Remember the time...

No more Chattanooga

2012-01-09T09:31:00.000-08:00

I live in Savannah now. I made this video to say goodbye to my old job.

Bye Bye Fancy from nicholas livanos on Vimeo.
I hate to go. But I'm excited. I'm sad to leave. But I'm thrilled at the same time.

My stupid heart doesn't know what to feel. And so...

_____onic

2011-12-29T11:06:00.000-08:00

The word ironic really ought to have a superlative form.

My boss/friend Drew put it like this: "It's like trying to build the perfect college basketball team and then right before the season starts your point guard goes pro..." Ultronic.

I like my job. I like my co-workers more than some people ever do. Supeironic.

But I just got the phone call. So I'm moving to Savannah on Monday to start grad school at the Savannah College of Art & Design.

Ironicasm. Uberonic.

"... But it's going to be awesome." - Drew

Fancy Rhino Christmas

2011-12-29T07:09:00.000-08:00

This is the video from our work party. We had fun. Even when the police came.

Wherever

2011-12-16T19:17:00.000-08:00

one door opens... A window is smashed? A wall is torn down? A building is demolished?

Is that how that goes?

Well, that is how it is going. Brick has given way to crisp, clean air. The Maker has acquired pots and pans. Flour and eggs. The oven is pre-heating.

He is cooking.

He Leadeth Me

2011-09-23T08:37:00.000-07:00

Shoot, man.

I don't ever blog anymore. I don't ever seem to read them either. It's almost a guilty feeling. But it comes from being busy. And it looks like that's not going to change.

Almost a year ago I said I was leaving Chattanooga. Anybody remember that? It's funny to think about now. But the Lord's leading is a delight. A blessing and a delight. I thought I might work in Florida. Thank goodness that didn't happen.

i LOVE teaching film at Southern. Period.

AND I just scored another job working for the best production company in town. I wasn't sure what to expect when I walked into the interview. But it turned out to be better than I ever hoped for. They do the highest quality work in Chattanooga. Far and away the best. They cared about my creative abilities more than technical abilities. They made it a point to bring up character in the interview, and we discussed how all of us are real-deal, God-lovin' Christians. Being made in the image of God affects what they do and how they do it.

And... I just really liked them. For real. Each person seems awesome. It might just be like working with close friends after a while.

For now, it's going to be half time at Southern and half time there. But once teaching is finished (in six weeks) I'll go full time at Fancy Rhino.

Yep, that's what it's called. Funny name. But seriously good.

Here's maybe the most recent video they've made (they do a lot of ad work, and some documentary stuff):

foolishness

2011-09-04T19:39:00.001-07:00

with no apologies.

Books? Books. from nicholas livanos on Vimeo.
Four experts explore a tremendous new discovery.

No b-roll. Just raw genius, and a few technical problems.

Blogging? Why?

2011-08-31T16:13:00.000-07:00

Oops

I haven't written anything in a long time. Perhaps I haven't been interested. Or perhaps I haven't felt interesting. Either way, here's an update since the last blog:

I worked at camp. I got a girlfriend. I went to India. I returned to TN where I help teach film classes now.

The abridged version leaves out most of the best parts.

A funny thing happened...

2011-06-10T23:54:00.000-07:00

*NOTE: my thoughts in this story are in italics.

I left Mivoden today with a group of dudes to go watch Super 8. It was pretty good. We had pizza for dinner. It was pretty good. I was going to go to the bathroom afterward, but there was someone sitting on the floor in the stall with the door locked. I could see their whole leg and shoe sticking out from underneath the door though. And I'm pretty sure they were talking in there... so I opted out of toilet time at the restaurant.

And then we went to Target. Nothing weird in those toilets, but when I went to grab some male hygiene products, I was approached by a group of three people: hispanic girl, older-white-hair-fat-guy, and young nerdy.

Young Nerdy did the talking, "Um... hey, can I talk to you?"

You can if you want to, but I hope you realize you've already started out super awkward. Me: "Ok..."

I noticed a cross attached to Young Nerdy's belt loop. I wonder what kind of strange evangelism is about to happen here... Then, easing into it, he explained that they were playing a treasure hunt game. Oh! They're doing a scavenger hunt, and they need a stranger in their picture or something. He said they had things written down like, "Target" and "red sweatshirt." Wow, someone thought it would be a treasure hunt to find a person in RED at TARGET? Neat game...

Young Nerdy: "... and... um... can we pray with you? I mean, is there anything you'd like us to pray for?"

Oh... THAT kind of strange evangelism. Do I look like a lost soul? Do lost souls wear read hoodies? Oh well... perfectly harmless. Me: "Oh. Sure! Um... I don't know what to tell you to pray for though. Things are going kind of awesome for me right now."

Seriously. I've been hanging out with tons of friends and having a blast. Richard Parker flew me out to work on a video that I had JUST finished, and he's going to comp all my food receipts. I'm about to get paid AND fly to Wawona for free. And that's the tip of the iceberg. Life is looking up. Me: "I guess I'm traveling soon. You could pray for safe travels."

Fat Whitey: "Oh, where are you going?"

And that's when the evangelism took a turn. Because I was forced to reveal my Christianity. Me: "Oh, I'm flying down to Yosemite National Park to work at a Christian summer camp." I was heartily congratulated and encouraged, but felt sort of bad for not being a straight-up lost soul that they could convert and baptize in the middle of his worldly Dove Men+Care purchase. We chatted about that for a while when I suddenly remembered the most obvious thing that they could pray for: duh, Heart Sight Blind Camp. Me: "Oh! I totally know what you can pray for! And tell other people about! After regular summer camp, I'm going to India to put on a summer camp for blind orphan children!"

More encouragement/discussion. But I felt sort of fake-o. I mean, I'm definitely not the heathen they were hoping for. But I'm not the uber Christian I just made myself sound like either. [hi, my name's nick and this weekend I'm Flying From One Christian Summer Camp To ANOTHER CHRISTIAN SUMMER CAMP AND THEN FLYING TO ANOTHER CHRISTIAN SUMMER CAMP THAT I STARTED MYSELF FOR BLIND ORPHANS IN INDIA!]

I should have just walked away right then beating my big Christian chest. Sorry awkward random-vangelists, these aren't the droids you're looking for.

But I stayed, and they took tiny, awkward steps toward me before one by one, awkwardly laying hands on me. Did I mention these people were super awkward? Then they each prayed for me, right there by the Dove display. Fat Whitey even prayed that I would heal the blind. And when it was done I said, "Well, this has been unusual to say the least. I'm going to buy soap and deodorant now. Goodbye."

What a mix of thoughts an emotions. I am not the guy you were thinking I was before you walked up, huh Young Nerdy? And I'm very likely not the guy you think I am now. This whole experience was really freakin' weird. But also... nice? And certainly sincere.

I've never really been a fan of approaching or being approached with an agenda. But on the other hand I didn't mind these people at all. I guess I don't have a real good closing thought here. So... don't you want to watch this movie?

Scenes

2011-06-08T11:57:00.000-07:00

And what makes them good.

Recently, Sahale asked me to do some writing for her, so she can work on directing a bit. That sounded like fun, so I did it. I wrote a new scene almost every day until I had finished 12.

There's a Nooma video where Rob Bell talks about what frustrates us. It's not the point of the video, but it's what I remember most. He says that the thing that frustrates people is when something doesn't go according to plan. That's it. No more or less.

And you know what else? That's exactly what happens in a good scene. Every time. Go watch a movie and you'll see it. Guaranteed. In every good scene, something doesn't go according to plan. The character has expectations, and for some reason, those expectations are not met. Something unexpected happens.

So... movies/stories are just long scenarios where people get endlessly frustrated? Since we know that's not true [we know there are happy endings, etc.], how do we account for the truth of what Rob Bell said and the truth of a good scene?

The first answer is simple: 1. Sometimes the unexpected turn is a pleasant surprise. But the second answer is a greater one about character. What does a character do when things don't go according to plan? When expectations are not met?

Well, good characters, the kind we love,

2. Adapt.

One Year Ago

2011-06-05T20:57:00.000-07:00

It's important to remember.

i heard the rapture was later today, but that's not in my plans

2011-05-21T10:05:00.000-07:00

Thursday night the phone rang.

me: hello?

voice on the other end: hey, this is richard parker.

me: richard parker who?

Then Richard asked me what I was doing for the next three weeks. Then he told me he wanted to fly up to Spokane, take me to Mivoden, and pay me to make a video for him for the next three weeks. I asked when? and he said tomorrow. I said give me the weekend to get ready to leave Collegedale and not come back for months. So I fly out on Tuesday.

Peace be with you, Collegedale,
you lonely ghost of a town.

Chapters

2011-05-13T10:31:00.000-07:00

Always end.

And then new ones start.

I'm working on making myself a website. I'm not done yet.

Right now I'm in the Washington DC area for my sister's graduation. She's getting a master's degree in library science. None of us knows what that means. Not even her, really.

I think I might be the odd one out in my family. My brother isn't here yet, but he and my sister and mother all seem to understand each other in a way I don't. I'm not that funny to them. Or interesting, I think... My friends always make me feel funny and interesting (if that's not true, don't tell me. I'd rather live on in ignorance of you poor opinion of me).

I brought some books to read to pass the time. I just started Rob Bell's new book Love Wins. I think it will be a quick read. So I also have Blink, because I've never finished it.

My sister made a strawberry tart. I will eat some soon. She is also sewing her own dress for her graduation tomorrow.

Having friends around for Albi's wedding was fun. Everyone leaving was much less fun. Airport goodbyes suck.

Sometimes I want to study for the GRE just to learn new words.

When I get back to TN, I have to edit a video for a lady who may or may not be crazy. Her husband invented a thing that cauterizes wounds chemically. Maybe he's a medical genius?

Polaroid stopped making Polaroid film. But some former employees thought that was lame, so they started making their own film that can be used in Polaroid cameras. The age of instant film is not over, thank goodness.

I need to brush my teeth.

I really like my friends. A whole lot. I miss them all right now.

I want to live closer to the Pacific Ocean.

I get annoyed when people click "Reply All" on Facebook messages and I get their personal message that was intended only for the original sender.

I'm also working on a logo for myself. I'm not settled on anything yet. I'm willing to take suggestions.

This is sort of an in-between-chapters chapter.

News

2011-04-26T09:31:00.000-07:00

Things change quickly.

I recently emailed my best friend Stanley's boss about the job I am in consideration for in Florida. I was trying to sort out how fast or slow (it's generally been very slow) I could expect the hiring process to be, especially considering I wanted to tell Anthony if I wasn't coming to camp. I got an email this morning:

"Nick,

Go to camp. Not because you're out of the running, but because we can wait till after. I still think you are a great fit for the dept but until hr gets me candidates and we evaluate them, we will be in a holding pattern.

Seth"

And then a little later:

"I worked at camp until I was 27. Don't give it up until you have to. I still volunteer 1 week a summer."

I guess I should sign that Wawona contract.

My Bicycle Adventure

2011-04-23T17:38:00.000-07:00

A book.

You don't have to read the whole thing [or any of it, really]. I won't be offended. It's very long. But prizes will be given to those who finish.

Prologue

Without calculating anything, I guessed that the longer route Jones and I had biked for training/fun was around 15 miles.

Last week at this time, I was busy biking the Venture Alumni Ride from Dallas to Austin, TX. The ride was a way for any alumni of Venture Expeditions trips (like mine to hike Kilimanjaro last summer and raise money/support/awareness for the Kenya Children's Fund) to get together in community and discuss the future of Venture while [hopefully] having a ton of fun.

Part 1

I decided to hitchhike to Dallas, TX from Chattanooga, TN [roughly 800 miles]. I planned and prepped better than I ever had for hitchhiking. I borrowed a camp chair so I could sit comfortably on the roadside. I printed lists of truck stops along my route and highlighted the bigger names so I knew the best places to stop. I brought a hammock for overnight camping. I made a nice looking sign stating my destinations. Before I would get into a car, I would take a picture of it from behind that showed the license plate, then text that photo to some friends. Stay in touch. That's the number one rule of hitchhiking safety.

I needed to be in Dallas on Thursday night for the start of Venture activities, so on Monday Jones dropped me off just past Chattanooga on I-59 somewhere inside Georgia. Ironically, there was another guy trying to hitch a ride further down the on-ramp. Moments after I sat down, he came up to talk to me. He asked if I thought he looked rough or dirty or something. I told him he looked like he had been out here for a while. You know, tan. He said that he had been waiting at this exit for five days and couldn't get a ride going either direction. Then he said he was going to take a break and I could "have the ramp" while he hid his five-gallon bucket of belongings and got a snack from the gas station. I assured him I wouldn't steal his spare underwear from the bucket and wished him well. Within five minutes, a truck had pulled over and the two older country gentlemen inside offered to take me 20 miles down the road where I'd get a better ride. Naturally, I was thankful.

At the next stop, I barely had time to set up my chair and relax before another southern bumpkin in yet another truck pulled over and said he was passing through Birmingham. He was a retired railroad worker named Ken who used his spare time as a retiree to courier machine parts all over Alabama, which was exactly what he was doing that day. Because his job demands that he hurry, he let me jump out on the roadside and walk from the split from I-59 to I-20 down the highway to I-20 proper.

I must have waited on the side of the interstate for about half an hour before I decided that I might have better luck further down the road. So I picked up my gear and started walking. Before I could get to the next exit, Scott picked me up. He was a younger guy without any southern drawl, driving a mid-size rental sedan with his dog, Dizzy, in the back. He told me he had seen my sign for Dallas on my backpack as I walked, sized me up as he passed by to make sure I didn't look sketchy, then turned around to come back and pick me up.

He was going all the way to Austin, TX. And just like that, my hitchhiking was done. Scott was a musician and our opinions on music generally lined up, so we had good conversation all the way my drop-off point.

I couldn't have gotten to Texas faster if I had just decided to drive myself all the way there.

Part 2

Since I didn't need to be there until Thursday, I had time to kill. I hung out with people from my Kilimanjaro trip. We ate real Texas bar-b-que, homemade tacos, and played Wii. I met their other friends and roommates and saw their non-Africa lives. Many snow cones were had. Texas has the best snow cones, in case you didn't know.

Thursday night was a fantastic party. I met the guy who started Venture, Aaron Smith, and other people I had only spoken to on the phone like Josh Iniguez, who organizes all the trips. Everyone played lawn bowling together. Giant Jenga [with 2x4s instead of little blocks] was played by little children (which looked sort of dangerous because the wooden tower was taller than the kids, and at some point in the game, those blocks fall over).

Then we discussed the bike ride that would start the following morning.

Now, my bike is from the 70s, and while it is very cool, it isn't very good or nice. More importantly, I didn't hitchhike with it. So my friend, and the leader of my Kilimanjaro trip, Paul Hurckman, hooked me up with a bike. It was a nice bike. Carbon fiber. Fancy shifters (as far as I'm concerned). And clip-in pedals. Paul and I spent part of the evening switching out the pedals for different clip-ins that matched the shoes he acquired for me. Basically, Paul is a hero. But I had never used clip-in pedals before. A young guy named Tim who biked across Turkey last summer held the bike still while I tried to clip in and out a couple times in Paul's garage. Seemed do-able. At least with the bike stationary.

Aaron Smith

Josh Iniguez

Paul Hurckman and his wife Candace. I bet he'd hate this picture...

Part 3

Friday morning we met at a church, shuttled 23 cyclists to the starting place, and ate breakfast together. Aaron Smith said they had an extra Venture jersey in my size, so I should go ahead and grab it. We prayed together, then someone said it seemed like we should all put our hands in the center of the circle and chant something, so we did. Paul was my hero and personal support team. He hung back to make sure I survived my first ride with clip-ins on this foreign bicycle. He gave me point-by-point instruction, and in the end I did great. I didn't fall. It was much more efficient than normal biking. And the morning felt like a total success.

Fifteen miles till the first water break. Things were going well. I biked next to new friends and heard stories about their trips and lives. I told them about hitchhiking, Kilimanjaro, film stuff, and my inexperience with cycling.

Another 20-25 miles till lunch. I was in the back, but I was keeping up. I made sure to stretch a lot at lunch as I thought to myself, I've already biked farther than I've ever biked in a single day.

After lunch, my body began to complain. There were strong winds all over the place. I fell to the back of the group. My butt felt like it was bruised and my bike seat was a cactus. I took extra breaks to drink water, eat snacks, and stretch. Aaron Smith showed up behind me, riding his fixed-gear bike, and said he'd stay with me as I plodded along. It was a comfort that this humbly hardcore guy waited for me and my wimpy legs so I wouldn't be alone. Paul Hurckman showed up too, so there were three of us riding in the back of the pack.

When we finally showed up at the afternoon check point, everyone cheered. "People cheer when things finally happen," I thought to myself. Paul would later tell me that at this point, he knew I was going to go all the way and finish the ride. At the time, I was just looking to finish the day. My right knee was starting to give me real trouble, and I thought I might end up riding in the van the next day.

After about 15 more miles, pain, many more breaks, and the encouragement of some small children who wanted to see us "go fast," we arrived at UBC in Waco, Texas. The total for the day was around 75 miles.

UBC is one of the coolest church buildings I've ever seen. Very artistic. Especially when you find out is used to be a grocery store. I tried to look up some pictures, but I couldn't find any. Oh well. They fed us. Venture bought everyone frozen yogurt. And by the time it was dark I was sleepy so I slept.

The next morning, I felt a little better. I got some Advil from a guy named Matt, and as Amanda suggested, I just got back on the bike. Once the drugs kicked in, I felt pretty good. So at lunch time, I got some more pills from doctor Matt, and when the first group headed out to get a jump on the afternoon, I left with them.

At one point, I stopped because I thought we were missing a turn. It seemed like the map and directions indicated a left where the four men ahead of me had kept going straight. But then four ladies biked up and said that though it appeared confusing, they were fairly sure the boys were correct and so we just kept going. It was about three or four miles down the road that the boys had turned around and were coming back our direction. They told us we had missed a turn. About three or four miles back. Perfect. The afternoon was turning to anguish for my aching legs. My knee was subdued by medication, but my booty still felt like someone had used it as a punching bag and then traded my saddle for a firey pitchfork.

One girl mapped us a shortcut back to the correct route using her iPhone. Thank goodness. And magically, we ended up crossing a giant dam with a stunning view of a lake that we never would have seen if we had just gone the "right" way (insert cliche spiritual lesson here).

By the time we met up with the van for our afternoon break, the rest of the team was long gone. It was me and Paul and Aaron bringing up the way way way back for the rest of the ride. Paul got a flat tire at one point and I rode on alone until I ran out of water and stopped at a gas station to fill up my bottle. The flat was fixed and the guys caught up to me about the same time one of the Venture vans pulled into the station to tell us we had about nine more miles to go, and most everyone should be finishing about now.

Finished a total of 80+ miles (with our small detour), took showers, set up for another night of camping on a church floor. The church bought us pizza. Then we went to Rock-A-Billy's Shaved Ice.

Another Venture Alum owns this snow cone place. I guess it's sort of well-known for the Georgetown, TX area. He's got some old classic cars in the parking lot that he ripped all the seats out of and put tables in so you can have your snow cones in style. He gave us all free shaved ice. I, along with a girl named Shannon Jones, secretly took his tip jar around to the team and filled it up to repay his kindness.

The next morning we all went out for breakfast and I had giant ginger bread pancakes. I pumped myself full of meds and rode out. But I waited too long to drug up. My knee was excruciating. The hills leading into Austin looked and felt bigger, and the winds must have been angry with me. The pain started to subside about the same time we got off frontage roads and into the city. We stopped for lunch only two or three miles from the finish, which seemed silly because I wasn't hungry at all and we were so close.

But after everyone finished eating, we mounted up and rode the last few miles all together. It felt pretty glorious. Cheers went up as we finished in front of Mellow Johnny's [Lance Armstrong's bike shop]. We had done it. I had done it. Ridden a bicycle 200 miles in two and a half days.

After a little confusion about where to take a group picture, we had refreshing showers, beverages at Juan Pelota Cafe, and took a walk down to the river where Reggae Fest was going down in full force. Dudes were smoking bongs out in their kayaks. Dirty men with nipple rings were working out and showing off for women. And best[?] of all, an old man was riding his bike wearing nothing but a tiny man-thong. He was very tan. We laughed. Austin is funny.

Part 4

Venture took us out to dinner at a nice restaurant on a lake. Aaron Smith talked about the future of Venture Expeditions at the end and how they had struggled for a while with the organization's identity. Is it an adventure tour company? An advocacy NGO? They decided that more than anything, they want it to be a community. And I like that. It was really great getting to meet people who are so like me in this one way: We all want adventure in our lives, but we don't want it to be selfish. Our passions can be tools that serve needs in the world. An adventurous lifestyle can be a story bigger and more meaningful than oneself.

I even had the opportunity to speak to everyone briefly and tell them how thankful I was for them, and how impressed I am by them. After a comparatively short bike ride through a small piece of Texas, it's easy to appreciate people who have cycled for weeks across an entire country. They are amazing. And I told them so. And then Aaron named me the Venture Alumnus of the year. I told him I wanted a trophy, but I'm still waiting on that.

We drove back to Dallas that evening and when everyone had their bikes out of the trailer we said a prayer to close. Then we gathered around just like day one and put our hands in the center of the circle. Before anyone could say anything, I jokingly spoke up with, "Quack." Before I could take it back, everyone bought in wholeheartedly. We quacked louder and louder, just like the mighty ducks, with no plan of how the chant would finish. Eventually the enthusiasm broke into yelling and cheers and I was finally able to stop laughing.

These Venture people. They're good people.

Epilogue

I think there's something to be said about will power. About mind over matter. About doing something that seems impossible for you, but then you accomplish it because you decide to. I'm not sure what that thing is, but I think it could be said here.

When I got home, I checked out the route Jones and I ride on Google maps, just for the heck of it.

7.4 miles total.

Be honest...

2011-03-31T13:49:00.000-07:00

Did you help me with my movie?

If you helped me at any point in time with my short film Incarnate (if you read the script and told me what you thought, gave me a few bucks, or whatever) please refresh my memory and give me your full name as you would like it to appear in special thanks part of the credits. Also, go ahead and remind me of anyone who isn't reading blogs who ought to get a nod.

I think I've got most people, but I don't want to leave anyone out.

Thanks.

Weather

2011-03-24T13:03:00.000-07:00

gets a thumbs down.

Today I put on shorts. Then I went outside, and it was cold again. And I was angry. Spring is a fickle tease who won't commit, and winter is a bitter ex who won't admit it's over.

I'm going to put on warm socks.

I want to remember this forever

2011-03-22T13:00:00.000-07:00

A facebook comment:

Jordan Sager

Nick, I was taking a nap today and I had a dream that a friend and I were in our little town here in Tanzania, on our way back to the orphanage and we had to walk through this street in Egypt to get back. It was night time and the street was almost empty except for the two of us and these 2 Egyptian guys who were following us. One of the guys start running his hand up and down my arm in an attempt to hold my hand. We started running down these twisting dark sidestreets until we reached this this open section where we didn't know what else to do when YOU popped out of a manhole with a cow's skull with an American flag lifted above your head. Let me tell you, those Egyptians peaced out pretty fast and then you did this sort of victory lap around the area we were in. God bless America and God bless you that you would defend my honor even in my dreams. I don't know how to thank you. Maybe I'll buy you a burrito when we're both on the same soil.

bbbrrrrraaaaaaaaaaakkkk

2011-03-21T18:28:00.000-07:00

The picture doesn't mean anything. I just thought it looked cool.

Today I was in the library for a while. At one point I looked up and saw a kid had taken his shoes off and was laying on the ground behind me. He used his shirt for a pillow and propped his legs up with his backpack under his knees. I ate asparagus pizza outside. Amanda has forced me to eat much more delicious food and become a better cook. I'm sort of a food snob now. I had a meeting with the animators who will do the green screen work for my movie. I made extensive notes for Danny Cooper and his music-making considering my movie as well. I heard someone in another room in Brock hall quoting me. From a video of me. I might sleep outside because it's spring now. Yesterday was the first day [of spring] and Elisa made me seize it. I really like Elisa. I will be sad when she goes to Oklahoma. Unless I go with her I guess. I might do that. And then hitch-hike to California for SonScreen (if they are indeed going to screen my movie). Then I'll maybe hitch-hike to Dallas, TX because I'm doing a bike ride from Dallas to Austin. April 14-17. ish. I think. Around 200 miles, but all super flat. It seems like I'm going to end up working in Florida with Stanley. But it's quite a waiting game. Someone just gave me a piece of mint chocolate ice cream gum. It's weird, but kinda good I guess. We've started watching BBC's Human Planet because I got the whole first season. It's cool. I like limeade. I don't like chewing gum for very long.

Shift >>

2011-03-09T11:01:00.000-08:00

Text message from Stanley Pomianowski regarding position at Florida Hospital:

"Full time job 100% approved. But you still have to beat out the others (easy)"

Multiple Choice

2011-02-18T07:22:00.000-08:00

A. Give up.

B. Quit.

C. Throw in the towel.

D. Press on.

press on from nicholas livanos on Vimeo.

So, I made this. Does it have deeper meaning? Yes. Am I going to tell you what that is? No, probably not. But here it is anyway. Think what you like; interpret if you care to; keep your eyes open; or don't watch at all. This one is for me.

quotation from a northern nation

2011-02-14T19:37:00.000-08:00

I've been editing my movie a lot lately.

‎"The myths woven by us, though they contain error, will also reflect a splintered fragment of the true light, the eternal truth that is with God. Indeed only by myth-making, only by becoming 'sub-creator' and inventing stories, can Man aspire to the state of perfection that he knew before the Fall. Our myths may be misguided, but they steer however shakily towards the true harbour, while materialistic 'progress' leads only to a yawning abyss and the Iron Crown of the power of evil."
— J.R.R. Tolkien

Sent to me via my friend Andrew Mills in Canada, a fellow Kilimanjaro climber.

The Importance Of Silliness

2011-02-03T13:36:00.000-08:00

Silliness is the thing that makes you dance in the car when you like the song. It's the thing that makes you use a funny voice when telling that part of the story. It's the thing that makes you put on a costume and walk boldly out into public, the thing that makes you sing loudly and off-key, and for some, the thing that makes you cut your hair into a comb-over and a rat tail.

It is the stuff of laughing and snorting.

It is the stuff of laughing till you cry.

It is the stuff of acting a fool but not feeling like one. It is the ability to embarrass oneself for the sake of having more fun. It is irreverent, fatuous, and daft. And it is an amplifier of life.

Silliness is very important.

Sacrilege

2011-02-02T11:41:00.000-08:00

I recently found all my old CDs. And I've been listening to them a lot in the car. The wash of nostalgia is a delight.

But I also realized how the music I chose in my youth has shaped my life. No joke. Punk rock made me who I am. And ska filled up my ears for a long time too, but that's more embarrassing.

Don't get me wrong, it's hard to do anything but laugh at the younger version of myself who loved The Vandals, Me First And The Gimme Gimmes, The Ramones, Less Than Jake, Reel Big Fish, The Blue Meanies, Five Iron Frenzy, MXPX, The Dropkick Murphys, Potshot, and all the rest. That kid was an idiot. He made his left ear half deaf listening to that trash. I mean, "My Pants Are Falling Down?" What kind of a song is that?

But believe it or don't, there were values instilled in the subculture of that music. And they stuck. Punk ideologies center around rebellion, anti-authoritarianism, free thought, and discontent. The music and everything else was an expression of nonconformity; an opposition to mainstream culture.

There must have been at least a hundred songs about "selling out." Wikipedia defines selling out as "the perception that someone is compromising their integrity, morality, or principles in exchange for money or "success" (however defined). It is commonly associated with attempts to tailor material to a mainstream audience."

For the longest time, I just wanted to be cool. But when punk rock came along, I didn't want to be cool at all. I wanted to be counter. I reveled in uniqueness. I saw the flaws in "the system." And I was not down with "the man." I no longer felt the need to make everyone like me.

As naive as I was in those days, I'm happy with the parts of the philosophy that stuck. Because not everything the government or any administration does is right. And the straight edge/hardline ideals [no alcohol, no tobacco, no drugs, no casual sex] birthed from punk rock play nicely in the sandbox with conservative Christianity. And big businesses seem more black hole every day, while indie/local everything is like a shiny blue star.

So I'm not a push-over § I have my opinions. I'm not a sell-out § money is not my master. I'm not easily convinced § your argument has to be good. Popularity is not important § honesty about personal identity is. I don't do things just because everyone else does § I think for myself and examine my life. And I think other people should too.

Because the world is wrong and broken and can't be trusted. And when I think about that, I wonder if Jesus didn't have a punk rock phase too.

I own all these albums and more.

underground heroes

2011-01-25T10:18:00.000-08:00

I emulate. And it's turned out to be a problem. So I'll grab a little wooden box.

When I still had velcro on my shoes because I didn't know all the tricks for making laces work, my dad was my hero. He was probably the biggest person I saw on a regular basis, which meant he was the strongest and best. But my vision re-focused with time. I see the flaws of my father. He has had issues with his temper. He has never been the best at holding a job and doing that fatherly "provider" thing. And now he lives in government housing.

When I had figured out laces but still didn't care about cool, my brother was my hero. He was older and a few steps ahead in every way. He looked out for me. I remembered he even lied to protect me a couple times. But eventually I realized the importance of cool. And then the very unpleasant reality that my brother was not.

When I couldn't afford Jnco jeans but got perfect grades, my teacher was my hero. He accomplished the cliche and made learning fun. We shot stuff out of cannons, built huge contraptions, blew stuff up, and cut open dead animals. I wanted to be a teacher just like him. But then someone told me that teachers don't make very much money at all. And they still deal with a lot of crap from school administration, board members, & parents. Being a teacher like him didn't seem so important anymore after that.

When I stopped caring about cool so much, my hero was a small group of talented guys. One was a golden athlete. One was a good and loyal friend to everyone he met. One was the funniest guy I had ever known. I could never be quite as good as any of them, but I tried and tried. But the athlete messed around with alcohol. The loyal friend's own friends were not loyal in return. And the funny guy just wanted a boring life in the end. I was disappointed.

The creative genius I admired from afar eventually left the church.

The musical genius became pretentious, obscure, and aloof.

The chaplain moved away and fell out of touch.

So I let my hero be a girl. And she taught me new things. And we traveled the world. And I laughed as hard as I ever have. And she broke my heart into a million billion pieces smaller than dust. And when I thought I was close to repair, she broke it again. And when I thought it was impossible to break, it was broken a third time, in a brand new way.

I don't want a hero anymore. Every single one has failed. Each has proven to be mortal in the end. None of them better than my own mortal self.

I emulate. And it's turned out to be a problem. So I'll grab a little wooden box. And I'll gather up all my heroes. The girlfriend, the chaplain. The friends and teacher. My brother and father. And gently, as if made of glass, I'll place them in the box.

Then I'll take my time and dig a deep hole. I'll make sure to sweat and ache while I shovel. Then I'll put the heroes in the hole, safe in their box. I'll cover up the box with dirt. Buried. Because that's what we do with the dead.

nothing to write home about

2010-12-23T14:16:00.000-08:00

∆ I drove into the DMZ by accident today. I thought I'd stop into Rock/Creek and just look around. I'd clearly forgotten what time of year it is. I must have been stuck in traffic for an hour. In the parking lot. I didn't even bother trying to park or going into Rock/Creek after it started. I just admitted my own foolishness and patiently played stop-and-go until I finally escaped.

∆ I called Groome Transportation about getting me to the airport on Christmas Day. They are closed Christmas Day. I will most likely be spending Christmas Eve and morning with the Schnell's in Calhoun because of this, and Ben "To The Rescue" Schnell will take me to the airport.

∆ I was thinking recently about how I haven't seen my feet in a long time. Or at least, it seems like it. They're always wrapped in Smartwool or Pearl Izumi and I'm not sure what they look like any more. I'll pay attention the next time I take a shower and make sure my sandal tan hasn't completely disappeared.

∆ Gimbel and I are going to make some food for dinner right now.

∆ I'm going to work on Christmas present stuff after she goes to work.

∆ Anthony Handal posted a video link in a comment Chris Clouzet's blog. You should watch it, until you can't handle it any more.

∆ People have given me hats for Christmas this year. My mom made me this one:

Really, mom? Really?

Go ahead and laugh. I did. I know I have a larger than normal head. But this is a bit ridiculous.

∆ Anyway, Gimbel's doing all the work in the kitchen for dinner (surprise, surprise) so I better get in there and attempt helpfulness.

December 18, 2010

2010-12-17T23:44:00.000-08:00

Things will happen today. Lots of them. Today is not a normal or ordinary day. There is anticipation dripping from the air and forming the dewy expectation of things that will be remembered for a long time.

And I think to myself: "What if we never treated today like a normal day?"

But then I reprimand myself. That's too idealistic. Nevermind.

Instead, I won't treat this today like an ordinary day. I will admit, absorb, and add to the specialness of December 18, 2010.

this will do for tonight

2010-12-10T22:38:00.000-08:00

Lord, please help me to live
a life that is willing to give
Lord, please help me to be a man found and free
though still a fugitive

Lord, put love in my heart
but stop short of ripping apart
all that we've known to be that I love you and you love me
Lord, make a triangle heart

Lord, please honor your sons
and honor your daughters as one
bind an unbreakable vow that's breath-takeable
Lord, in the name of your Son

Lord let us live without fear
for life may not always be clear
and when we're approaching death may we with dying breath
shout, "For the kingdom is here."

Kind of a boring blog...

2010-12-09T19:58:00.000-08:00

Recently I've notices two new things about myself.

The first thing is that I often amuse myself in my own mind. That needs more explanation. What happens is that someone says something. Usually something that can be taken out of context, or something that can have a whole new meaning if taken literally. My synapses that like to play with language start firing, and then there's a laugh riot in my brain. The world is often funnier to me than I'm able to let on.

The second thing is how dearly emotional I've become lately. Not with everything, mind you. Just with one thing. I guess that thing would be stories (which isn't surprising for the people who know me well). But here's what I've seen in myself. I'll listen to a podcast. Or I'll watch a movie. I find myself emotionally invested in characters and stories, even when they aren't that good. And then I'm ready to cry for them. Or legitimately inspired by them. Or something.

What the heck is this? Empathy? Do I care about people or something now? And fictional characters too? I don't get it. But I sure have noticed it.

I wonder what this says about me.

Anyway, if you've been a good enough human to read this far through my inner thoughts, here is a neat picture to reward you.

Feelings

2010-12-05T07:01:00.000-08:00

Feelings from nicholas livanos on Vimeo.
This is a video about my feelings. But don't worry too much.

After a long blog about my factings, I think I promised one about my feelings. Here it is.

2010-12-03T06:50:00.001-08:00

It's not perfect, but there are a few reasons I would obviously like this.

To the points

2010-11-30T19:18:00.000-08:00

• Blue Like Jazz was both fun and boring. Fun because it was interesting and I like that stuff. I got to meet the director and actors. Watch how they all operate. Boring because when you don't have a job on a movie, you have absolutely nothing to do.

That's the Don Miller character's car in the movie.

This was sort of an angry altercation scene with the lead, Marshal Allman & Clair Holt.

Marshall was on Pirson Break a lot. And I didn't even know that Claire was Australian until she talked to the director in-between takes. Her American accent was so believable.

I have pictures of Marshall, but I'm not supposed to show people. This is a picture of the camera. They actually had two, and would shoot both at the same time to go faster.

The banner on the church says, "Don't Let These People REPRODUCE!!!" Can't wait to see what this scene is about... oh yeah, I was an extra in the movie, but I forgot to say that. And because it was the end of production, they had a cast/crew photo, and I took it. Those were my coolest activities for the day.

• Conclusion: What separates my movie-making from theirs is money. A huge deal because I have very little money and I'm not sure how to get more for a film [yet]. But also just a little thing, because it's only one thing. It's not a lack of talent or skills, just cash. I can fix that. Right?

• But maybe best of all was going to Ashley's house for the night to hang out with a friend that I love.

This picture is out of focus and a real bad composition. But I like it anyway.

• Thanksgiving road trip to Florida looked like this: Wednesday = driving all day. Thursday = cooking and eating and home town nostalgia and Skyping till forever. Friday = free Busch Gardens and roller coasters with no waiting lines. Saturday = church and some of the best-est of old friends [Stanley & Ellie & Eric & Leslie & Reyes & Levi & Ruby]. Sunday = more lovely people (Ryan & Monica) + more awful driving.

• Tara had an awkward encounter with my brother. Not surprising, because my brother is awkward. Ask her about it if you haven't already heard.

• For the first time in ten years all the siblings were home for a holiday. We took family photos. Something we've never really done ever before. It was silly.

• There's a really good chance for a job working right alongside Stanley making commercials in Orlando. Salary. Health benefits. Retirement package. The whole deal. The only bad part about it is that it's in Orlando, FL. And other important things [like working at camp] would become much more difficult/impossible. There's a lot of fight in me against the idea of this very good job. I don't know all the reasons why. But I do know that sometimes I don't want a real job, even though it would be good for me [financially]. I just want to make movies and I don't care about being poor.

• There's also a good chance for a job on a feature film coming up in February. Could last all the way till April. I'm supposed to find out more about that tomorrow.

• Aaron Adams was an animation teacher until he left to go work for Disney on the movie Tangled that just came out. He was here today, so we took a Southern bus to the movie theater to watch it with him. Then we came back and had a nice long Q & A time with him. It was awesome.

• Also, Justin Jones looks remarkably like the lead male character from the movie: Flynn Ryder.


See? Kinda, right?

• Tomorrow night I'll help out some film kids who are going to be shooting at the Foote's. They needed a kitchen to shoot in. So I hooked them up.

• I have to shoot a video before the end of the year about prayer for Southern. It'll look really good, whenever I finally get to work.

• Oh, and Christmas this year could be interesting... but I don't want to say too much before things are more certain...

• Next time maybe I'll blog about my feelings. I have plenty of those to go around.

continuing education

2010-11-21T17:13:00.000-08:00

Going to the set of Blue Like Jazz [the movie] in Nashville tomorrow. Hoping to learn some things.

Business is my business

2010-11-19T21:45:00.000-08:00

Thursday was a day with plans. Got a call Wednesday night that made Thursday even busier. Here is an outline without many of the important details that explain things.

Wednesday. P.M.

Drove to Bryan Fowler's house and picked up his Steadicam equipment.

Drove to the Improv Thanksgiving show.

Drove to Nashville to meet Bryan Fowler and deliver the equipment.

Spent the night in the Millennium Maxwell House Hotel.

Thursday. Woke at 5:30 A.M.

Departed Nashville at 6:15 A.M. with Ame Fowler and Wes Hall.

Saw Bess Martin driving as we got back to Collegedale.

Dropped off Wes and Ame. Ame cut me a check for my services.

Met Johnny at the Village Market and got money for the sail boat rudder I needed to pick up in Atlanta.

Ate some quick breakfast.

Drove down to Buford, GA to meet with Brandon McCormick of Whitestone Motion Pictures.

Had a good, long conversation. Learned a lot. Made a connection/friend. He gave me a secret, unreleased link to The Candy Shop online... but I'm not allowed to share it.

Contacted Johnny's sail boat rudder guy, but his wife had an accident, so the meeting wouldn't be happening.

Drove back to Collegedale and Brock Hall.

Transferred a copy of the Doritos commercial to the art department computer network so the other guys can get it.

Talked to art professors about Whitestone meeting and Brandon's willingness to come and visit Southern.

Returned Elisa's call and decided to go see the mayor of Newark, NJ at the UTC lecture series.

Hurried back to Collegedale, got my car, hurried out to Red Robin and met Janelle and Tony and the crew.

Went to the midnight premier of the new Harry Potter movie at the IMAX. All the weirdies were dressed up. The channel 9 news was there. And it was FUN.

Got back home and asleep about 4:00 A.M.

Friday: Wake up late and go to lunch with Bess Martin.

Bank deposit run.

Oil change.

Dinner with my people.

Destiny Drama Vespers.

Pumpkin Pie.

Skype Jessi, and then Princess, and then Rachel all at once, and back down to just Jessi.

Wrote this blog.

Doritos Contest

2010-11-14T15:18:00.000-08:00

We made a commercial for a contest. Click this link to watch it. Then share it and spread it around if you are so inclined. If we win, there's heaps of money and prizes involved.

Seis De Nostalgia

2010-11-11T10:48:00.001-08:00

Seis De Mayo from Jeremy Rowland on Vimeo.

Thank goodness for Jeremy Rowland.

King Charles

2010-11-09T20:39:00.000-08:00

This guy opened up for Mumford & Sons. It was something like but not necessarily mesmerizing.

outE5000

2010-11-05T12:47:00.000-07:00

I guess it's as settled as it's going to be. I'm leaving. 2011 will mean someplace new. Not sure where exactly, because there's too many options and nothing is concrete yet.

We've had a good, long run Collegedale. If there's a miracle or something, I suppose I could stay. Otherwise, we've got a just a few months left.

I'll try to make them good.

The Sachariat Family

2010-10-28T20:05:00.000-07:00

So I've been in Ohio for the last day or two. My grandma died Sunday. They said she probably had a stroke or a heart attack or something while putting her groceries away. She was the only grandparent I ever had. I only saw her once or twice. The last time, I was probably ten or twelve.

No one in my family has ever died before. Wait... that's not true. I actually learned on the drive up here that I had a cousin who was shot in July. [It's a confusing story. He was mentally ill, had a gun in a house, the police came, some shooting, no one's sure what happened. Crazy, right? I never met Ricky.]

I drove up with my mom. I talked to her about how we are a strange family. How none of us stay in touch real well. How I was about to meet a lot of my extended family for the first time. Isn't that weird?

Most of us went out to dinner after the memorial service. I went around to all the different tables asking people to help me fill out the family tree I was hand-scrawling on the back of a paper place mat. And you know what? I think I like them. My aunts are funny. My uncles are good men. My cousins are cool too. Some of them have kids. Their kids are polite and smart, without being boring. My youngest cousin even goes to college in Knoxville, so maybe I'll see her again.

They buried my grandma right next to her husband. I carried her casket, but I didn't know her real well. That sort of seems like a shame. But I came up here for my mom. She is my family. And I think she's going to be okay.

My mom took me on a tour of Apple Creek, OH. She thought it might take an hour. It took about 10 minutes. This is her elementary school.

the why

2010-10-25T19:44:00.000-07:00

I seek a reason. If I had a big enough reason to stay, or go, or pursue this, or work up to that, I'd have an answer for that annoying question, "What's your plan?" But I don't have one.

I have been thinking a lot about motivation. I have been thinking about it so much, I actually did some research on it. Did you know that according to some thinkers, there are 16 different motivations that most actions typically fall under?

" •    Acceptance, the need for approval
    •    Curiosity, the need to learn
    •    Eating, the need for food
    •    Family, the need to raise children
    •    Honor, the need to be loyal to the traditional values of one's clan/ethnic group
    •    Idealism, the need for social justice
    •    Independence, the need for individuality
    •    Order, the need for organized, stable, predictable environments
    •    Physical activity, the need for exercise
    •    Power, the need for influence of will
    •    Romance, the need for sex
    •    Saving, the need to collect
    •    Social contact, the need for friends (peer relationships)
    •    Status, the need for social standing/importance
    •    Tranquility, the need to be safe
    •    Vengeance, the need to strike back/to win"

I think you can argue these just a little bit, but generally they get the job done. I then went as far as grouping these different driving desires into some logical categories for myself. Then I created my own personal hierarchy of needs based on the 16. And I'm doing all this to answer some important questions for myself. What I care about. What I think matters. And as cheesy as it may sound, (frankly, I don't care) I knew all along that there was a 17th motivation: love. And it's at the top of the list for me. Love is the strongest motivator, hands down.

If I loved a person, a place, a job, an idea, anything; if I loved it/that/her enough, I'd know exactly what the plan was. I'd have a perfectly lovely reason.

I just need a little bit of love.

anniversary

2010-10-16T16:57:00.000-07:00

October is a nostalgic month for me. Or at least it has been for the last three years. That's because three years ago this month I left everything I knew behind in a overly-dramatic flourish [telling almost no one in the world where I'd be], and trekked around Alaska for forty days and nights alone. I was quite convinced that God was calling me to do this.

A lot of things happened while I was there, big stories and little stories alike. But the biggest thing has no story behind it at all. I simply realized that I do not love God. This love that I sang about in songs and tagged the end of spoken prayers with was a lie. And I would not lie to myself any longer. That was October 2007.

In the summer of 2009, about a year and a half later, I realized something worse. Programming at Camp Mivoden had decided to do cardboard testimonies on Friday nights and invited any staff who wanted to participate to make their cardboard sign. I took this really seriously. I wondered what the big issue was in my life. What is my cardboard testimony? And then I remembered that I had already discovered it in Alaska. Every single Friday night of that summer messed me up a little bit. Because I realized I only had the first side of the testimony. The second side was blank. I realized what the biggest problem in my life was, and for a year and a half, I'd done basically nothing about it.

One year later, I'm in Africa. Summer 2010, I climb Mt. Kilimanjaro, and confess this problem to the rest of my team. I realize that the reason I decided to go to Africa in the first place is the same reason I keep going back to work at camp: I'm so driven by experiences and find love by spending quality time with people; I want to create intentional experiences with God. I want to spend quality time with Him. But it doesn't happen by accident. I have to choose to do something.

Camp Wawona 2010, just a month or two later. My cardboard testimony on Friday nights reads "Realized I Do Not Love God / We're Working On It." Sitting in the cafeteria late one evening, Chelsea and I decide to pray; for our friends, and about life. I hear her pray words about choosing to love God, and I think to myself, I think I'd like that... I think I want to pray that too. And so I do. It's hard to do justice to what happened next. Try to imagine the wind gently stirring the dust on the ground. Then the wind is blowing a little harder and it's rustling through the leaves. The earth starts to tremble as the wind blows harder, and rain drops start falling. The shower turns to pouring and the tremble becomes a quake. The wind is now gale-force, the water dumps in bucket-fulls, the ground too violent to stand on. It felt something like this. It felt like too much feeling. Like it had filled me up, was shooting out of me, and at any moment, I simply wouldn't be able to handle it anymore. I was moved. It was the Holy Spirit. And I wept.

I re-read my entire journal from Alaska today. I think it is good to journal. And good to re-read it. I have more peace about my present through reading my past than through anything else. A lot has happened in three years. But I still have some of the same prayers:

Let me do the right things at the right time with my life.
Give me the real desire of my heart that I can't even realize.
Don't let me go on chasing after foolish desires I only think I want.
Close doors when I'm too weak or dumb to close them myself.
Open doors to the path you want me to take.
Bless me and my life-let it be exceptional, legendary, full of great stories.
Let my relationships and memories be rich and vibrantly real.
Saturate me with selflessness.
Help me to not always think and act for my own best.
Let me be excellent to You and other humans.

les paul s'il vous plait

2010-10-11T15:55:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wish I was a rock star. I wish I was on a world tour, forgetting to shower and traveling all day. Not owning a pillow or dishes. I'd have loads of shiny electric guitars with humbucker pickups and brand new strings. I would plug into massive tube amplifiers and play so loud I'd have to wear earplugs. Sometimes I'd sing from my guts, real loud and angry. And sometimes I'd sing in a whisper. And whatever I sang, hundreds of voices would sing along, knowing the tune. Understanding the song. And feeling the same thing.

Yeah.

Sometimes I wish I was a rock star.

these days

2010-10-07T19:35:00.000-07:00

I've been out walking.
I don't do too much talking these days.
These days I seem to think a lot
about the things that I forgot to do
and all the times I had the chance to.

I've stopped my rambling.
I don't do too much gambling these days.
These days I seem to think about
how all the changes came about my ways
and I wonder if I'll see another highway.

I had a lover.
I don't think I'll risk another these days.
And if I seem to be afraid
to live the life that I have made in song
it's just that I've been losing so long.

I've stopped my dreaming.
I won't do too much scheming these days.
These days I sit on corner stones
and count the time in quarter tones to ten.
Please don't confront me with my failures
I've not forgotten them.

depressing, right? sorry.

to make up for it, here is a very funny picture:

karma

2010-10-06T11:57:00.000-07:00

maybe that's not the right word for it. maybe it's more like the ebb and flow of life. but sunday was really good. then monday kinda sucked. then tuesday was pretty good. so today should be...

yestermorrow

2010-09-29T12:12:00.000-07:00

Last night I did something strange. I read through old emails. Slowly. Starting back in 2005. And I got up to about mid 2008. I read a lot of the ones from friends, but I skipped most of the messages in general. It was weird because I remember those times. But re-reading brought me in real close, where I could see the texture of old relationships and moments. I could almost smell how things used to be. And I got kind of lost in it for a while; sometimes happy, sometimes angry, sometimes sorry.

Frankly, I'm not sure how to feel about my past. It was weird. It made my present feel like a non-reality. Like something inconsequential. All these things I thought worthy of corresponding about seem mostly trivial now. What does this say about me? Or is there any meaning in it at all?I sort of feel like any of the stress of my present is no big deal. Because as I read through most of my old stress it amounts to no big deal today. So today doesn't matter. But I want things today to matter. Seeing my whole life as my past makes the present seem so unimportant. So how do I make things count? How do I make today important?

I'm sure today could be a day I'll remember forever, if I choose. I'm also sure that today could be a piece of slow growth that I forget forever, but still matters.

I really have no idea what to do with my life. But it keeps pushing forward, even if I stand still. I'm still here, but it seems like all I've got are yesterdays.

With a stranger I met in Alaska [Oct 2007]

Reading the map with Elena, the stranger [Oct 2007]

On the set of Secret of the Cave [summer 2005]

I was the best man at Stanley's wedding [May 2005]

Fashioning something for SOTC [summer 2005]

senior project [Nov 2006]

Camp Alamisco [summer 2006]

Aaron Roche concert [I don't even know when]

Krista

2010-09-28T18:30:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had a bright idea. I thought, "Hey, Krista is leaving today for Argentina. She'll be gone for a whole year. But she has a 1.5 hour layover in Atlanta. I will go to Atlanta, get a gate pass, and see her face before she's gone."

I've done this before. But I tried calling the Atlanta airport and Delta airlines just to be sure I could get through security and wouldn't waste the drive down there. But the automated phone systems were [as always] ridiculous. The best I got out of a real person who didn't transfer me was, "Probably...?"

So I left. And drove all the way down to Atlanta. And parked. And found Delta's area of the airport. And when I found the Gate Passes desk, I quickly learned that gate passes are now exclusively for those escorting the elderly and infirm, and unaccompanied minors. Not me.

I thought about going to a different desk and lying about how Krista was either a minor, or elderly and infirm. But the reality was that the only way we'd see each other was if she exited the terminal and came to me, then went all the way back through security to her connecting flight.

I must have called and texted her a billion times. No answer. Her landing had been delayed by stormy weather. When we finally spoke, the only hope of meeting was if her next flight was delayed too. She ultimately had to rush to her connecting gate as quickly as possible, because they were already boarding the Argentina flight.

The whole operation was a failure. I ate a sandwich and peaced out. I ate another sandwich on the way home. When I got back, I ate some more while I sent follow-up reminders to prospective employers.

I'm getting pretty sick and tired of coming up empty handed.

pages

2010-09-19T00:45:00.000-07:00

there are actually pages in-between chapters, that don't belong to a chapter themselves, but have stuff written on them anyway.

and they are odd to read.

i feel like i need a nap...

2010-08-26T17:01:00.000-07:00

always. no joke. i am fatigued.

did i get old? burnt out on camp? not enough sleep between 11pm and 7:30am? all of the above?

it will be nice when everything slows down.

an elephant never

2010-08-12T16:19:00.000-07:00

Wawona is awesome. And the rest of the world is stupid.

This summer I forgot that everyone in the world is not obsessed with Smartwool. I forgot that people are generally able to keep their feet clean, and take regular, daily showers. I forgot that sometimes it rains, and you can't sleep outside. I forgot that people are generally unaware of Pearl Gates. I forgot that not every building in the world has a name. I forgot that some people don't really care about Jamba Juice. I forgot that some people have never heard, "I am cow..." I forgot that you can't always see the milky way and shooting stars. I forgot that not everyone gets Dusty. I forgot that not everyone wants to sleep in a pile. I forgot that other people don't know our camp theme song, or who Ima Dumb is, and won't laugh at "Whatever Jill! You're too confident!" I forgot that the depth of my friendships was an exception, and not the rule.

I forgot how lucky I've been.

But I remember now.

litter box?

2010-08-11T11:54:00.000-07:00

I'm staying at Tye Davis' little homestead in Walla Walla. Sometime late last night before I went to bed, I realized he has a cat. That explains the cat food in the kitchen.

But for some reason, I never saw a litter box. Weird.

Then, this morning I woke up and went into Tye's room where my computer is hooked up online. The unmistakable aroma of cat poop filled the air. I flipped the light on and looked around for the litter box I hadn't seen last night. Then I finally found it.

On Tye's bed. Maybe Tye forgot to fill his sheets with kitty litter; but the cat knew just where to leave its big brown pile. Right at the head of the bed, in the middle, just under the edge of the pillow.

I considered leaving it until he could find it himself... then I could watch Tye in an angry rage, having to clean up cat poop. It would be hilarious.

Don't worry. Deep down, I'm a good person. It's almost time to get his sheets out of the dryer.

i've done some things

2010-08-09T19:57:00.000-07:00

recently...

I have slept in a real pile with some close friends.

I have slept under the stars in my brand new sleeping bag.

I have watched Inception. Twice.

I have eaten no less than 7 fish tacos.

I have seen Jerrod Gabel dance a little bit.

I have taught ceramics to a room full of HIV+ people.

I have taken a spontaneous weekend trip without a change of clothes or deodorant.

I have looked out on the pacific ocean.

I have attended a pool party at the house of a stranger.

I have eaten some real deal bar-b-q burgers.

I have seen the famous Pebble Beach golf course.

I have picked up a rattlesnake, squeezed it till it writhed and flailed around, then taken it home and skinned it.

I have walked through a neighborhood by Carmel beach with no numbers for addresses; just names like "Carmelot."

I have woken up as one of only two people left at camp.

I have driven to the airport a lot.

I have cried.

I have said goodbye.

You know that feeling when you've been reading a really good book? You know, when you're right near the end, and you can feel you're near the end because there's just a few thin pages between your right thumb and the back cover? But maybe you put the book down. Or you find other things to do for a while. Because the story is so good, you don't want it to end. Because when it's over, it's really over.

You know that feeling?

heaven

2010-07-26T21:17:00.001-07:00

Some people think that as soon as we get to heaven, we'll have wings and fly around like birds. They think we'll immediately start breathing underwater and in outer space. They say "The first thing I'm going to do is slide down a giraffe's neck like it's a playground toy! Unless I'm too busy riding my pet tiger!"

Without being too offensive, I think these ideas are dumb. I don't think it's going to be like that.

With no phone and little internet usage for the past six weeks, I have become more and more removed from the outside world. And consequently delved deeper and deeper into the world of camp.

Really, I shouldn't be surprised.

But I'm not ready. Not ready to do everything for the last time. Not ready for the life ahead that has no plan attached to it. No job. No home. No hope?

Eventually I'll have to head back to Tennessee. But if everything has changed where I came from, is it even really like going back? Or is everything bound to be completely different no matter where I go?

Seems like it. So I don't want to go anywhere. Get me off this moving walkway. I want to lie down. I want to freeze time like a popsicle. I want to quit.

Last night I watched Brad drive away. Next week I'll take Chelsea to the airport. In between, Chris and Jessi and Gabe will all leave. Then I'll leave Anthony and Ashley behind too.

I was surprised, but I really shouldn't be. I knew all this was going to happen long before it started happening.

You know what? I can't wait to get to heaven. Because the first thing I'm going to do when I get there is be with the people I love.

And I'll never have to stop.

expectations

2010-06-21T14:44:00.001-07:00

Uhuru. That's what the highest point of Kilimanjaro is called.

I thought that I would look up from the bottom of the mountain and fix my eyes on the summit. I thought I would stare at the peak every day; and every day it would come a little bit closer. I thought there would be a certain clarity about my destination.

But I was very wrong.

It turns out that on the route to the summit, the summit is completely obstructed. The entire time. Instead, there is a peak called Gilman's Point that blocks your view of Uhuru. You can't see the finish line at all. There is no clarity about the destination.

It's a long way to the end, but you just have to keep walking blind.

in case you needed proof

2010-06-06T08:52:00.002-07:00

kilimanjaro summit

2010-06-04T12:28:00.000-07:00

Have you ever seen the person you love from a long ways off? The one you've been missing for a long time?

A part of you wants to run as fast as you can, but for some reason you walk instead. And you smile. And maybe you cry. Because it seems like it's been forever. And it's been hard. And it hurt.

But it's over.

It was something like that.

shorty updates

2010-05-22T07:52:00.000-07:00

Flew first class from ATL > NYC. Sat next to a wonderfully awkward girl who laughed out loud at the book she was reading, then offered it to me, because she had finished. Chelsea, Chelsea, Bang Bang = Funny?... Yes. Shockingly vulgar? Also yes.

Amsterdam. Should I take a 3-hour tour around the city? Let me just lie down a minute and rest while I think about it... 7 hours later, there was no time for a tour. Turns out I can put my face just to the side of one armest, my knees over another, and my stomach is just thin enough to slip underneath the one in-between. More comfortable than it sounds, I promise.

Arrive in Nairobi, Kenya at sunrise. I'm immediately living in the movie The Lion King.

Arranged to keep some luggage at the airport for the first week of travels. That's nice because I can travel much lighter. Right now I can't even imagine having to do everything I've done with all those bags. And it's only been a day.

Got a phone, which has already proven to be a valuable and wise purchase.

Ended up touring around Nairobi with a private driver since I had a day to kill, and it was pretty cheap. The touring company didn't really ask me what I'd like to do, just told me what I was going to do. Mostly, that was fine.

Went to a place where they keep orphaned baby elephants. It was feeding time. It was wonderful. I played with the tiniest one. Anything baby has magical cute powers.

Saw a dude dressed up like he was Masai... but maybe he was just dressed up.

I pet a rhino. I was told I should not do that, lest the rhino become angry and territorial. And end my life. There was also another rhino, and it was blind.

Went to see giraffes. Got to feed the giraffes. Got to feed a giraffe right out of my mouth. Basically, I made out with a giraffe. I'm disgusting.

There was also a warthog there.

Ate lunch at a place called CARNIVORE. Here, they sit you down with some salads and a whole tray full of sauces. Then they just start bringing out meat. They'll tell you what it is, then slice a hunk off for you to eat. You have a little flag on your table, and you're just supposed to put the flag down when you've had enough. Otherwise, they will bring you more meat forever. Generally, this was not enjoyable. Ostrich meatballs weren't awful. And crocodile was a tastier-than-expected surprise. But mostly I was reminded that I don't enjoy meat in most of its forms. However, food in Africa is sort of a constant compromise. Oh well.

Went to see some cultural dances. One guy did limbo under a stick that was on fire. The lowest I've ever seen ever. Eventually they put the stick on top of two coke bottles and he still went under it. I don't really think that was cultural at all, but it was cool.

But the best part was when a guy from the show went and grabbed a girl from the audience and made her come down and dance on stage. She was in high school, I think. Her whole school was laughing pretty hard. And then her friend came down and joined her. And then her entire school came down and danced on stage for a while, like we were living in some kind of musical. A couple white girls went down too, and it made me glad I was still in my seat.

Crocodile/Ostrich farm. The whole time I was thinking, "I just ate you..." But I held a baby croc. Saw two crocs mating (which is apparently rare). And saw an albino croc. But maybe the best part was when the guy showing me around decided to taunt the crocodiles to make the experience more entertaining. It was a lot of poking them with a stick until they tried to bite. Then he hopped the fence so there was nothing between him and the beasts, and poked them some more. But he lived...

Then I took a long ride the to bus station and said goodbye to my driver. Then I waited a while and boarded the bus. Then there was a terribly long bus ride down dreadful roads with extra bumps and potholes thrown in for someone's twisted pleasure. We left around 9:30pm and arrived around 6:30am. But we arrived to another Lion King sunrise over Uganda.

I was picked up by a guy called Papa Sam Soita. He works for something called Mission: Moving Mountains. And although I have a much better understanding now of what MMM's goals are, and the idea behind the mission (and it seems pretty cool), I don't know what they do... practically speaking... yet. But that's what I'll be doing through Wednesday. Volunteering with Papa Sam. Then it's back to Nairobi to join with the Venture Expeditions team finally and stomp that mountain underneath our boots.

myth & lore

2010-05-03T07:23:00.000-07:00

We can make things sound however we want if those things are in the past.

It's just like I've said for a long time: I can think of two things we can take with us after we die. One is memories. The other is relationships. The former demands I take action and do things that will be memorable. But I'm starting to feel the latter is even more important.

A memory unshared isn't worth much. Life was meant to have other people in it. And I've noticed that the best relationships I've ever had share my stories with me anyway.

But there's another piece. Because we weren't always making memories. Some of [maybe even most of] the times we've had together I will forget. But that's where I think the real stuff happens. That's where we get close. In the jokes, meals, talks, and hanging out we won't remember. Somewhere in that mess of forget-able-ness, we became friends. Somewhere in the mess, I realized I love you.

What keeps me me from sleeping right now is knowing that there's a limit on those times. We don't have many left. Soon I won't be a friend that you see every day. I'll be a friend you have to remember. We can make things sound however we want if those things are in the past. History is fiction. Sometimes it gets tainted. Sometimes is gets all rosy.

I won't be a part of your daily reality. I'll become fiction. A character in your past. And I won't be able to tell you whether to remember me tainted or rosy or real. You'll be busy living a new, non-fiction life with new, non-fiction friends. I will become stories. Memories. Feelings.

Non-fiction becomes fiction. We'll gain something new. But lose something old.

And I just wish I could take a polaroid of you to put on my refrigerator.

a haze & a paraphrase

2010-04-12T16:04:00.001-07:00

Then I took a good look at everything I'd done; looked at all the sweat and hard work. But when I looked, I saw nothing but smoke. Smoke and spitting into the wind. There was nothing to any of it. Nothing.

And I hated everything I'd accomplished and accumulated on this earth. I can't take it with me-no, I have to leave it to whoever comes after me. Whether they're worthy or worthless-and who's to tell?

When I realized that my fate's the same as the fool's, I had to ask myself, "So why bother being wise?" It's all smoke, nothing but smoke. The smart and the stupid both disappear out of sight. In a day or two they're both forgotten. Yes, both smart and stupid die, and that's it.

The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor satisfaction to the wise, nor riches to the smart, nor grace to the learned.

We work to feed our appetites; meanwhile our souls go hungry.

I hate life. As far as I can see, what happens on earth is a bad business. Things are bad, and people feel it. Life leads to death.

Still, anyone selected out for life has hope.

Seize life! Eat bread with gusto, drink wine with a robust heart. Oh yes-God takes pleasure in your pleasure! Dress festively every morning. Don't skimp on colors and scarves.

Relish life with the spouse you love each and every day of your precarious life. It's better to have a partner than go it alone. Share the work, share the wealth. And if one falls down, the other helps. By yourself you're unprotected. With a friend you can face the worst.

Don't always be asking, "Where are the good old days?" Each day is God's gift. It's all you get in exchange for the hard work of staying alive. Make the most of each one! Whatever turns up, grab it and do it. And heartily! This is your last and only chance at it.

Endings are better than beginnings.

"vignettes in a stream of consciousness" or "this is how i might write if i was sure no one would ever read what i was writing"

2010-04-02T02:45:00.001-07:00

You know when you look in the mirror after a long weekend of camping, and you scare yourself a little bit? Because you didn't realize you were allowing yourself to look so... camped? But that's what you look like when you haven't been worried about what you look like.

I have the same feeling towards photographs of myself. The bad ones is what I mean. I see myself and cringe, "oooh, delete that." But... It's not like the photographer did something so wrong. That is my face. I do look like that. Or at least I did for a split second. Can't get too upset about it.

This week has been rough. Everything has just been happening, without asking my permission. I worked. Something serious. I shot. I edited. I shot. I edited. I edited. I moved. I moved. I edited, edited, edited, edited. Too busy. Not enough sleep. But I bring it on myself. Chelsea reminded me that I would be bored living much differently. That even though I complain, I kinda like it. Being bored would mean being boring, which would equal a bad life. They teach you in movie making school that the worst thing your movie can be is boring. Thanks Chelsea. Your words were genuinely encouraging. And anyway, I also took selfish time in the sunshine, because it's finally here [good riddance Winter. Nobody likes your ugly butt anyway.] I bought a bike. I savored my friends.

I've been thinking about love. Love is awesome. I've been in love. It was awesome. God is love. I understand God better because I've been in love. I've been reading 1 Corinthians 13 a lot. Over and over. 1 John too. 1 John has all the "God is love" stuff. Chapter 13 describes all the stuff love does. And somewhere else in the Word it tells us to love everybody. So chapter 13 is like all the gritty details of what God is doing to us and what we're supposed to be doing to each other.

In savoring my friends, I've been wondering how I can love them better. Chapter 13. Answers. Sometimes hard to put into practice. But totally worth asking yourself questions. Challenging yourself.

I've got a friend who is challenging herself. Trying to make a better self. She's so dang brave. Gutsy. Really trying to own all her crap and turn it into fertilizer for a garden of a life. I'm not going to do that cryptic thing where everyone has to guess who I'm talking about. I'm just going to say it's Krista. Krista Turner is impressing me constantly.

I applied to a job shooting some video stuff for a week in Liberia this summer. Probably won't get it or anything, but it sounded neat. I'm going to Africa anyway, so why not, right?

I wrote a poem for God. It happened all spontaneous-like, almost a prayer-journaling accident, really. You'll never read it. But I was really glad I wrote it.

Went to an Ingrid Michaelson concert. The girl/boy ratio was like the opposite of Alaska. It was awesome. Not because of the ratio, because of the show. Heaps of fun.

Made an April Fool's Day public service announcement video with Tyler. Why do I always die at the end of my own videos? Why is that funny to me? I think I'm going to make it a point to live through my next video.

The world will start waking up soon and I've been up all night.

I haven't looked in a while. I'm not even looking that hard right now; I'm so exhausted. But apparently this is what I look like when I haven't been concerned with what I look like.

this is it

2010-03-17T11:18:00.000-07:00

There comes a time when the builder must stop planning and preparing. He must pick up the first brick in his hand and fix it to the foundation.

Imagination eventually has a child called Action.

Here we go.

Arc

2010-03-08T09:05:00.003-08:00

You know why Avatar isn't a very good movie? [Now, just so people don't get too upset and I don't get angry blog comments from strangers, there are some reasons why Avatar is a good movie.] But you know one of the reasons why Avatar sucks? Flat characters. Outside of a few main roles, most of the characters in the movie are flat as a pancake. Meaning that they are one-sided. That they don't change. Think of the tough girl who flies the helicopter. Think hard. And you'll realize there's nothing more to her than what I already wrote. She's tough. And she flies the helicopter.

She's flatter than the space between the bottom of my shoe and the ground.

In a good movie, all the characters change. They all experience some sort of paradigm shift. It's called the character's arc. Good actors and directors are extremely aware of it. Movies that really hone in on this character change as a theme are called coming-of-age stories.

For almost three years now since graduating from college, I have lived in the same town as my college, and have had friends who were still in college [mostly]. It would appear that I have made a large effort to not let things change. I will be the first to admit that I loved college. I kind of wish it could have gone on forever. But it doesn't. Eventually we are expected to get jobs and make money and support ourselves like adults. Maybe even get married, have kids, and give something back to society. It sounds awful, but there are worse expectations in the world.

I have always loved my friends. It is true today probably more than ever before. The people we choose to spend our time with have a profound effect on our lives.

But I've been looking backward at my life a lot and thinking. And I've come to regret some things. Or maybe I just wish that I had been smarter. Or maybe I've just changed. Yes. That's it. I am not the person I was. Not at all. I have learned a hundred million things the hard way, through experience. I look at my past and I am sometimes a little bit grossed out. Sometimes I realize that I am a jerk. Often I am ashamed.

I have a hypothetical situation that runs through my mind a lot about if I had graduated college and immediately gone to Hollywood to try to "make it." I'm pretty sure I'd be a horrible person by now. Not like that's true for everyone, but it would have been for me. I hadn't made up my mind about many things. My values were made out of snow and ready to melt. I needed to pick up a chisel and find a rock.

And almost by accident, I did. I found it in people like Ben Foote, Amanda Jehle, Sarah Hayhoe, Brittany Graves, Brittany Gimbel, Tara Becker, Chelsea Inglish, Krista Turner, Jessi Turner, Chris Clouzet, and Ben Schnell. You have pushed and pulled me into a different character in ways that you don't even know. You have challenged me, confronted me, and let your example speak for itself. I am better because of you. You have made me who I am, and dared me to chase the Maker like an Olympian: faster, harder, stronger.

I am convinced it is because you chase Him yourself.

I would not trade the last three years for anything else at all. On the surface it may look like nothing is happening, but it's a coming-of-age story. These years have made me.

The story isn't finished, but I can feel the sands shifting...

heather tucker is smart

2010-02-22T08:51:00.003-08:00

The following have been excerpted from an email I received November 6, 2006 and have never forgotten. Lately, it seems relevant.

"... if one is to do something great there is great stress."

"You are feeling a lot of pressure and stress because you are doing great things."

"... seriously I went through hell and I feel like now I have gotten the true desire of my heart. So, maybe hell is what we need to find and define us."

red light?

2010-02-21T16:02:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I was driving and came to a stop. I waited a minute for the light to turn green before I realized there was no light. It was a stop sign and there was no traffic. I just needed to go.

"want something worth wanting" or "know your place"

2010-02-15T23:13:00.002-08:00

Some movies have surprise endings. You had no idea Bruce Willis was dead until the end of The Sixth Sense, and if you say otherwise you either haven't seen the movie at all, or you are a liar.

But in other movies our emotions fly up and down even though we know the girl and the guy are going to get together in the end. No surprises, really. Except for how they get there.

Movies usually have three acts. The first act is where all the exposition takes place. At the end of it, right before act two is the inciting incident. That's that thing that happens that propels the hero forward into the story. It's a decision, choice, or event that they can't take back:

• Frodo says, "sure I guess I'll throw that ring into the volcano."

• Marty accidentally travels back in time to the year 1955.

• Noah says, "a what? a boat? all right, I'm on it."

And then they're thrown headlong into act two. The part with all the guaranteed obstacles and pain and car chases, with the occasional montage.

Finally in act three the whole sha-bang reaches total climax and resolution and complete order is restored to the world, happily ever after, blah blah blah.

• Frodo throws the ring in the volcano.

• Marty makes it back to the future.

• Noah and his family and a stinky ark full of animals survive the flood and get to see earth's first rainbow.

There are so many things that you really should know, and that's why I'm bothering telling you so.

Firstfully, you should know that movie stories are a great metaphor for life. What makes a movie meaningful and good also makes a life meaningful and good.

Secondness, you should know that movie stories are about the main character's ambition. The thing she wants. And most movies aren't made about characters who want a husband, dog, 1.8 children and a three car garage. Frodo wants to save the world from the rule of an evil power. Marty wants to save his family from the paradox of never existing and get back home. Noah wants to obey God. The ambitions in the good movie stories are maybe a little bit better than the stories we actually live. Maybe a lot better than the American dream.

Thirdditude, and possibly the most tragic, we often misconstrue where we are in our story. Any parent with a loving spouse, dog, 1.8 children, and a three car garage can tell you that their life has not reached an act 3 climax. They have not arrived at total resolution. But that was the ambition. That was the ending to the story they were trying to write. Somehow it didn't work. Somehow the story didn't end, and happily-ever-after didn't show up riding on a unicorn and pooping butterflies. Nothing seems to work. Graduating from college doesn't work. Getting a good job doesn't work. Getting married doesn't work, and neither does having kids. There is no act three climax on this earth, and that is why we are in pain. That is the essence of our brokenness.

We see scenes of our life climax and think that our whole life should have come to resolution. But it doesn't. And it won't. Because graduating and getting a job and getting married are just scenes. They're not the whole story. As much as each of those things is a miniature climax, we need to recognize them as inciting incidents. The beginning of new journeys. We're not through. We're just starting into act two. The part with all the guaranteed obstacles and pain and car chases. And we cannot turn back.

At least life isn't like The Sixth Sense. The real act three climax of our lives is a Jesus thing. We already know how the story ends. No surprises, really. Except for how we get there.

who's in charge here?

2010-02-08T22:40:00.001-08:00

Incoming call from a friend:
"Things are pretty bad. The marriage isn't working. I don't think we're going to make it." • What happened to the vows? What happened to forever? Hiroshima for so many helpless hearts

Incoming call from a colleaugue:
"I believe in you and want to see you succeed. I'm going to help finance your film." • I'm sorry waiter, I didn't order all this dessert. What's that you say? It's free?

Incoming call from the family:
"Your mother is being airlifted to a bigger hospital for emergency surgery. After they clean up her spine, she should regain movement in her arms and legs." • I was pretty sure my parents were supposed to be invincible. I'm pretty sure this isn't real. I'm pretty sure I'm not pretty sure about anything anymore.

The divorce seems inevitable. There's a check in the mail. Mom said she felt way better after surgery.

I had a plan at some point. But none of this was in it.

Apparently, I'm not the one calling the shots.

Sarah Hayhoe

2010-02-08T08:37:00.002-08:00

is awesome.

for amanda's class. and it's chelsea's favorite.

2010-01-25T15:35:00.001-08:00

There's a nightmare that everyone has as a kid. But everyone reassures themselves that it's far too absurd to ever actually happen. It's just a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad dream. How could it ever actually happen?

Here's how:

When I was a kid, my family didn't have very much money. So as a result, my mom sewed a lot of our clothes from scratch. Other kids shopped for their favorite brands, but my siblings and I shopped for our favorite fabric from the crafts store. And oh how I had favorites.

It was the glorious decade of the 1980s, and I was its child. Bright neon colors, the brighter the better. And wild patterns, the wilder the better. Elastic waistbands and elastic ankle cuffs? Yes please. I defined the style of the era. In my own mind, at least...

Then one day I was suddenly in middle school. It was a dreadful time of change, with puberty to blame. I began to grow more self-conscious. The other sixth grade boys wore jeans almost exclusively. I'm not sure I even owned a pair. They seemed to have forgotten all about the comfort an elastic waistband can offer, and the beauty of hot pink mingled with highlighter yellow.

I had not forgotten. I was still proud, though something in me yearned to be more like them.

So when I returned home one day to discover that my mother had gone shopping, not for fabrics, but for clothes, I was elated. There, on my bed, I found several new items to wear. But among them, none shone as brightly as a new pair of shorts. The patterns were more crazy and the neons were more neon-y than anything ever before. The elastic was sewn right into the waistband, like my mother could never do. They were glorious.

I strut right into class the next day with intense amounts of confidence and pride. I was so vain, you'd probably think that school was about me.

But then in the afternoon something awful happened. I was sitting in typing class, cranking out row after row of "a sad dad as a lad as a fad as alfalfa falls as a flask"* when I overheard some of my male classmates having a conversation.

"... oh me too. So glad I made the switch."

"Yeah man, totally. Boxers are the only way."

"Seriously, I can't believe I ever wore tighty-whities for so long."

"Yeah man, they're so uncomfortable."

"For real. Briefs suck!"

My ears burned red. There was a secret truth that no one else knew: I was wearing very tight and very white briefs right then and there. I had not made the switch. I didn't even know there was a switch that needed to be made.

I looked down at myself. Those incredible shorts weren't so incredible when you knew what was beneath them. And then I noticed something else.

My brand new shorts had a hole in them. But not a tear. An intentional hole. Gaping. Right in the front. My shorts had an open fly. And there was no zipper or button to close it. I was wearing boxer shorts. I had made the switch, without even knowing it.

I had come to school in my underwear. Two pairs of my underwear, to be exact. Everyone's nightmare, my reality. I should have been tipped off by the special shortness of the shorts. I should have been tipped off by mother on the way out the door. I should have been tipped off by something or someone at some point, but I wasn't.

People had to have noticed, but no one said anything.

I never wore those shorts again. Even as underwear. And the next time my mom took me shopping, I made her buy me jeans.

* "a sad dad as a lad as a fad as alfalfa falls as a flask" uses only the keys that your fingers touch in the resting position on the keyboard, so we typed those words all the time in class.

the hand at work

2010-01-19T21:02:00.000-08:00

Three.

My days had gone supernova. I was having trouble sleeping because I was so happy. No joke. It was joy. Sometimes I'd find myself smiling stupidly because I was just thinking about how much I love my friends. I hope they didn't notice. But then again, I don't mind if they did.

I think I heard one time that stars only go supernova right before they go black hole. I'm not sure if that's correct astronomy, but it was definitely true for my life. I even thought for a moment one day that things were too good; that they they'd eventually have to crash. And they did.

I'm not at liberty to say how or why, but my heart was smashed and broken for a situation completely outside myself. Into a billion pieces. Into dust. Into vapor. Black hole.

Two.

I had been confident for a while that Southern was going to sponsor my film and thus hand me extra money, a free week of open scheduling during spring break, and gift wrap a crew of freshmen for me.

Then they chose a different project. Frankly, it was like someone knocked my feet out from underneath me.

I immediately went to work, because there was immediately more work to do. There are pros and cons, so don't pity me on this one.

Instead of a gift-wrapped freshman crew, I have to do more work selecting crew. But I get to select them. I can choose whoever I want. The best of the best. Instead of a whole free week during spring break to shoot, I have to do more work scheduling the project. But that means I can more than likely work the availability of a helicopter into the film. And instead of extra money from Southern, I get to make the movie exactly the way I want to. Southern can't tell me what to do.

One.

Just over a week ago I poured out my guts in a number of application essays. Then there were a few emails. Then there was an interview over the phone. Then just today while driving down to Florida I got the call to confirm it all.

Venture Expeditions' slogan is, "benefit the world, discover your soul." I hope I do.

I've been chosen to join a team that will travel to Nairobi this summer to work with children in extreme poverty via an organization called the Kenya Children's Fund. We will also climb Mt. Kilimanjaro. To say that I am excited would be a gross understatement. Benefit the world, discover your soul.

I have a lot of money I need to raise for the trip and a $1000 minimum donation to the cause. Spread the word, because I'll need all the help I can get.

Zero.

I am nothing short of amazed that so much stuff can happen so quickly. This whole countdown. In just a little over twenty-four hours. Inconceivable.

There's still a black hole, and there will be for a while.

We're shooting my movie in March, and I'm sure we've only had our first taste of the unexpected.

The blessing of a mission with the simultaneous promise of an adventure is like music to my soul.

The hand of God. Reaching. Writing. Editing. My story into His story.

Boom.

Homeless Holidays

2010-01-10T15:50:00.001-08:00

The holiday season went something like this:

Chattanooga, TN to Orlando, FL for a wedding weekend.

Orlando, FL back to Chattanooga, TN for a few hours of sleep.

Chattanooga, TN to Centralia, MO for an evening.

Centralia, MO to Kansas City, MO.

Flew Kansas City, MO to Denver, CO to Spokane, WA.

Spokane, WA to Tri-Cities for a night.

Tri-cities, WA to Walla Walla, WA.

Christmas. New Years.

***

Walla Walla, WA to Tri-cities, WA to Spokane, WA, sleep.

Flew Spokane, WA to Denver, CO to Lincoln, NE to Chicago, IL to Atlanta, GA.

Got lucky and got a ride from the airport back to Chattanooga, TN with friends.

Spent about 24 hours in town before heading to Bangor, Maine in a motor
home with Ben Schnell. Got to drive the snowmobile.

Drove down to Portland, Maine.

Flew Portland, Maine to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania to Atlanta, GA.

Took Groome Transportation shuttle back to Chattanooga, TN.

Ben Foote picked me up and took me to Southern Village where my car was parked. Picked up my keys. Talked for a while. Drove home and finally slept in my bed.

I get around.

***Everything from this point on happened in under a week.

a million mile freestyle

2010-01-03T02:28:00.000-08:00

Some friends are fun. Some friends are funny. With some friends, you're never bored. But with some friends, you can be bored, boring, un-funny, and un-fun. And it's ok. Sometimes you can even be quiet and exhausted, or loud and angry, or honest and ugly, and it's ok.

Some people like to splash around in the shallows at the beach. It's pretty fun. I like it too. But I've had enough splashing for a little while.

Anybody up for a swim?

el scorcho

2009-12-15T04:01:00.000-08:00

Last night I was called an intellectual.

Last night I made this video* rather than waste all kinds of time sleeping.

I wonder if that's something all intellectuals do.

Audio is louder during the first 20 or so seconds than the whole rest of the thing. Glitch. But the crew voted unanimously to get some sleep rather than fix it.

*Heaps better looking and more bigger-ish version available right here.

some things I think about art [disclaimer: probably not an appealing blog for everyone... potentially boring]

2009-12-04T12:59:00.000-08:00

Here is my sister's favorite painting. It's her favorite because it's so photo-realistic.

And here's a Rauschenberg that I like.

I will now choose an extreme viewpoint in order to explain some stuff:

The Rauschenberg is better art. Why? Well, any practiced painter should learn about forms and lighting and contrast and color. And they should learn them well enough to paint photorealism. That should just be part of art education.

Once they've done that, they've mastered the craft. Mastered the craft, but not the art. Any accomplished painter should be able to give us real. But if I demanded that of all of them, then all accomplished painters would be exactly the same. None of them would be artists. Just builders.

An artist must find their voice. Their style. It's what allows us to know a Picasso is a Picasso, that an Ansel Adams is an Ansel Adams, or that a Wes Anderson is a Wes Anderson. All three of these examples go far beyond mastering the craft. They ooze a singular style. They have found their voice.

And because they have done so, they are able to speak truths that cannot be explained in a mirror of reality. Abstraction, stylization, and fiction wield the power to clarify in a vignette that which confounds direct interpretation.

But then again, maybe you think the Rauschenberg is ugly.

Yuck

2009-12-02T11:47:00.001-08:00

This week I have become the ugliest person you know. The proof is right here. I apologize to the world and promise to look into the possibility of handsomeness in the near future.

look at us

2009-11-22T18:51:00.000-08:00

We formed a band. We took some pictures. We gave thanks.

Way super heaps tons better HD version available soon here.

desperation is the mother of invention

2009-11-21T07:41:00.000-08:00

Last night I arrived home late with a full stomach. But Then I thought I'd eat a couple cookies. And a little bit of that snack mix we've had sitting on the table. Then I needed to wash it down with something, and orange juice did the trick. (Side note: eating like this is a disease of mine, and I will probably be extremely obese one day.)

It was about that time I realized I'd need to visit the bathroom for a sit-down-type situation. And it was about that time that I realized we were completely out of toilet paper. And it was about that time I realized this urge would not wait long at all before solving itself, regardless of my intentions.

I tore through the house searching high and low. No tissues. No paper towels. No really even any paper.

I considered a dirty old t-shirt, and just throwing it away afterward. I considered going outside and picking leaves, but it's Fall. I considered just taking a whole shower afterward. I did crazy things like look in the refrigerator.

And I'll never again look at tortillas quite the same way.
Yes. I sure did. And warming them up in the microwave first was definitely the right thing to do.

as fast as

2009-11-11T12:03:00.000-08:00

I can't remember the last time I ran as fast as I could. Like, as fast as I could, for as long as I could, until I had nothing left. I mean, seriously, when do I need to do that?

Last Saturday night a short film premiered that I wrote. And assistant directed. And had an itty-bitty acting part in. If it seems like I was involved and invested, well that's only because it's true.

The director got up front and spoke for a minute before the film screened. He talked about how you lose a little bit of your soul when you make a film. But then he said he thought this project was beautiful, because maybe we got a little bit back.

And since he said it, I haven't stopped thinking about it. I know that this idea is met with some skepticism. I also know that it is true. Let me lay it out for you:

There's something different about putting your entire being into something. It stops being just that something and becomes you.

Making a movie somehow demands this. If it's going to be any good at all, it will take all of you. It will consume. You will give your soul to it, and it will become a reflection of your soul. The story is me, and I am the story. Telling it means something. It's me reaching out to the eyes and ears of the audience saying this is what I am; what life is; what God is.

I can hardly imagine anything more important.

I remember now. It was yesterday. Because I'm writing a new script. It's taking my soul from me and giving it back, better than it was before. I'm excited by it. I'm exhausted by it.

It's like I'm running as fast as I can.

shall set you free

2009-10-23T09:23:00.000-07:00

Not everybody agrees with me. I've learned this. One time I asked the girl I was dating if she had cheated on me and there was no way I'd ever find out if she'd tell me. She said no. She said that would just cause unnecessary pain. I was upset. I prefer the truth. Always. The truth is a necessary pain.

A while later I found out something even worse than the possibility of cheating. I was angry. And I wasn't sure what to be more angry about. The incident itself, or the not being told?

It was even in The Office last night. When Pam finds out Jim knew about Michael and Pam's mom, it made the whole situation worse for her. Because he didn't tell her. And he knew.

I don't get it exactly, but there's something in our guts that demands the truth as justice. It just seems fair to know the truth. A person acting out of ignorance acts differently. If they knew the truth, what would they do differently? If it affects our lives at all, we want to know.

OK, maybe not we. The same girl who wouldn't tell me if she had cheated on me wouldn't want me to tell her if I had either. Which baffles me. I don't think I could not tell. That would eat me up inside. I'd feel like a backstabber. Betrayer. Judas. Maybe that's a little much...

I would rather know. Sometimes even good things hurt. The truth is a good thing. That's all I'm saying.

update

2009-10-20T19:51:00.000-07:00

paint. click. shoot. episode #1 is up and running. check it out here.

I work? I work.

2009-10-14T19:22:00.000-07:00

So sometimes I worry that people might think I'm a bum. That I don't really do any work. Like my roommates when I sleep in until 10am everyday. Or my friends when I say "yeah, I can do that," to just about everything. Or anyone who asks me, "when's a good time for you?" and I admit, "pretty much anytime, I make my own schedule."

But the thing is, I do work. I have to. I have bills to pay. And so I thought I'd just share I teeny tiny example. This stuff has kept me up past midnight almost every night this week. All it is, is titling for a web series about Southern's art school. It's called Paint Click Shoot. The pilot should be up soon.

So if anyone is interested in how we did it, here's how: Every single image in this video is a very long photographic exposure (about 20 seconds), strung into a video like a stop-motion animation. But on top of that, in each picture I moved a light around to create the abstract patterns and words you see. The light happened to be an iPhone, with an application that could strobe different colors, or cycle through the rainbow. Sometimes it was really difficult to get the word written correctly, in a way that the camera saw each letter clearly. Each new word was shot in a new location, and each location was set up very purposefully, and lit very intentionally (albeit dimly).

See? I do stuff. These 15 seconds will pay my rent this month, at least. And I can set my own hours and sleep in till ten.

not all who wander...

2009-09-25T08:49:00.000-07:00

I left Collegedale in May.

I went to southern California.

I hitchhiked up to Washington state.

Worked in Idaho for eleven weeks.

Road-tripped back across the country.

Hiked on glaciers.

Saw a grizzly bear.

Longboarded on the highway in Wyoming.

Swam naked next to icebergs.

Used leaves for #2 in the woods.

And now I'm back in Collegedale.

Back home.

Home?

This week I finished moving all my stuff out of the Foote's home and into a little somenumber-plex with Ryan Litchfield. So it wasn't like I was coming home to my room in my home. I was coming home to move out into a new house.

Moving sucks. Always knew that.

But the other thing I've noticed for the zillionth time in the last few years is that I don't have a lot of furniture. None, actually. No furniture. I'm sleeping on a borrowed bed. And nothing else in my new abode belongs to me.

I've done this on purpose. Consciously. The place where I've just moved in... I won't be there forever. Maybe a year. Maybe. So why buy furniture?

And the place before that was the same. And the place before that. And the place before that, and the place before that, and the place before that...

For 10 years. Since I was fifteen, I have not lived in any one place longer than a year. And I knew from the day I moved in: This place is not my home. Whether it be dorms, camps, a tree house, the wilderness, or my newest house with Ryan.

I'm just passing through. Just a vagabond. Traveler. Nomad.

And there is a serious ache in my guts for a home. A safe place that I can always come back to. A place that's mine. I don't have that. I haven't for a very long time. And I don't know when I will.

It's like I'm searching for just the right somewhere to be. Or someone to be there with. Or somewhy to be there.

Returning to Tennessee this time around has been odd, to say the least. I think I got used to not being here. I maybe don't need or want this place as much as I did when I was last here. I could maybe be anywhere. In the world. And that would be fine.

But I still don't know if when I arrive at that "anywhere" I'll finally feel like buying furniture.

Perhaps this place will never be my home. Perhaps I am a nomad for life, whether I like it or not.

Ham and Bees

2009-08-24T15:51:00.000-07:00

This is Nick Ham. He is soft spoken, kind, and hard working. He might be one of the nicest people on the planet. And this is a true story.

The other day Nick was teaching mountain biking at lovely Camp Mivoden, along with Brendan Hay. They were taking out a couple of very inexperienced, middle-aged ladies. Nick and Brendan decided to go over shifting and brakes, and then take their guests on the easiest trail they knew, because, well, you have to start somewhere.

Nick was in the lead as they crested a small hill in the road; right next to where you turn off for the trail. He stopped to wait for the ladies to catch up. The first lady arrived. And just about the time the second lady and Brendan showed up, something terrible happened.

The first lady fell over. From a standstill. For no apparent reason. Just fell right the heck over. And down an embankment. A steep, high, long embankment. She crashed through branches and trees and landed with a thud on the bottom.

She sat up. But didn't move. Brendan was off as quick as he could down to help her. Nick was... maybe a little bit too shocked at first.

The lady still wasn't really moving. And as Brendan closed in, he saw that she was surrounded by a dark cloud. A dark cloud of bees. She cried out for help, and Brendan did his best. But she was a bit... larger than him, and so he had trouble. He couldn't exactly lift her up and carry her, and she wasn't really making a big effort to help herself.

At some point Nick Ham did enter the mix, and they got the lady back up to the road. Brendan had been stung over twenty times, the lady more than forty, and Nick had miraculously escaped with only two stings: one on the head, and one on the ear. Brendan quickly rode back with the injured camp guest and her friend to see the nurse, and after a moment, Nick decided he should do the same. He tends to swell up from bee stings.

Now, on this particular day, Nick Ham had chosen to wear shorts. And beneath his shorts he had chosen to wear boxer shorts. This would not have been an issue, except that Nick was now beginning to feel something buzzing near his inner thigh. And then his high inner thigh. And then this thing came to rest... on his testicle. With its stinger.

Yes. A bee was stinging him in the junk. While he was trying to ride a bike. So instinct and immediate defenses came into play, and he swatted, or rather, punched at it.

Yes. Nick Ham was punching himself in the crotch to kill a bee that was stinging his testicle. While riding a bike.

Which naturally caused him to wreck. Hard. On the asphalt. Road rash. On his right palm and all over his left shoulder down to his elbow. He also kind of hit his hip bone and bruised/scraped that too. All this, and the bee was still stinging him. So he did what anyone would do:

First, he screamed an expletive that I have chosen not to type here. And then, in the middle of the public county road, his tore off his shirt, threw his shorts and underwear to the ground, and jumped out of them.

Yes. Nick Ham, now stung, wrecked, bleeding, and completely naked, violently shook out his boxer shorts and watched a single, tiny bee buzz away, perfectly unhurt.

Then at last--slowly and painfully--he looked around, found his clothes, eased them back on, and mounted his bike. He would have to see the nurse too.

After all, he does tend to swell up from bee stings.

the aftermath [long]

2009-08-18T12:28:00.000-07:00

It started like this:

"down the cliffs on a beach far away
encapsulated in a bottle, adventures lay
get up now, do not delay,
for this is the beginning of your birthday."

I thought someone had put a radio in my room and was walkie-talking from somewhere nearby. But no. It was a recording of Ben Foote on Ben Foote's phone, made into an alarm at 6:45am. It repeated several times before I figured out how to turn it off. Then I got dressed and made my way down the cliffs to the staff beach here at glorious Camp Mivoden.

There I found a large glass bottle with a message inside:

"One page full,
one page not,
fill the blanks,
hot hot hot."

And indeed a second blank page accompanied the first. So I took it to the kitchen to heat up the invisible ink in the oven. The message revealed:

"AC
T S
2 7
4 1 "

Acts 27:41 leads me to the sandbar. But I didn't read Acts 27:41. I read Acts 27:4, 1. And those verses talk about sailing. So after staff worship at 7:30am, I searched the sailboats, high and low, finding nothing for a long time. Luckily Ben took mercy on me and pointed me in the right direction. A plank of wood on the sandbar read:

"Don't stir up the bottom,
or ye shall not see,
that which remains,
on the floor of the sea."

The floor of the sea? Are you kidding me? That could be anywhere. The lake is huge. This one took me forever. I missed breakfast, but thankfully Kati Winkle brought some out to me. I didn't find it before camp council, so I had to wait until after teaching my first class of the day to go back and interpret Ben's extra hints (I am not above begging).

That's how I found the rocks in the shallow water that spelled out in big letters: MK 1:9-10 which reads:

"⁹At that time Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. ¹⁰As Jesus was coming up out of the water, he saw heaven being torn open and the Spirit descending on him like a dove."

This sent me to the campfire bowl, where each week Ben enacts the scene of Jesus' baptism in Mivoden's Friday night play. I looked on the ground right where the scene takes place and saw some pine cones that looked like they had been stepped on. The clue was ruined. Then I looked up to the heavens and saw a dove. A dove painted on another piece of wood, standing upright on top of the PA shed in the back of the campfire bowl. This time the clue was in Greek. So I had to find an interpreter (Trisha Moor) in order to understand that the Greek letters stood for the numbered chapters and verses in the book of Acts (28:1-3). The verses describe the island of Malta and how Paul was bitten by a viper.

So, following lunch I hooked up with Kristina Rhuman to get a boat ride out to the island. It's a small one, off camp property out in the lake a bit; but we drove out there, I jumped ship, swam to the island, climbed up, and started looking around. From the boat, Tina spotted something beneath a tree, so I went to check it out, and sure enough, there was the next clue. I hopped back in the boat and we cruised back to camp. I had a hand-drawn picture of a snake on a piece of parchment to decipher.

The markings on the snake's back seemed to indicate chapter and verse 6:6, and the snake sort of made an "MT" shape if you held the paper the right way.

" ⁶But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you."

Later on, after I took care of some camp business/work/junk, I went back to my room. The door had an extension cord coming out from underneath it with a note that told me to plug it in. I did, then went inside my room, which was unnaturally dark. Inside I found a homemade camera obscura. Yes. A camera obscura. Click the link to find out what it is if you don't know. The image projected on the sheet was another set of verses that talked about a yoke, the soul, fruit, and trees. This really meant only one thing: The sole tree. A tree that heaps of people have nailed their shoes to.

I had never been there. I knew it existed, but wasn't quite sure where it was. I got a tip on the correct trail and headed off. I went way too far, and needed to return to camp for responsibilities, but on the way back, I saw a vague side trail. I gave it a shot, ran down around the corner, and there is was. There, in a few of the shoes were rocks with numbers and/or letters written on them:

1, 5b, V, O, I, J, U

I had no idea what this meant. I brought them back and bumped into the camp pastor for the week. I explained to her what I was doing, and she tried to help me. We worked on unscrambling. We thought "what if letters stand for numbers and numbers for letters in this one?" "what if some of them are Roman numerals?" In the end, I finally found out that the I was really an H, the U was a lowercase n, and the V that gave me so much trouble was an A.

Jonah 1:5b: "But Jonah had gone below deck..."

This time, the sailboat was the right answer. And below deck I found "JOB," followed by what were clearly Roman numerals on another piece of paper. Both verses talk about a lance. Which naturally led me to Lance Davis.

Lance and I, and several others, including a sleepy Ben Foote, went out for our day off and had some pizza. Lance did a magic trick where he made "Happy Birthday Nick Livanos" appear on a card that I had chosen out of the deck. I kept it. We ate huckleberry sundaes at Gooey's in the Couer d'Alene resort, and they forced me into rapping Vanilla Ice "Ice Ice Baby" for karaoke in front of a bunch of strangers. I was also kissed by two girls at once. On the cheek.

Before that, I was hoisted in a chair and sang to in the cafeteria, as is the Mivoden tradition. I was thrown in the lake... also tradition. And when I got out, Amanda Durham was there, dressed like a fool and with a tray full of my favorite Thai food (panang curry, which I saved since we were going out for pizza... but I am getting hungry...)

Right before going to bed, I walked through the office and found a package for me. It was a t-shirt from my buddy Darin Rampton. On it, there's a picture of Abraham Lincoln saying, "Be excellent to each other."

Probably the best birthday of my life.

Ben was worried that the treasure hunt might be anti-climatic. But I don't think so. In fact, I don't even care. It's hard to explain how happy I was when I looked up and saw the dove, or tried the side trail and found the sole tree, or had to swim to an island like a pirate. Those were like movie moments. I was living an adventure story.

It's something spectacular to be known and known well. Amanda Durham said she talked to Tara Becker on the phone, and Tara advised, "Nick doesn't want stuff, Nick wants memories." Right on, Tara. You get me. And clearly, so does Ben. And it might just be the best feeling in the world. I didn't give a rip about the treasure. It could have been anything, or nothing. The best part is the hunt.

PS-I'll see what I can do about putting up some pictures to go with this.

we are white trash

2009-07-28T16:04:00.000-07:00

The end-of-summer staff party at Camp Mivoden is always planned by either the boys or girls staff. This year it was the boys' turn to plan it. The last time the men did it, it was a black tie formal event. This time, we chose the theme "white trash". It was a night that won't soon be forgotten.

Here's me.

There was human whack-a-mole.

Awards were given.

There was a pool in the back of a truck.

Fellowship was had.

We had a shooting range of human "deer" for the ladies to shoot.

Eric Stenzel is going to be a professional chef (really, he's in culinary school). He fried us all sorts of goodness, including but not limited to: asparagus, elephant ears, and veg dogs. He also bar-b-q-ed some sweet corn on the cob.

The girls were all looking their best.

And Adam Newbold shaved his tummy hair into the letter "A".

de Oro de Boom

2009-07-23T13:44:00.000-07:00

a poem I wrote for my friend Jess de Oro because she unwittingly left her journal and a pen too close to me.

from the dawn of time
to the present day
there's just one thing
I have needed to say

when life's on the rocks
when you're losing at chess
just kick off your socks
and call on sweet Jess

Jess can do all
things big and things small
she's like a fixed flat tire
or like snow on fire
like Ben's key on a kite
or a cool glass of Sprite
like whenever I'm scared
she's the speed of light squared
like the scorpion stings
she's got Red Bull wings

She's AWESOME.
She's got some awe.
Her coolness is raw.
And pure.
For Sure.

untainted by junk
she brings the straight funk

don't mess with the Jess
with the Jess don't mess

don't mess with the Jess
'cause she's like Loch Ness
like a mythical monster
but she's wearing a dress

she's like more not less
and she doesn't cause stress
we don't say no
we don't even say yes
we just scream Jess, Jess, JESS!

the instant we met
was like a terrorist threat
drop to the floor
when she comes through the door

'cause she's da bomb.

sammy pt. 2

2009-07-19T11:28:00.000-07:00

For those not at Mivoden amongst me, this is Sammy. You can also see Dr. Turbo.

Kids Love Sammy

2009-07-07T13:14:00.000-07:00

Imagine a nerdy character who talks like Rain Man with a retainer and only wears one sock. Imagine he is obsessed with safety and barges in on the taping of an extreme workout video every day, having cleverly diverted the would-be celebrity guest. Imagine the Extreme Workout hosts, Dr. Turbo and Malibu, are upset but decide to give him a chance. So he concocts a game to "buff up" members of of the audience by having them put on triple XL sweats and stuffing them full of balloons as fast as they can in 45 seconds. Then the balloons are counted by popping them with a pin. Imagine this happens at camp council for a child audience. Imagine this nerdy character's name is Sammy, and whenever he shouts "Sammy loves kids!" into the microphone, they shout back, "kids love Sammy!" Imagine they mean it... and you're not imagining anymore. You're understanding the story of my life for the first week of Camp Mivoden.

Kids truly love Sammy. It might even be unhealthy. Everywhere I walk I hear them shout it out. Sometimes I get hugged by surprise.

We play a different game like the one with balloons every day. And by the end of the week, Dr. Turbo (with his PhD in "Fast") and Malibu invite Sammy to be the guest, saying that perhaps he has, in fact, achieved extremeness. Saturday night's program fulfilled all expectations, hopes, and dreams. But when we switched venues from campfire bowl to cafeteria, something ridiculous happened. A chant. An unsolicited, unplanned chant; demanding Sammy. This character has taken a up celebrity status beyond that of mortal man. Sammy is an icon. Bigger than any one person. I feel like the fame had very little to do with me in the end. So Sammy spontaneously MC-ed the rest of the show, and when it was over and we were finally able to sell our staff trading cards (they came in super late) I sold until the table cleared. We nearly broke even on the costs in one night. I signed more cards than I could count, several small hands for kids who didn't get the card, more than one shoe, and almost wrote on a pair of shorts before we decided Timmy's mom might not like that. And yes, I signed them with my name. And Sammy's.

That was adventure camp. The little guys. This week is teen camp. It's different already, and I don't mind.

you know who is awesome?

2009-07-05T12:11:00.000-07:00

Yes. Amanda Jehle. Thank you for your awesomeness Amanda.

and I would walk 500 more...

2009-06-17T22:35:00.000-07:00

I just hitch-hiked a thousand miles. Straight up. It's long, but here's the rundown on the different people who gave me rides:

0. Anthony took me to Hwy 99. Theo Brown came along. We picked up Krista Turner from the airport along the way. They dropped me on the side of the road.

1. Highway patrol officer. Frisked me and told me I couldn't hitch on the highway in California. Stick to the beginning of on-ramps and chatting up folks at the gas stations. Took me up to the next exit.

2. Jerk-face off-duty cop. Frisked me and showed me his gun. Told me I was stupid. Confirmed every bad thing I ever thought about the police. But drove me an hour and a half north.

3. Male hair stylist. Let me sleep on the floor in his strangely empty house. I slept like a rock once I stopped being afraid he was going to come style me in the night.

4. Scott Yoder. Young guy. Younger than me. Has a job changing the locks on homes that have been foreclosed on by his mom. Legally allowed to break into houses. Took me to Denny's and paid for me. Talked a lot about church and stuff. Took me from Hwy 99 over to I-5.

5. Russian truck driver. Bought me pizza but I couldn't eat it because I was full of Denny's. Drove me a long way.

6. Guy-I-thought-was-a-firefighter-but-turned-out-it-was-just-a-t-shirt-he-was-wearing-guy. Hesitant at first, but opened up a bunch when we talked about Christianity. Took me past a truck stop to an exit in central Redding, CA.

7. At this point, I waited for a very long time trying to get a ride at the central Redding exit. So long that I decided to walk back two exits to the truck stop I remembered seeing so I could trying talking to people instead of the thumb-out method. It took forever. I was exhausted. And when I got there, a lady came busting out of the convenience store telling me that I couldn't solicit people for money. I told her I wasn't. She repeated herself and told me to leave. I decided to defy the Highway Patrol and hitch on the highway. Maybe one of them would come by and take me up an exit or two. They didn't. But it turns out that the truck stop lady thought I was a minor and called social services. They happened to have someone in the area. His name was Alan. He pulled a u-turn in the median and drove right up to me. After clearing up the initial confusion of me being a minor, he said that he could legally take me to the farthest bounds of Shasta County. And California would pay for it. California also paid for our Taco Bell

dinner. Alan is one of the most interesting people I have ever met. Words can't begin to describe him. He took me all the way up to Weed, CA... a little outside the bounds of Shasta.

8. The next morning, after sleeping in a motel (the one cost of my trip) I immediately met Don. He has a policy of not picking up hitch-hikers, but he picked me up anyway. We had lunch in his RV and he made me a sandwich. I wish Don would be my adopted grandpa. He took me up to Roseburg, OR and has already e-mailed me more than once to say hi and see how it was going.

9. This dude gave me a five mile ride and enlightened me: in Oregon, you're allowed to hitch-hike right on the interstate. Awesome.

10. Justin was on tour with his new CD drove me to Eugene, OR. He's done heaps of hitching and hopping freight trains. He even has a whole book with detailed instructions and maps and hand-written notes about how to hop a train to get just about anywhere in North America. I bought his CD before I left.

11. Two Mexicans pulled over to pee on the roadside. Then they gave me a ride, even though I didn't think there was room in the truck for the three of us. I wasn't even really asking them, but they told me to come along, and they took me into Portland.

12. Katie Hand picked me up in downtown Portland and let me stay at her house. Her dad was in town visiting too. I ate birthday cake and lots of other food and did laundry. We hung out late and slept in. Thank you Katie. She took me to I-84 a little before noon. We found an awesome sign from a previous hitch-hiker that said "Idaho" on one side and "Picture Me Rollin'!" on the other. We figured it must have worked since it had been discarded.

13. A young girl in a stinky car picked me up and drove me a little past Multnomah Falls on I-84. I remember Amanda Jehle called right about that time, but it was hard to talk because it was noisy on the highway.

14. Chris the audio engineer was on his way to Boise for a electronica music festival. He picked me up right before a tunnel and took me all the way to Pendleton, OR. I stopped to eat at Denny's again.

15. Alan Newbold, my excellent friend, came from Walla Walla with another buddy, Alex, to pick me up. When we got back to his house, we picked fresh cherries from a tree and ate more food.

The hitch-hiking is over. 1000 miles? Check. (almost exactly). It was a glorious adventure. Tomorrow Alan Newbold and I head up to Camp Mivoden.

Before he left me, social-worker Alan played me a Beatles song. It was incredibly... appropriate.

northward, ho

2009-06-09T01:03:00.000-07:00

i'm storming out

i'll not understate this

up to Wawona

in a thunder of greatness

goodbye to the indoors

goodbye to this mess

goodbye to my editing

and all of its stress

i'm taking my leave

i'm gone from this place

away from the worst

of the whole human race

away from the smog

and away from the smug

both banished from sight

like dust 'neath the rug

i'll spread wide my arms

to a wild with no ends

and then close them again

'round most excellent friends

i'll smell you no more

you ick and you yuck

you pollution of persons

i dare say you suck

i'll listen and taste

of far fairer a thing

of musics and feasts

like diamonds and bling

i'll show you the way

i'd prefer life to feel

if you please, Loma Linda

do taste my boot heel

the 7th circle

2009-06-02T11:56:00.000-07:00

Just when I thought I was out, they pulled me back in.

I have just recently finished polished versions of all the documentaries I've been working on. I came to a coffee shop to get a good internet connection (because at Aaron Roche's house the pirated signal only works sometimes) and I have an email reviewing the last versions of the docs.

The critique is absurd. Some of the suggestions for changes are literally impossible. I never would have dreamed Southern would be so dissatisfied. It's ridiculous. I can't re-shoot anything. I'm on the other side of the country. I thought I had just finished this project.

This is heinous.

I am upset.

the pit of depair

2009-05-25T18:51:00.000-07:00

This is what it comes down to: CRUNK!!! ® for breakfast, CRUNK!!! ® for supper. This is the spot I have been sitting for the last 11 hours, and I'm not leaving until the project is finished. I might have something real to blog next week. Goodbye, cruel world. Goodbye.

Mine

2009-05-14T13:38:00.000-07:00

You can't go around demanding your own way.

Yesterday when I checked my mail at the post office there were only two items: 1. a save-the-date from yet another couple of engaged friends, and 2. a key to a package locker.

Someone had sent me a package. Awesome. Every once in a while this happens; I get a unexpected package. Sometimes just something too big to fit in my box, sometimes something goofy from my dad, and sometimes when I'm real lucky, a surprise package from a friend in Australia.

Needless to say, I was pretty excited about the possibilities. I opened up locker #12, grabbed the thing, and started driving home. The delayed gratification was going to make the whole thing even better.

I let the tension build up to the last possible moment. So you can imagine my disappointment when I opened the package to find the card of an online apparel company taped to the outside of gallon-sized ziplock bag and a floral print summer dress inside.

What.

The.

Heck.

For a minute, I thought about keeping it, because I thought it might be funny. The post office was closed for the day anyway. The key was in my box. I had been so excited to get a package in the mail. Really, when you think about it, it was their mistake. So now the dress was mine, right?

Checking the outside of the package I soon realized that somewhere, someone named Deandra Gibson was probably almost as disappointed as I was.

And I know that she chose it, ordered it, paid for it... but I still wanted a package for me!

Awe, junk. I'm an idiot. I'm not going to wear a dress.

The dress was and is hers. I just got back from returning it.

You can't go around demanding your own way. You'll just end up wrecking the plan. You have to know and accept your place, or you might take someone else's.

I hope the dress looks nice on Deandra.

I'm sure I'll get a package in the mail eventually.

things that involve a great deal of sucking:

2009-05-03T19:53:00.000-07:00

Pacifiers.

Vacuum cleaners.

Straws.

Today.

Untitled

2009-04-19T22:47:00.000-07:00

There is nothing I could possibly say to make this any better.

"Best Date Ever"

2009-04-06T09:17:00.000-07:00

Yes. That is a quote.

In case anyone reading this is unsure who or what this date included, you should just call/ask me and I'll tell you about it. This link to the video shows some highlights and gives credit where credit is due. The one person who was very helpful but not credited in the video is Shannon Marie Catherine Kesler Bontekoe. She is a solid gold genius. But thanks again to everybody who helped.

Check out the video.

Opposites

2009-03-30T12:22:00.000-07:00

Everything has an opposite.

Today Justin Jones cornered me. "You want to go running?" I had no excuse. In fact, I had inspiration. Ben Schnell & Ryan Yeo just ran a half marathon yesterday. And Chris Clouzet did the whole thing: 26.2 miles.

I know that it's 26.2 miles, because it's written on the t-shirt Chris let me borrow for the run. The t-shirt also features a shoe with flames bursting out the back of it. Does this illustrate speed... or pain?

The opposite of running, as Jones and I determined, is fornication.

When you run, it's rough. Your body might even cry out in the agony. Stitch in the side, cramp, numbness of the toes. Let's face it: it's hell. But when it's over, you feel awesome. You feel better about yourself. You're more fit. You've got positive endorphins swimming through your veins like dolphins. It's heaven.

Fornication. I think the majority of the readers of this blog will agree, fornication would feel great while it was happening. But afterward, you'd be left guilty and disappointed in yourself. You might even cry out in agony. Mental, emotional, spiritual anguish. Negatively charged battery acid, pumping in and out of your heart like hammer head sharks. Hell.

Runnings and Fornication. Opposites.

That, my friends, is just plain science.

Too Late Is The Worst

2009-02-19T22:46:00.000-08:00

If you love someone--heck, if you just like them--if you care about them at all, you should tell them.

"I cared," doesn't hold a candle to "I care."

Today I found out that one of my good friends from grade school committed suicide.

No one I've been close to has ever died. Ever. I went to my first funeral earlier this year and that was to shoot video of it for relatives who couldn't attend. I didn't know the guy.

Needless to say, today has been internalized with a lot of weird feelings. I have not kept in good contact with Michelle since high school. We were myspace friends. But she stayed in Florida and I went on the to the bigger, better (in my mind) world of Southern Adventist University. We drifted apart.

I forgot about her.

And that makes me feel like crap.

I've thought about trying to make it down for the funeral, and maybe I will. But it seems likes such a slap in the face; such an afterthought.

It doesn't do any good that I wish she was still alive. It doesn't do any good that I cared about her. Because I never said a thing.

Thoughts and emotions like that are irrelevant unless they're shared. Would it make a difference to you to hear someone tell you they genuinely cared about you?

Share. Make sure everyone you care about knows how you feel. Say it before you can't.

"I don't need to tell them, they know." Yeah. That's what I figured too. Now I'll always have to wonder if I was right.

Reflections on Valentines

2009-02-15T02:25:00.000-08:00

I made a video. I am either funny, or an idiot, or both. Watch it here.

I Grunt, I Scratch

2009-02-10T12:14:00.000-08:00

I am a man.

Be careful if you shake my hand, because you might get grease or blood on you. Mine is a man's hand.

Today I was driving to a meeting (another thing men sometimes do) when my car started making a terrible noise. Imagine the sound the dinosaurs might have made when they knew it was all about to be over. That kind of noise. But in car form.

Within a minute, the dinosaur that was crying out its last words of anguish gave a final roar and I heard a new sound. It was the sound of something dragging along underneath the vehicle. The pain and seriousness of this new metal scraping begged me to pull over, and I did so immediately.

Craning my neck to see beneath the once mighty Celica, it was clear that certain mechanical bits were not where they ought to be. Most notably, the one dangling down from the middle-ish area.

Hark. A man passes by. "Looks like your gobbledeegoopeehyrdocoilmanifolddriveshaft is broke... You'll probably have to call a wrecker."

But I didn't call a wrecker. Another type of person may have been daunted at this stage, especially after a night of nearly no sleep. But I am not another type of person. I am a man.

With the help of Ben Foote and a tow rope, I got my car home. I assessed the damage. I found tools. I bought nuts and bolts. I crawled beneath the dinosaur and lay on my back, staring up at her belly. And then...

I fixed it.

With grease on my hands, I fixed it. With muscle and brawn, I fixed it. With tools and testosterone, I fixed it. Because I'm a man.

And when it was over, I stripped off my shirt and beat my chest. I feel like I should go shoot a gun. Or kill a pig with my bare hands. Or maybe break a leg on purpose, just so I can walk around without crutches.

What is this primal feeling? What are these urges? I have a penis. I can't stop being male. Why am I so satisfied to have filled a stereotypical gender role?

I don't know. But you want to know what I do know? My car runs better now than it did before. And I did that.

Because I am a man. And today, I feel like one.

PS-Speaking of manliness, watch this video.

Gimme, Gimme, Gimme

2009-01-26T11:14:00.000-08:00

If you asked your friend for a million dollars and they didn't give it to you, would they be a bad friend?

Over Thanksgiving I was in Africa with a non-profit called Children Inspiring Hope. They connect school kids in the US with school kids in Ghana through a lot of art projects, letters, peace flags, photos, etc. It's like pen pals. But better. Pen pals on steroids.

What's really great about this non-profit is that it's all about relationships. That's all. I know that there are lots of places around the planet with basic needs that are going unmet, and I'm not one to ignore that fact. But there's something really pure about going around the world saying, "Let's be friends." They're trying to create a generation of globally-minded kids who look at the world map and see only allies. Not threats. Just humans.

Kind of cool, right?

So Billy and Bobby and Timmy and Sally USA all write letters to the little boys and girls of Africa. "I like snow cones! I have a dog named Stinky! I like to play four-square and listen to Hannah Montana while eating snow cones with my dog Stinky!" Little kid stuff. Stuff about themselves. Because that's how people become friends. By learning about each other, and caring enough to do so.

But something happened when some of the African kids started writing back. We started seeing letters that said, "I want a bike. Send me a bike." "Buy me a laptop." "Give me... Send me... I want..."

We had come all the way across the Atlantic Ocean just to be friends. Just to start a relationship. And now they want stuff from us?

In the Volta Region of Ghana, the word for white person literally translated means, "One who has plenty," or "One who comes bearing gifts." That's the image they have of us. And it breaks my heart. Because when I think of these African kids, I think of how we treat God.

"Dear God, I really need money..."

"Dear God, please work things out so I can go snowboarding for spring break..."

"Dear God, send me a sign." "Give me... Send me... I want..."

If you asked your friend for a million dollars and they didn't give it to you, would they be a bad friend?

Our friends are not meant to be banks. American children are not meant to be Santa Claus to African Children. And God was never meant to be a genie.

We had a big talk with that class of Ghanaian kids, and without embarrassing anyone, we had the kids who had asked for things re-write their letters.

Jesus came all the way across the Atlantic Ocean just to be friends with us. Just to start a relationship. If anybody needs me, I'll be busy re-writing my letter to Him.

Worst Case Senario

2009-01-19T08:29:00.000-08:00

Sometimes your mind wanders off; gets away from you. Sometimes you imagine the worst possible scenario, only to be snapped back to reality... by something even worse.

About this time of year, almost six years ago, I was traveling across the continent of Australia with my friends Grace and Shannon, and some people we had met up with along the way: Frankie and Benny (German) and Benny's girlfriend/fiance Kristin (Canadian).

We were taking the long way across the country, stopping for all the national parks and wonders as we went. After one long time driving through an especially vast nothingness, we came to the coast again in Esperance.

I think the beach was called Ten Mile Lagoon. But there are nine and eleven mile beaches in the same area, so my memory could be confused. It was one of those beaches where you had to walk down a lot of stairs from the top parking lot to the sand. And at the top of the stairs was a sign: "Nude bathing PERMITTED."

We looked down to the beach and there didn't seem to be any naked frolicking happening, so we presumed it safe to carry on.

When all of us got down to the sand, however, it appeared that our stocky German friend Benny intended to take full advantage of the beach's allowance for nudity. So we ran away, the three of us American kids.

Well removed from our international travel companions, Shannon, Grace, and I played in the sand and water. There were tide pools in the reef. We took pictures. It was lovely. Shannon and I ran off to build a sand castle as Grace soaked up the sun in her personal tide pool bath tub. And the rest of this story belongs to Grace.

As I recall her telling me, she found starfish in the tide pools. Lots of them. And so she was scooping them up and hurling them back in the ocean and far as they would go, singing to herself that she was "saving the starfish."

This went on for a while, until she noticed someone walking in her direction from afar.

Benny.

Naked.

What could she do? She couldn't ignore him. We were all friends now. We had been traveling together for weeks. So she decided to do the right thing and just accept him as he was. I mean, why should she not talk to him, just because she could see his penis?

So Grace snatches up a starfish in her hand and starts skipping over to Benny to show him the little game she's been playing. Making a great effort to not stare, she skips all the way up to him, holds out her prize, exclaims, "I'm saving the starfish!" and then looks up at Benny.

And it's not Benny.

It's just some dude. Just some naked dude.

Sometimes your mind wanders off; gets away from you. Sometimes you imagine the worst possible scenario, only to be snapped back to reality by something even worse.

Grace had a otherwise pleasant conversation with a completely naked stranger about flinging starfish out into the ocean. And when he declined the invitation to join her antics, she was gratefully allowed to leave her blunder behind.

I can only hope that somewhere in Australia, there's a middle-aged man who still tells the story of the crazy American girl who liked to chuck starfish into the ocean for fun.