show because of people like that. Seeing that makes me so angry because they have no one to blame but themselves yet they're blaming everyone but themselves. I don't understand people like that. I don't know if it was my Asian upbringing or if it's the laid-back style of life in Hawaii or the turn-the-other-cheek philosophy from Christianity, but I have kind of a zero-expectation policy and so when I show up to a gig and the gig falls through, well, that's that. Yes, I wasted half my day, yes I used up a vacation day, yes I had to load up my drums in my station wagon, yes I had to drive out to the gig, yes I had to pay $5 for parking, yes I had to wait around the at event for two and a half hours before finally being told that things weren't going to work out and we weren't going to play. Yes to all of those things, but it wasn't that big of a deal for me.

And I think of my date with (code name) Apples (see blog 90 and 92). I didn't expect a lot out of the date and so when it wasn't diamonds and pearls, I wasn't disappointed. And I think of the last two concerts I went to (Motley Crue and Beethoven's 9th Symphony - see blogs 131 and 137). I didn't expect them to be great and so when the Crue concert was less than stellar, I didn't mind and when the Beethoven concert blew me away, it was a thrilling surprise.

And I think about Buddhist philosophy and how (as I understand it) it promotes a life free from desire. See, the Buddha came to understand that all suffering came from desire and so a life free from desire would be free of suffering.

But I don't think desire and expectation are the same thing. Desire implies hope, while expectation implies necessity - that things have to be a certain way in order to be satisfied. See, that date with Apples. I asked her out based partly on a desire to find a meaningful relationship, but I didn't expect the date to end that way. I don't know, it's pretty clear in my mind but I'm not sure if I'm explaining myself well.

I mean, I think the Buddhists go too far when they try to rid themselves of desire. Without desire, what's the point? Desire is fuel for the engine of life.

Watch people on any flight out of Vegas. You can see the difference in the faces of those who had a desire to win, and those who expected to win.

I don't know, maybe I'm just blowing semantic smoke. Maybe I should expect more out of life, or at least expect to be treated with more respect. I don't know. In the end, I yam what I yam.

150. iHave

From iWant (blog 143) to iNeed (147) to iHave, all within the span of a week. Once a purchase gets into my head in a bad way, it usually stays there until I find a way to get my grubby little hands on it. I'm pretty sure I could have held off on the purchase if it weren't for the fact that I needed a faster computer to work on the Story Line project, still it's interesting that the need so closely corresponded with the want.

For the record, I purchased a 1.9GHz 17" iMac which I maxed out with 1.5 gigs of memory. Here's a small kine commercial for Macs. When I first turned on the Mac, one of the things it asks is whether you want to transfer files from an older Mac to this one. I said yes, and it tells me to hook up a firewire cable between my new iMac and my old iBook. It then tells me how to restart my iBook in firewire target mode (which basically turns my iBook into a $1000 firewire drive) and once my iBook boots up, it automatically starts transferring files.

Now here's the amazing bit. Once all the file transfer stuff was done, my new iMac restarted itself and when it did, it looked and behaved exactly like my old iBook. The desktop was the same, all my keyboard/mouse settings were the same, and all the applications I had on my iBook opened up on my iMac. Amazing. Windows is a great operating system...to POOP ON!

Okay there was one problem. ProTools didn't open up properly, which kind of makes sense since I knew there would be licensing issues. I didn't want to bother with figuring out how to re-install the program so I just did a clean re-install of OSX (I wiped the hard drive and did a clean re-install of the Mac OS). This left me with a new iMac minus all the files on my iBook which is fine with me because as far as I'm concerned, they're both for different uses. My iBook is for writing and internet access, my iMac is my workhorse for running ProTools, Photoshop, and Dreamweaver.

Oh, and here's a little tip. The new iMacs (with Intel processors) come with the extended desktop feature enabled (hook up a second monitor and it's a separate window). Old iMacs (with G5 processors) come with this feature disabled. If you hook up a second monitor, it only works in mirror mode (both screens show the same thing). However, there's a program called Screen Spanning Doctor which enables the extended desktop feature on iBooks and iMacs. Just run the program, restart your computer, turn off "mirror desktops" mode and you've just doubled your screen real estate. Groovy.

Why anyone would want to subject themselves to the torture of the Windows platform is beyond me. It's true what they say, "once you go Mac..."

149. hey ladies...

I've heard some women on here talk/write about some of the freaky pick-up lines they find in their in-box from random people. As a guy, this baffles me because the only unsolicited mail I get is from hotties trying to sell their webcam feed or bands trying to expand their network.

If you've received creepy, sleazy, funny, sad, wanna be stalker messages, I'd love to hear them. Post a comment with the cheeziest pick-up you've gotten so far.

148. my mood and my faith

Odd thing ("we expect nothing less from you, Randall"): I've been in a good mood lately. And I can't point to a reason, and I really don't care. If I'm in a good mood, I don't care if it's because circadian rhythms are lining up in a positive way for me or if the anti-oxidants in my smoothies (see blog 146) are keeping me from rusting from the inside out or if it's just because I'm so happy to have survived Christmas (see blog 125). Whatever it is, I'm in a better mood lately and I'll just take it as it comes.

But still, I say it's an odd thing because my better mood (I refrain from calling it happiness because that would be overstating it a bit) isn't attached to anything. That is, it's not like I'm in love or like my Yahoo Chess rating hit 1300 (it's still in the mid 1100s...blah, I suck). And there are still things that weigh heavily on my mind. The other night I had a really long conversation with a friend about the problems I see in the contemporary American Christian church (and they are legion, for they are many) and I get so mad when I start thinking about those things. And more and more, I'm unable to listen to conservative radio talk shows, not because I disagree with what they're saying as much as I disagree with the way they're saying it - it's so childish, it's all just so much name-calling and mud slinging, and I just can't stand it anymore (and yeah, the Left can be just as bad, if not worse, so pox on both sides). Oh, and I'm still as single as ever, if not more so .

In other words, the world I live in and the things I think about are pretty much the same between when I'm in a bad mood (the last few months) and when I'm in a good mood (the last few weeks, knock on wood). And...that's confusing, and it kind of sucks because I wish I could put my finger on something because then I could return to that something the next time I get in a funk.

Here's the bit that confuses me the most. How does my relationship with God fit into all of this? I don't talk a lot about my Christianity in my blog, and it's not because I'm ashamed of my faith (although I am ashamed of what people like Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell say) or because I'm trying to be seeker-sensitive or because I don't want to lose my street cred ("you're what?"). In all honesty (and this could get me banned from certain church circles, but I'm trying to keep it real here) my Christianity isn't something that's fueling my life.

What I mean is, there are some people who talk about Christ like they're talking about the blood flowing through their veins, it permeates their life that much. Me? I've aspired to that kind of faith and I've read books (yes, including the Bible) and prayed and been prayed for and I've gone on retreats (both with churches and on my own) and mission trips and I've fasted...I've jumped through all kinds of hoops but I'm basically a spiritual illiterate.

This used to trouble me. I used to wonder why some people had this deep, intimate relationship with God and why I always felt like I went home with the broken iPod - the faith that didn't work like everyone else's. After a while, I accepted that if there are people who sense God and things of the spiritual realm in a deeper way (and I've hung around some of these people enough to know that they really are in touch with something real and relevant), then there must also be people who are less attuned to those same things, and I just happen to be one of them.

And that doesn't upset me. And that doesn't mean that I don't believe in God - to the contrary, I believe that God is even more real than my ability to know him. No, that doesn't upset me. What does upset me is the thought of all the other Christians out there who've either given up on their faith or who hide their lack of spiritual sensitivity under religious sounding words and cliches (aka Christianese). It wasn't easy making my way through my Christianity with this lack of spiritual awareness, but I made it through because I found the truth claims of Christianity compelling. I felt that they explained the human condition better than anything else I'd been exposed to. More than that, I found in the person of Jesus Christ, a complex person struggling to squeeze eternity into finite words, phrases, and sentences - a man who frequently resorted to story and imagery and analogy.

But I know there are other Christians who weren't as lucky as I. They saw the people around them in church saying all these spiritual things, about how they heard from the Lord, how the check arrived in the mail and for just the right amount, how their father's cancer was there in all the scans but disappeared the night before the surgery. They heard all of these things and they didn't have those experiences and they couldn't figure out why and so they started thinking that Christianity was a con or even worse, they thought that Christianity was real but that they were beyond redemption. And so they gave up and just stopped going to church and stopped praying and maybe even stopped believing there ever was a God.

All because the church doesn't seem to have room or air time for the spiritually numb.

Now from a marketing standpoint, I understand. I mean, why not let the guy with the miraculous healing story share it in front of everybody else? Why not give a mic to the person who says they have a word of prophesy? That's the kind of stuff people want to hear, that will show those non-christians that God is real, and that will pack the pews.

But the problem is, we're not marketing a product. We're building a community, we're ushering in the Kingdom of God, and to those ends, we would do well to make all who name Christ as Lord and Savior feel accepted regardless of their sensitivity to things of the spirit. I think this is why Jesus's first point in his first public sermon was, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." (Matthew 5:3 NIV). I think when he says, "the poor in spirit," he's talking about people like me, people who feel spiritually disenfranchised. He made it a point to speak to those people first because they are usually the most neglected, the least ministered to segment of believers.

Whoa, how did I end up here? I started talking about being in a good mood and next thing I know, I'm going on about the spiritual poverty.

Anyway, I'd like to talk more about my faith as I see it because I don't hear many other people talking about it the way I want to. Maybe I'm off my rocker. Maybe I'm causing some people to stumble in their faith. I'm sure there are some Christians who would label me a heretic or a blasphemer for writing what I do. So be it. They can judge me now, but they're not the final judge and that's ultimately who I'm writing for.

Stay tuned for more. And pray that God doesn't decide to use me as a human lightning rod in the mean time.

147. iWant has become iNeed

(caution, lots of geek speak ahead)

Okay, I've been going back and forth with this thing about getting a new iMac (see blog 143). First I just wanted to get one because Apple just came out with their new Intel-based iMacs, but as it turns out, I have more need for a new computer than I thought.

See, I have this little side job where I record music and do minor audio editing. I use Pro Tools (LE) to get this done. Well Pro Tools just came out with version 7 and based on the new feature set and a special deal they were running, I bought the upgrade.

Now I'm one of those rare individuals who takes the time to read instruction manuals (usually) and so it's not like me to do this, but (mistake number one) it turns out that Pro Tools 7 requires the latest version of Mac OSX (10.4, aka Tiger). No problem. I go out and buy the upgrade and make the switch. After upgrading the OS, I install Pro Tools 7 and it runs just fine, at least the program opens up and I can still open my old session files.

So then the other day, I'm playing some music tracks in Pro Tools and (mistake number two) I find that my computer isn't fast enough anymore. I should have known this would happen because I was pushing my luck running the old version of Pro Tools on my 800Mhz G4 iBook ("you're trying to run Pro Tools on THAT!?"). But I thought it would work because one of the promised features of Pro Tools 7 is a new plug-in architecture that's more efficient, allowing you to run more plug-ins with less of a hit on the processor. Now it may be that Pro Tools 7 is more efficient, but at the same time, Tiger (Mac's new OS) is more processor hungry than Jaguar (Mac's old OS). So even though Pro Tools is more efficient, the new OS is negating the efficiency gains. At least that's my theory. Truth is, I'm trying to run a program designed for race horses on a mule (a trusty, faithful mule, but a mule nevertheless).

Bottom line is, my iBook isn't up to the task of running Pro Tools anymore. I suppose I could re-install the old version of the OS and Pro Tools 6, but I like the new OS (it comes with a built-in dictionary/thesaurus that I love) and downgrading is just such a bummer.

So I'm examining all my options for getting a new Mac. I'm trying to decide between the old G5 based iMac or a Power Mac. I can't get the new Intel-based iMac because it won't run Pro Tools, even through Rosetta (the emulator that's supposed to let you run non-Intel compiled software on the new Intel processors). I can afford either one (sort of), question is how poor I want to be after the purchase.

Best case scenario, Apple makes a surprise announcement that it's upping its timetable in the G5 to Intel switchover and so they're slashing prices on the old G5 stock to make way for the new. This could very well happen, but probably not soon enough for me. See, I'm working with this project called Story Line where kids can call a phone number and hear a story read to them. I edit these stories and get them ready to be up-loaded, and I edit these stories in Pro Tools. The next batch of stories are due in a couple weeks which wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have to record new intros for the next batch.

Stupid me, I should have checked on these things before making the upgrade and I should have known that my measly little iBook would balk at the task of running both a new operating system and a new version of Pro Tools.

Blah. Anybody know anybody trying to unload their Power Mac G5, preferably a dual processor model?

146. walking distance

"Everywhere is walking distance, if you have the time." Stephen Wright

So it's still too early in the year for me to start running in the morning and my lazy ass is too, well, lazy too run after work. Actually, the running bit isn't the problem. The problem is that after I get home from running, I rest in front of the television and don't get up until it's time to go to bed. Running in the morning leaves me with an energy buzz throughout the day and it also keeps my evenings free for dates ("for what?").

And so I've taken up walking. I started walking during my lunch break. I walk for 40-50mins, anywhere around the streets near the office. And it's such a low-impact way of exercising, I decided to do some more. And so now I've taken up walking to places instead of driving.

Like that movie I blogged about yesterday (see blog 145), I walked there and back - about 30mins each way. And then today I walked to the local ticket outlet where they were selling tickets for the up-coming U2 concert. Bought my tickets then walked to the Manoa Starbucks where I'm sitting now writing this blog entry. After I walk back home, I'll have logged about 1:30 of walking. Not a bad way to burn calories. Once the sun starts coming up earlier, I'm planning on running in the morning and then walking during my lunch break. That should get me fit and trim just in time for the move to Seattle with my band.

My goal last year was to loose 25lbs. I was around 185(!) then and so the target weight was 160. I got to 165 so I was close. My goal this year is to get down to 150. Actually, weight isn't as much of an issue as waist size. I want to get back down to fitting into size 32 or (ideally) 30 pants. I'm wearing size 33 pants now, down from 36(!) two years ago.

Exercise is only half the battle, I know. On the diet end, I'm taking smoothies to work. I freeze bananas and blend that with frozen blueberries, vanilla yogurt, and apple juice. I blend it in the morning, keep it in the refrigerator at work and drink it down for lunch (after walking). Not sure how low-calorie this is (any nutrition experts reading?), but it's got to be better than the plate lunches I used to eat. Only problem is, I get gas near the end of the day, and this is some nasty, funky, ass-crack-halitosis gas. My coworkers haven't said anything yet but I've been noticing lately that they clock out at 5:00:00 exactly, not a second later. Coincidence?

One downside to walking is the time factor. I've got to be back home by 12 noon for band practice. It's 11:10 now and if I had my car, I'd still have time to finish this blog and play a quick game of Yahoo Chess, but as it is, I'd better get myself back out on the road.

Holla if you see me on the road.

145. every woman is a universe

Movie recommendation: Nine Lives directed by Rodrigo Garcia. And it really is about nine different lives, all women, all complex and troubled, all engrossingly interesting. It's an acting as well as a cinematic tour de force. Each life is taken one at a time and there are no cuts - once the movie starts focusing on one woman's life, we watch one continuous scene in real time, no edits, no cuts, no tricks.

This is amazing from a cinematic standpoint because it doesn't feel like one continuous shot. What I mean is, the one shot is pulled off so well and with such mastery that it doesn't feel like a gimmick or like the director is doing something different just to be different. It has the flow and the pacing of a traditionally shot and edited film. For those who've never tried to shoot a scene, it's hard to describe how difficult it is to pull something like this off, and for this movie to pull it off without drawing attention to the device is astonishing.

And part of what makes it work is the acting. Now I know something of how hard the technical part of that is, but to act in one continuous shot...amazing. Thing is, each of these nine little stories shows its central characters at some kind of pivotal conflict. Each story starts out simply and softly. Some stay that way leaving the sticky undercurrents stewing beneath the surface. Some of them erupt in cathartic outbursts. And to bring so much to the table in such a short span of time, and to do so in one continuous take...I have a newfound respect for all nine actresses.

Oh, I almost forgot to talk about the script. Writing something like this is insanely difficult. You can't rely on cheap and easy tricks like flashbacks and you don't have time to bring in temporary characters to fill in the back-story. Everything lives and dies off of the dialogue. Tiny lines like, "the first time was a mistake," pack so much information into so small a space, you learn boatloads about the character in the span of one line. That's the kind of writing that half makes me want to break all my pencils and the other half want to sharpen them and get to work.

All this gushing about this film, and it earns every bit of it.

"Is there a but-monkey (as Laura Ingraham would put it) in there somewhere?"

Yes there is. Nine lives is a great movie BUT it treats men like dirt. It makes them out to be mindless, self-absorbed, and stupid dolts. Now I know there are some women out there nodding your heads saying, "yeah, because they are," but let's hold on a minute. It was on NPR yesterday afternoon. A doctor (can't remember the name) was talking about raising children and he was talking about how both men and women have the ability to empathize, but they do so in different ways. Women have emotionally focused empathy while men have action focused empathy. Each has its uses.

For example, let's say a brother and sister are driving in a car when the engine overheats. They pull over to the side of the road. The sister calls her mother and she caters to the emotional needs of her daughter. The brother calls their father and he walks his son through the process of getting the car cooled down enough to make it to the next gas station.

Then again, I suppose we deserve it. How many movies have we seen where the guy is the smart one and his love is only there in the movie to look pretty and to tell the hero what a stud he is.

Anyway, if it's playing in your area go see Nine Lives. It's by far the best movie I've see this year (yuk, yuk, yuk) and I suspect it will remain so when 2007 rolls around.

144. how do you show a woman/a friend

I wrote a song once, it was called "How Do You Show A Woman She's Beautiful." No, really, I actually wrote a song with that title. I even entered it into a song-writing contest, although I didn't win or place or even earn an honorable mention. The judges must've been deaf because it was a good song.

See, the song is about a guy who loves this girl. And this guy who loves this girl thinks she's beautiful, but this girl doesn't see herself that way and no matter what this guy says or does, he can't change her mind - he can't get her to see what he sees.

Look, this blog isn't about this song. I want to talk about something else so stay with me, but first I'll share the song, then I'll talk about the thing I really want to get at.

"How Do You Show A Woman She's Beautiful"

I see the envy in her eyes
and I can't help but wonder why
she still can't see
how beautiful she is to me

We turn the topic 'round again
but end up back where we began
she can't return
the insecurities she's learned

How do you show a woman
she's beautiful when
she doesn't believe it
tell me how do you show
her how she glows
How do you show a woman
she's beautiful when
she doesn't believe it
tell he how do you show
'cause she needs to know
she's beautiful

I make her laugh to see her smile
and she feels better for a while
but we both know
there's still a long way to go

But in the end all I have done
has been to show her she's the one
I choose to love
and she's the one I'm thinking of
when I say

How do you show a woman
she's beautiful when
she doesn't believe it
tell me how do you show
her how she glows
How do you show a woman
she's beautiful when
she doesn't believe it
tell me how do you show
because she needs to know
she's beautiful
she's so beautiful

Actually, writing it now, I can see why I didn't win. Some of those lines are a bit too...too... too precious, too sentimental...but I still think it's a good song.

Anyway, the reason I mention the song is because I was talking with a two really good friends of mine the other night, and it was one of those conversations among close friends where everyone lets their guard down, we peel the armor away and show where we're bruised and bleeding. One of them talked about his insecurity. He talked about feeling normal and unremarkable. He talked about not knowing who he was and so not knowing how to act and so not knowing how to interact and all of that left him feeling misunderstood and confused and frustrated and alone.

And I understood where he was coming from because I had been there before. And a part of me still feels that way, just not as intensely and not as often. One of the things I remembered about being that way was how there was really nothing that anyone could say to make me feel any different, because how can anyone tell you who you are? The best they could do was to tell me what they thought about me, but I didn't believe them because I can see myself from the inside - I see all the things that they don't see (the things I hide or don't know how or don't want to share) and so of course I know better than they do and so what they're saying holds no weight. I mean the bottom line is, no one can tell you who you are.

And that's kind of where my friend is at - at that point where he's trying to figure out who he is in a world where everyone else seems to have figured out who they are, or at the very least, everyone else knows themselves well enough to know how to behave and how to act around others.

As for myself, I think this guy is great. There are traits he has that I wish I had. For example, he doesn't take shit from anybody - he's not afraid to stand up for his rights when they've been trampled upon. He's not afraid to let you know when you've pushed a few too many of his buttons a bit too hard.

And he's good with words. I mean, I know I can sort of write, but I was an English major and I've studied writing, and I've read books about writing, and I took classes about writing even after I graduated. But this guy, he was an accounting major and he writes stuff that kills me. The song I shared above? That literally took me four or five years to finish, and I'm still tinkering with it because there are bits that I don't like (I actually left out two verses because I just don't like them anymore). This guy comes up with stuff in weeks that's whole and finished and complete and it works and it's good.

And I can point these things out to the guy, but that's not the way he feels about himself. And I kind of feel like the guy in the song I shared above, because I want to show my friend what he has going for him, all the great things I see, but that does little to change how he sees himself because he's not sure what he's seeing and so how can he agree or disagree with what someone else says about him? And so how can I help him along because in the end, I can't tell him who he is.

I don't know. Some things can't be helped, at least not right away. This guy is cool in lots of different ways and I'm pretty sure he'll figure himself out eventually. I'm not so worried about him. In the end, once he learns to decipher the image he sees in the mirror, I know he'll be content, satisfied, comfortable with what he's come to understand.

143. iWant

Damn that Steve Jobs! Damn Apple! iDamn the iMac!

Apple just unveiled the latest iMac and I want one. I want one in a way that I haven't wanted a thing in a very, very long time. In fact, the last time I wanted something this bad, I went out and bought it. And I want to go out and buy this iMac but I can't because I'm saving up for a move to the mainland and because I don't really need another computer and because getting this new computer isn't going to make up for not having a girlfriend and because I'm hardly at home anyway so when would I use this computer and because it's a new Intel-based Mac which isn't compatible with Pro Tools which is the only real reason I'd need a faster computer anyway.

As you can see, I'm desperately trying to talk myself out of buying this computer. In fact, what I really need is a new printer which would help me edit my stories which would help me achieve one of my new year's resolutions (see resolution number two in blog 141).

In fact, I've kind of had my eye on a Samsung laser printer selling for about $80 at CompUSA.

But I don't really need a printer either. I have a printer, and even though it's kind of broken, it works well enough to print out text which is all I really need.

I don't like the band Train, but there's one great line in their song "Calling All Angels." The singer is going on about how messed up life is and he observes that ours is "a world where all we want is only what we want until its ours." We love a thing we don't have and once we do get it, we stop loving it, eventually storing it away once the novelty fades.

I don't need the new iMac and I don't need a new printer. I need to make the most of what I already own, which is a lot. A lot more than I deserve, that's for sure.

142. on turning 34

So I'm lying in bed, 10:30 on a Sunday morning. I'm trying to finish off T.C. Boyle's latest collection of short stories when it hits me. I'm going to be thirty four in about a month and a half and I have so very little to show for it. I mean the sober facts are these: I'm still living at home with my parents, I have a job that pays me about $25,000/yr, I'm planning on moving to the mainland in July to try and make it in a rock band, I also have dreams of being a writer and actually making a living at it but I've never been published. Let's see, did I miss anything? Oh yeah, and I've never had a girlfriend which means I'm six years away from being The 40 Year Old Virgin.

Not exactly where I saw myself at this age. Well, I didn't really have any plans for growing up and so I suppose it's no surprise I've ended up like this.

In the end, I've got no one to blame but myself. I could say that I relied too heavily on Sunday School promises that God would take care of me and guide my way, but what good would that do? And it's not like I've been diligently seeking after whatever purpose is supposed to be driving my life.

Oh, crap. I just had a thought. What if I'm in the early stages of a mid-life crisis? According to the all-knowing Wikipedia, they typically start at age 35, which certainly puts me in the ballpark. Here's some of the symptoms:

"It commonly involves reflection on what the individual has done with his or her life up to that point, often with feelings that not enough was accomplished. The individuals experiencing such may feel boredom with their lives, jobs, or their partners, and may feel a strong desire to make changes in these areas."

". . .reflection on what the individual has done. . ." hence this blog entry and maybe even the fact that I started blogging last year.

". . .often with feelings that not enough was accomplished." See the first paragraph of this blog entry.

"The individuals experiencing such may feel boredom with their lives. . ." Yeah, I've been meaning to blog about this.

I don't know. I was talking about this a little bit with my friend, Luke, earlier today - not about the mid-life crisis thing, about the whole getting older bit. It was kind of funny. He's the same age as me and it was kind of funny because he thought he was still 32, but I was like, "no, we're both 33." And he was floored.

As far as social conventions go, Luke is in a good place. He's married, has two kids. He's still living at home, but it's a home that was recently renovated so that his mother can live in one part of the house and he and his family in another. He's got the mortgage for the renovation, which was pretty close to the cost of building a new house. He's also got a steady job. I don't know exactly what he does but it's some kind of upper-level, quality control, social work job. In other words, a real job.

Oddly enough, from our conversation, it seems like he actually envies me - me chasing my rock-n-roll dreams...

And it hit me just now that that's the perspective I've got to keep in the fore. Sure I'm behind when it comes to where I should be in society at my age, but it's not like I'm sitting at home watching TV all day, digging my nose and eating Spam out of the can. Worst case scenario, I go up to Seattle with my band, we make a good go of it for two years or so and nothing happens. I return to Hawaii 36 or 37 years old with some really cool stories of life on the road with a rock band. Whereas Luke, God bless him, will have stories of his two daughters growing older.

Of course I'll also be 37 years old with a questionable resume and I have no idea what kind of job I'll be looking for at that point. Maybe my writing will be better by then and I can try my hand at publishing.

"So you're back-up plan is to be a writer? That's your plan B?"

Hey, one step at a time. Worst case scenario part two, my writing is still only good enough for blogging and I become a teacher.

That's not so bad is it?

In all honesty, I'm still optimistic enough to believe that my life still has the possibility to be extraordinary. Unfortunately, the path to extraordinary is not a straight one. I'm at a plateau right now, but the trip to the mainland with my band is sure to bring some interesting twists and turns.

Who but God knows, and what but time will tell.

141. new year's resolutions

Yeah, it's January 7th, so what's your point?

Strange story first. So this morning I was at this Transformation Hawaii meeting thing and afterwards someone asked me what I was going to do with the rest of the day. Among other things I said I was going to write about my new year's resolutions, and one of them was like, "you mean you write out your resolutions?" And I was like, "yeah, you have to." I think I also said something like, "yeah, I write out my resolutions every year." But then I tried to tell them about my resolutions from last year and then I was stumped. And then I had to wonder if this really was something I did every year...

Fast forward a few hours and here I am at Borders looking over my old blogs and journal entries and I'm realizing that at least for the last two years, I haven't written out my resolutions. I know I've done so at least once or twice (at least I'm pretty sure I did) but not for a while now. And I think it's only hit me just now how natural a part of my life blogging has become. I've become so comfortable with sharing my thoughts and feelings that it was just an assumption that sharing my new year's resolutions is something I would have already done. Turns out I only really started blogging regularly this year and on a weekly basis somewhere around July.

Anyway, here are a few of my new year's resolutions.

1. Stop swearing so much in my writing.
Now, I'm not resolving to stop swearing entirely. Words like "fuck" and "shit" are a part of the English language and I believe there's a time and place for them. Think of the movie This Is Spinal Tap. There's a famous scene where Nigel Tufnel is showing off his guitar amp collection to Marty DiBergi (Rob Reiner). Here's the scene (culled from the invaluable Internet Movie Database):

Nigel Tufnel: The numbers all go to eleven. Look, right across the board, eleven, eleven, eleven and...
Marty DiBergi: Oh, I see. And most amps go up to ten?
Nigel Tufnel: Exactly.
Marty DiBergi: Does that mean it's louder? Is it any louder?
Nigel Tufnel: Well, it's one louder, isn't it?

That's how I feel about swear words. They're one louder than non-profane words. But if you use them all the time then they lose their impact (there was a very funny South Park episode about this - the word, "shit," was used on the air an amazing 162 times. Turns out the s-word is a curse word and because it was spoken so many times, it unleashed a plague upon the city and ultimately conjured up a dragon-like creature that threatened to destroy the earth...or something like that). Now I know some people say that swearing is unsophisticated, that a really great writer should be able to convey the same meaning without resorting to such words. Well, I guess I'm just not that good.

Anyway, I'm going to try to clean up my blogging by not swearing so much, although I still reserve the right to drop the F-bomb (and the s-word) if I feel the need arises.


2. I want to get more intentional about my writing. I mean I want to work more at the craft of writing. Basically, this just means that I want to write more this year. I also want to start being more purposed about editing my story things. So far I've just kind of thrown them out there in all their embarrassing first-daft nakedness and kind of just left them there. I want to be more diligent about going back and polishing them off. I also want to go back to Anonycity and finish off more of what I started there.


3. I want to learn to play double kick pedal. For you non-drummers out there, that means using a special bass drum pedal designed so that the left and right feet can both play the bass drum. This is a staple for metal music drummers who play insanely fast 16th note patterns on their bass drums.

Now my band doesn't play anything like metal music, but still, double kick can add a nice bit of spice to fills and beats. Some of my favorite local drummers played with a double pedal (Shaun O'brien formerly of Ready Go/Jah Ska and the drummer for the now defunct Tone Deaf Teens) and I'd like to be able to as well.


4. I've been thinking about putting this list together for a few weeks now and one of the resolutions I was thinking about adding was this one: "give up on trying to find a girlfriend for one year." I've since discarded that resolution because I think it's stupid, and really with my track record, that's like resolving to blink 20 times per minute (the average resting blinking rate). I mean I've been single my entire life. What's the use of resolving to being single for another year? Thus, this is a non-resolution. I mean, I'm not resolving to not have a girlfriend, I'm not resolving anything when it comes to relationships. If history is any indication, I'm probably going to end 2006 just as single as I entered it and if a potential mate does come along, I don't want some silly resolution hanging over my head, confusing me even more about what to do about it.


So there you have it. My three resolutions (and one non-resolution) for 2006. In writing.

Happy new year everybody!

140. Consequences

Okay, here's the finished version of the story. Damn, this was hard to write. This is basically the raw, first draft so there's probably lots of typos. I'll be editing this thing in the next few days. There's a Christian website I'm thinking about submitting this to, so want to make sure the t's are crossed and the i's dotted. It's a pretty edgy story compared to what normally gets posted on the website so not sure if they'll go for it or not.

Anyway, it's pretty long so grab yourself a cup of coffee before diving in. Hope you like it.

Oh, and don't forget, you can find this and my other stories on my storyblog site: LoneTomato Sauce.
(tell your friends)

__________________________


Done with his morning routine (shower, shave, brush, floss) difficult with unfamiliar, borrowed tools, but they got the job done. She, the nurse with the early shift, had gone hours ago leaving him towels and toiletries, travel size and spare. He holds them, used and bundled together in the damp towel, unsure what to do with them. He looks at the tangle of folds on her bed, flinches and looks away. He turns and surveys the rest of the room. He checks his watch and sees that there's time enough to make it to work.

They first met at church, of all places - an old, conservative, starchy ordeal. He started going there his senior year in high school and stayed through most of college. She started attending a few years after he started, but then he left there to attend a newer, more contemporary service - one that he thought better suited his younger, more agile faith. He went to this church for five years but hip fades as does the multi-media dazzle. He didn't know if something in this new church had changed or if something inside himself had changed, but it didn't matter because the nexus of spirit and truth that first drew him to this new style of worship wasn't there anymore. And so after he realized that he hadn't had a single experience he would call spiritual in over six months, he returned to the conservative, starchy 11:00 service. He didn't know where else to go, so he went back to the old, the familiar, the comfortable.

And that's where he saw her. Again. And the five years between them had been more than kind to her, they had refined what was fair into something more striking and profound. And most miraculous of all, he could tell by that gleam in her eye that she was more than just happy to see him again. In the time before he switched churches, they would flirt and laugh and tease. But his faith was stronger then and it was this faith that helped him see that his attraction to her was purely physical - that he did not love her beyond what she did to his hormones. And so spiritual mind enforced itself over sinful matter and all was innocent and well.

His faith then was so simple, so sure. God was a rock, a lion, a lamb. Jesus loved him, a thing he could know because the Bible told him so. He looked out at the world and wondered how unbelievers could be so damned evil. But complications arise, the messiness of the world finds its way into cracks, fracture points, fissures of the surest belief systems. And when push came to shove, he found his Sunday School lessons woefully inadequate to tackle the hard truths of the world.

That was no matter though. He understood that the world was larger than he was and that God was there watching over him. So long as he felt the presence of God and sensed his direction, he was assured and blissfully content. And then silence fell. The presence and the guidance faded away, dispersed into thin air like the fog at dawn. No matter what he tried, no matter how much he made himself pray and read and sing and fast, nothing tasted anything like the sweet luxurious comfort of the Holy Spirit. And really, what can one do to penetrate the ironclad silence of God?

Back now at his old, familiar church with a more fractured, fragile faith, things were different between the two of them. He sensed it the moment they met again after his years away. It was in the way she hugged a bit too hard, looked his way a bit too long, touched a few too many times. Just as time had distilled her features to the essence of what he had found beautiful about her, so it focused and honed their formerly innocent flirtations into something more serious and intentional.

In part, he had returned for just such affections. He didn't reason it this way at the time but he was seeking from her what he had lost from God. And isn't this what's been done throughout time? God goes up the mountain and his followers down below mold themselves a golden calf to commune with - something tactile, solid, and predictable. Something there. For them a calf, for him a woman after his heart.

He gave himself to her. It was far easier than he could have imagined. Effortless and effervescent, lunch gave way to a walk in the park that wound up in a movie theater which led to dinner and rather than waste their money on dessert, they went to her apartment to finish off the slice of cheesecake in the freezer - the slice she ("oops, I forgot") finished off the week before. But better than that was the Amaretto in the cabinet - a sip on the sofa, a sip on the bed, a sip spilled between the sheets.

Sin is a strange thing. Truth be told, this is exactly where he wanted to be but sin knows he would not have naively followed the steps that led to her door and so sin spun it around, told him he was going back to his old church to find God and perhaps to see her again. Bait and switch executed to perfection. Innocent compromises, little white lies exchanged between want and reason. Justifications, one after another, each more outrageous than the one before. Had he started the day in her bedroom, it would have been a simple thing to forego temptation and to walk away, but their affections had been building since noon, and the law of inertia is inflexible.

And now he looks at the tangle of folds on her bed, flinches and looks away. He turns and surveys the rest of the room. He checks his watch and sees that there's time enough to make it to work. But he can't. He flips open his cell phone and calls in sick. And for good reason. He feels nauseous, violently ill, deathly. Up until yesterday, he had been faithful to the Lord. He was saving himself for marriage, for one woman forever. He had been steadfast, hard headed, adamant, even arrogant - holding himself above friends with less fortitude than he. But no more.

He drops the towel in the middle of the bathroom floor, turns the lights off, locks the door and rushes out to his car, parked in the street. He fumbles for his keys, drops them, curses. He finds the car key but somehow inserts it awkward and the bundle falls to the ground again. At last in the car he guns the engine and speeds away, barely missing the car parked parallel in front of him.

On the freeway, caught in traffic, he feels something new. Behind the guilt and shame, behind the anger at his careless self, behind the soft, lustful memories of skin, sensation, and the fiery, concussive consummation, there is something else. It's been so long that it takes him a while to recognize it but when he does, he hurls it away, tries to block it out of his mind but as absent as it's been these last few months, it's here now and he knows that God's not going anywhere. And what can one do to avoid the ironclad presence of God?

He surrenders and begs for unholy forgiveness. In this moment he understands what motivates the ascetic, flailing his body, ripping skin from flesh to show the Lord you're sorry because praying it just doesn't seem anywhere near enough. But he has no whips with which to render himself. All he has is prayer and these salty, slimy tears.

Past the traffic, through the streets, up the stairs, he's back home, finally. He's had his time with God and though a part of him wants to still feel guilty, to still feel sorry, the greater part of him knows that what's done is done and that God is still full of that amazing grace made manifest most clearly in his forgiveness. And so he simply gives thanks and praise and wonder and awe. He basks in the favor of God, lost in ineffable bliss until the buzz of his cellphone brings him back. He pulls it out of his pocket and sees her name on the caller ID display. And it's clear to him now, more than ever before, that while forgiveness is free and forever, consequences remain.

139. on Narnia

Okay, so I'm not posting the story I promised yesterday (see blog 138). Thing is, I didn't promise, I said "probably," and besides, I have more important thoughts to work out.

See, I did my Christian duty and finally saw Chronicles of Narnia. I put it that way because if I were of any other religious persuasion, I would not have seen the film. For one thing, it's kind of a fairy tale and that ain't my thing. For another thing, it's genre is fantasy and that ain't my thing either. Lastly, and this is the bit I want to write about, it makes no effort to hide its subtext.

First the good bits. The movie is quite lovely to look at...maybe too lovely, but I suppose that's a matter of taste...then again, even in the scenes of the Elvish kingdom in LOTR, I didn't get that same sense (that things were too sweet or pretty). But anyway, it's great to look at. Most of the effects are pretty seamless although there are a few where the pixels weren't rendered correctly or something because it didn't have that effortless verisimilitude that really great effects have these days. And the kids were pretty good (although their adult selves near the end of the movie were really lame...can't pinpoint why, they just were). Let's see, did I miss anything? Oh, the opening scene with the bombers. That opening reminded me of Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow in that it had a nostalgic sheen that just plain looks cool.

Okay, now on to the criticisms. Aslan and the prophecy. I'm scratching my head, trying to figure out how someone as smart as C.S. Lewis could be so clumsy and ham-fisted when it comes to the references to Christ and Christian theology. There were moments (lots of them) when I had to remind myself that this was a movie, not some Carman video (I hate that guy, really) or fancy New Hope skit. I mean, really, Aslan as a lion who sacrifices himself then comes back to life? Call me a hard-hearted cold, cynical, post-modern Christian, but come on! Why not brand him with a fish sticker just in case people missed the point.

Ugh, the worst part about it was the bit where Aslan comes back to life. It's such a cop-out, such a meaningless, convenient, nothing plot twist. There's no setup or plants to justify it. See, there's a rule in screenwriting where if there's an element that saves the day at the end of the film, plant that element in the beginning in such a way that it seems irrelevant. That way, when it does end up turning the movie around, it doesn't just appear out of thin air.

A couple of examples are in order here. Okay, this is a bad example (well, more accurately, a good example from a bad movie) but remember the movie The Golden Child? There's that scene where the beggar gives Eddie Murphy's character an amulet. At first this seems like something superfluous, but later on it ends up keeping him from being killed with the Ashanti dagger (you can't remember what the main character's name is but you remember that the knife is called the Ashanti dagger?) Or remember in the first Indiana Jones movie? Near the beginning, that creepy Nazi dude burns his hand on the gold headpiece. At the time it looks like this is just something unfortunate for the creepy Nazi guy but later in the movie it turns out that those burn marks allow the Nazis to make their own little headpiece, even though they only have one side of it and so they're digging in the wrong spot, yadda, yadda, yadda.

See, these plot points were planted earlier in the movie so that when they show up later, it's not such a surprise. They don't just appear out of thin air, which is exactly how the prophecy that brings Aslan back to life feels.

"So how should they have planted that idea earlier?"

Hey, I didn't write the book and I didn't make the movie. It's not my responsibility to figure those things out.

See, here's the bit that really twists me. The whole Deep Magic, prophecy, Aslan coming back to life thing is just so irrational, so poorly setup. I can't help but think that this just perpetuates the stereotype of Christians as irrational and unable to properly setup their beliefs - they just throw them out there and expect you accept them without question. And then Christians wonder why they have little to no respect in the halls of academia.

It honestly shocks me that Lewis would re-imagine the death and resurrection of Jesus in such an intellectually, artistically childish way. It make other Christian artists seem intellectually/artistically childish by association.

Okay, I may have more ideas to share later, but for now, I'm off to sleep (got work tomorrow and I was late this morning).

"Well before you go, can you tell us - did you like it or not?"

Well, it's not that simple.

"Would you go see it again?

Probably not, unless it was with some really smart, cute single woman with short hair and glasses who wants to point out how wrong I am about the film...but she'd have to be really smart (and really cute doesn't hurt either) because there's a lot of explaining to do.

138. man interrupted

No connection between the title and the movie, I just thought it sounded cool.

It's odd. I have a kind of writer's block. More accurately, it's a writer's apathy. That kind of surprises me because I thought the advent of the new year would bring a flood of thoughts and words. But they haven't been forthcoming.

Truth be told, there is a short story idea that's kind of been sitting on the shelf staring at me, waiting for me to flesh it out and see where it wants to take me, but it's an odd topic (for me) and I'm not sure why it wants to be told. I only mention this because this has happened before - there was something waiting to be written but I've resisted and nothing else came until I got it out. Thing is, those where things I didn't mind writing. I just didn't write them because I was busy or lazy. But this idea...I kind of don't want to go there.

You know, I can't help but wonder if another reason I haven't been writing as much lately has to do with the post-trauma of the NaNoWriMo. That event really messed with my self-confidence. It was so outside my normal writing style and the fact that I never once reached my daily writing goal, compounded with the fact that I basically gave up about a week-and-a-half before the end of the event, kind of left me with a mild aversion to writing at all.

I think most of that is out of my system and I'm back to basic procrastination. I'll get to the story idea I mentioned above soon (probably tomorrow night). I also hope to blog more regularly, if only to exercise the writing muscles in my brain. There are lots of ideas I want to work out and writing is my favorite way to explore them.

Anyway, happy new year everybody! Thanks for reading and here's to a year of interesting thoughts and innovative short stories.

God bless,
randall
lonetomato.blogspot.com
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