Twenty Seven Is A Good Number, Right?

1. I love Japanese cinema.  I haven't seen nearly as much as I would like, but Akira Kurosawa is one of my top five all time favorite directors.
2. When I go on long drives, I listen to podcasts.  Usually Garrison Keilor giving the news from Lake Wobegone, or more recently, You Look Nice Today.
3. The main reason I like Huey Lewis and the News, John Cougar Mellencamp, Chicago, and The Doobie Brothers today is because that's what my dad always had playing in the car when I was younger.
4. People talk to me about my height at least once a day.
5. I was suspended twice.  Once in third grade for lighting fireworks on the playground with my friend Billy.  I told the truth and didn't get in trouble.  The second time was Sophomore year of high school.  I threw a drumstick at another student during percussion ensemble class.  My teacher called it hazing.  The same day, I was elected Student Body Secretary/Treasurer.  I was also supposed to play the drums in the dress rehearsal for the school musical "Blood Brothers" that night, but wasn't allowed.  I wasn't the first person to miss a performance though.  The lead actress in the same musical was suspended the day before when she was caught "with" a boy in the choir room loft. An alumni drama student learned the lines in one day and took her part.
6. The only bone I've broken in my body is my left ring finger, which I broke playing basketball.  I have dislocated my right shoulder three times though.  The first time cliff jumping in Estacada, the second snowboarding on Mt. Hood, and the third throwing a dodgeball while at a summer camp in Montana.
7. I've only attended 4 schools my entire life.  King elementary school, Gardiner Middle School, and Oregon City High School, all in Oregon City, and NNU.
8. The first movie I saw in the theater was The Passion of the Christ. I was 18.
9. The earliest memory I can recall took place when I was 2 years and 3 months old. I was sitting in the parking lot of Spicer Brothers Produce right before it opened on April 20, 1988, watching my aunt cindy paint the side of the building.
10. When I was young, my favorite song was Waterfalls by TLC. When I was even younger, I loved Walking In Memphis by Bruce Springsteen. When it came on the radio in the house, I would run over and sit on the floor 2 feet away, listening to the whole song. Once I hadn’t finished changing my pants when my brother yelled across the house to tell me that the song was on the radio again. With my pants half on, I ran, tripped over my pants and fell down on the ground in front of the radio, where I stayed until the song had finished.
11. I flew to Oakland by myself when people were still allowed to greet you at the gate. My grandparents were waiting there. My grandpa took me to a Golden State Warriors game, just like I asked him to in a letter I wrote him a week earlier. My grandma took me to her sisters house, and I held my breath through a tunnel that was a mile long. Later, we saw the sea lions at Pier 39.  It's one of my favorite memories of my grandfather, who died 6 and a half years ago.
12. My grandma helped my hunger for books.  She's to blame for getting me started on Harry Potter.
13. Once, my dad took me to breakfast at a local diner at 6 in the morning before elementary school. That was the first time I had a pancake that was the size of a plate.
14. The first true guilt I felt was when I lied to my mom when I was in the third grade. I had rode my bike to the large forested ditch that was behind my neighbor’s house. They were making flamethrowers with aerosol cans and lighters. They wanted me to come down to the bottom, but I knew what they were doing was dangerous, and the hill was steep. I went part of the way and I decided to leave, but I fell in the mud climbing back up the steep hill. I got on my back and rode home as fast as I could. When I got home, my mom came to the door and saw me covered in dirt. I started to cry and told her that I had fallen off of my bike. I have never told her the truth.
15. Many people may not like to be called while they are sleeping.  I actually have my phone just a foot from my head at night in hopes that someone might call to see what I'm doing. This has nothing to do with desperation to hang out with people, I just know that if I get a phone call at three in the morning, it's not going to be boring.  And I will gladly get up and go to Sharis for a cup of coffee.
16. Some of my life goals are: To play a concert at Madison Square Garden, to kiss a girl on the eiffel tower, to see an NHL game in every home arena, to have coffee with a famous author, to be in a band/go into business with my brother, to create a masterpiece, to visit my second cousin in New Zealand, to go on a backpacking trip with my brother, dad, and grandpa, to take my grandson on a backpacking trip when I'm a grandfather, to buy a nice suit, like a nice suit, and to own an NBA team, or at least be a season ticket holder to the Blazers.
17. My favorite writing utensil is the Uni Ball Jetstream.
18. I think the worst food I have ever eaten was when I had duck pate in Montpellier, France.
19. It blows my mind that other people have rational thought.  Since I only know my own thoughts, it's entirely too difficult for me to grasp the idea that everyone else is confusing themselves just as much as I am.
20. I laugh out loud and sometimes cry when I'm reading.  I cried in Sometimes a Great Notion, because that book is abso-infix-lutely brilliant.
21. I went to Sundance twice with other film students when I was in college, and I could have cared less about the movies.  I just wanted to see celebrities.
22. My dad used to give my brother and I haircuts until I cried when I looked in the mirror.  He never did it again after that.
23. I like coffee.  Starbucks is my favorite.  My drink of choice in the summer is a tall espresso frappucino with a shot poured on top and extra caramel sauce.  My drink in the winter is a Double tall 1/2 flavor cinnamon white mocha.  I think this makes me a snob.
24. My parents always had date night on Fridays.  And every Friday, my brother and I would watch a rented movie and eat either boboli pizza or macaroni and cheese.  The movie I remember the most was Carpool with Tom Arnold.
25. I often misrepresent myself, and I'm sure other people do as well.  That's why I try to approach new relationships expecting the best instead of the worst.
26. I am addicted to online shopping.  At any given time, I am more than likely wearing something I purchased online.
27. I listened to Christian music solely until I went to a Christian college. Now I hardly listen to Christian music.

Distracting Myself

There's something very relaxing about making my bed.  When I wash my sheets, like I did today, I am given the opportunity to be distracted from everything else that is happening in my life and focus on the art of bed-making. Many other activities can put me in this state of focus and self-distraction.  These include but are not limited to:

Doing laundry

Cleaning my room

Washing dishes

Cleaning the kitchen

Organizing my bookshelf

Cleaning my bathroom

Folding laundry

Cleaning my desk

It's clear that I mainly clean when I'm stressed, worried, or confused.  For some reason, the act of putting everything in it's right place can help control my heartbeat.  Could it be that I'm cleaning my surroundings as a sub-conscious attempt at getting my own life in order? Am I like PSH in Synecdoche, scrubbing at everything to avoid being covered in the grime and grit of growing old?

When I'm lying in bed, and my thoughts race out of control, I have a particular method to help calm me down so I can sleep.  Some people count sheep.  I imagine an empty bookshelf.  The books that were once on it's shelves are now littering the floor.  One by one, I place the books back on the shelf.  I restore order to the disordered.  And soon, my breathing slows down, and I fall asleep.

Soon enough, however, I realize that the cleaning must either stop (leaving me with only truth) or never end (completely ignoring truth).  Why do I replace all of the books at night if I'm only going to pull them off the shelf again in the morning?  Is this a process that must be repeated in order to stay sane?  Must everything always be a process?

One more question: Can a life find order?

Following My Dreams

It should be no secret that I really like hockey.  Many of my friends know this due to the time I spend watching and talking about hockey.  Over the past year, hockey has become a passion for me.  I love the whole idea of the sport; the skill, the honor, the teamwork, the dedication, and the prestige of it all.  I have dreams about playing on the ice with my favorite players.  And I have never played a game in my life.

It may sound weird to many people that one of my passions is hockey when I have never played.  Well, I want to change that.  At the end of this year of school, we were asked to write a short paragraph describing what we would do after college.  I wrote that I would either become a writer or a professional hockey player.  Most people laughed.  I'm serious.

Today at work, I couldn't stop thinking about hockey, and how badly I want to play.  I know that I did not grow up with a hockey stick always in my hand like many professional players.  I didn't play in school.  I didn't play in college.  I don't have the experience.  But I believe there are three things required before a person can become a professional hockey player.  Skill, knowledge of the game, and passion.  I have two out of the three, and I am determined to reach the third.

I'm not exactly sure what this means.  At work, thoughts of moving to Canada crossed my mind.  Thoughts of finding a job at a small ice rink and skating every day went through my head.  I've thought about this a lot.  I don't have any times or dates set.  The only thing I know for certain right now is if I never follow this dream, if I never at least try, I will be a disappointment to myself.  I don't like to have regrets, and I am sure this will become one if I ignore it.

I can see myself playing hockey for the rest of my life and being happy.  But when, and where do I start?  How far should I follow this dream?

When I Dream

The other night I was dreaming.  I had woken out of the same bed that I was sleeping in and walked to my computer in the other room.  All of this was in my dreamy haze.  For some reason I had decided to look up the roster for the TOMFest muscial festival in washington, but I was having the hardest time finding it.  Instead of searching for TOMFest, I kept typing "portico", which is what the festival was named for one year.  Eventually, I gave up trying to find the website.  Later, in relaying this situation to a friend - still in the dream - I said, "Never try to google something while you're dreaming."  It was the best advice I'd given in a while, dreaming or awake.

More Homework

Took my computer downstairs, woke up at five again.

And my friendly neighborhood spider-man stopped by!

Popcorn Post

-I'm listening to "If Only" by Nouveaux, a contemporary Christian band from the 90s, and thinking to myself about how it's lyrics and four part harmony would be perfect for Covenant to play.  I decide to e-mail it to Marc.

-Katie Wilson calls me while I'm listening to "If Only" by Nouveaux and thinking about Marc and Covenant to see if I can play with her at the Flying M Thursday (which I don't think I can because of work) and she is with Marc.

-I woke up at 5am this morning to work on a homework assignment I'd been putting off.  I set the timer on my coffee maker to go off at five so that I would get up and not be wasteful.  I worked until 12:30pm.  I drank two large mugs of strong coffee, a glass of water, two glasses of cranberry juice, and ate two pieces of toast, a biscotti, and a pack of peanut butter crackers.

-I spent about 9 hours doing that assignment today.  If I hadn't, I wouldn't have graduated.  It was alright though.  I always work better when I wake up early and give the work a new day, rather than staying up late with all that happened during the day.

-I think this is how I'll write someday when it's all I do.  I'll wake up early, let nothing else worry me but the sun rising, the coffee brewing, the jazz jazzin' (I listened to jazz for 6 hours today), and the stories will write themselves.  I'm sure of it.

-I've been telling people lately that I don't let homework get me down.  I haven't been turning it in on a regular basis, but it's been hitting me hard.  When I have late assignments piling up, it drains me.  Every day that goes by takes a little something away from me.  When I do anything other than that assignment with my free time, I can't enjoy it as much as before.  When I sit down to read, I feel guilty.  Food doesn't taste as good.  This could be why I've had a rough semester; I haven't been able to enjoy the things I love.  Homework has been getting me down!

-I'm about halfway through Sometimes A Great Notion.  It's a good book, and I've been reading on a regular basis, almost daily, but it's long.  And not only that, it's more difficult to get through then maybe a... John Grisham book.

-Less than three weeks until graduation.  My family is coming up, it should be fun.  But the point is, that's soon.

-Assignments I have to do in the next three weeks:  write five short stories (good ones too, because I hold myself to unrealistic standards), write two more major papers, and give ten minute presentation.  No biggie.  Just as long as I don't wait and do it late.

-P.S. I made another casserole and it was delicious.  I'm the only one that's eaten any besides Phil, and he only ate it because he was hungry.  He doesn't even like the taste of it.

-Oh and also, here are a few more words for you: uncertainty, graduation, sleep, work, write, eat, laugh, plan, live, apply, deploy, imply, decoy, dirty dishes, messy room, loads of laundry, lava lamp, memories, bible, bird, coffee, music, summer, hockey, and finally, vanilla.

-What I'm lookin' like these days, considering the circumstances:

This Is Funny...

...or it's late.

Nylon Woman

You talk too much - she says and lets her head drop, her hair barely concealing the upturned corners of her red-rimmed mouth.  The whites of her teeth shine through her bangs as rays pushing through the clouds, teasing.

I may talk too much, but you - are so beautiful, you have to know that I feel this way.  What haven’t I done right?

I what? - a simple question.

You don’t say enough - a  complicated answer.  He does talk quite a lot, but he doesn’t realize it.  It’s almost always the next day when he remembers telling her about everything he’s done, and all that he’s going to do, but can’t remember a single thing she said to him.  I was just answering her questions, I wanted to be thorough.  I ask questions, right?  Why wouldn’t I?  And so he tortures himself, with good reason of course, because he does ask too many questions.

Just yesterday, at the dinner table with his family on a Sunday.

How is the market? - his mother asks, even though she had just visited him yesterday to  pick up a few “groceries” and left with a bottle of Vermont maple syrup.  She has fixed pancakes, eggs, bacon, and toast for dinner on this particular occasion, and placed the bottle of Vermont maple syrup, label out, directly in front of his plate.  She had bought the most expensive bottle available, sure that the money spent would impress her son and somehow make it directly into his pocket.

It’s great, just great - he pauses, continues - You know, I’ve been considered for a promotion.

Oh? - His father sets down his fork, leaving a pice of egg trapped against a syrupy soaked pancake.

And he goes on to tell his parents all about what has been happening with his job, his apartment, his close friends.  They have so many questions, and he doesn’t hesitate to answer each in full.  He leaves that day feeling as if he has truly impressed his parents, that their boy is growing up to be someone responsible.  And so it surprises him to hear her ask about his parents; how they are, what they’ve been involved in, how their health is.

My parents?  Why? - he asks, remembering that she had met his parents, though only once, on accident.  This is good, she’s asking me more questions, she wants to know more about me.

Did you have dinner with them yesterday?

Oh, yeah.  They looked good.  It was just nice to see them.  I think they really miss me; you know, I don’t go home very often.  It’s just weird to go back there when - she’s cutting me off.  What’s wrong now.

There, you’re doing it again.  Turning it around - and she begins to turn around as if to leave.

I emit a quick Wait!, and grab her arm.  She turns back

What am I turning around, what? - And he honestly doesn’t understand her.

Everything comes back to you, always.  Your parents may know you, but you really can’t say the same about them - she says in desperation.

Alright, so - he slows down to think - Can you wait here for one moment? - he asks her and turns to walk away.

She has grown tired of putting up with him and his vanity, but she waits, knowing that it would hurt him for her to leave.  It’s not always conversation and ignorance; sometimes they do things together.  The kinds of things that you would like to remember and not let go easily.  And she also knows, deep down inside where her own vanity lies, she can help him come out of it.

He walks to the end of the walkway where they have located themselves in the park.  This intersects Greenleaf avenue, where several covered benches hold people waiting for the next bus.  Next to the benches, a nylon woman slows her bike and steps off, pulling a small bag off of her shoulders.  He steps forward to the nylon woman in an attempt at conversation between strangers.

She is still waiting back at the beginning, near 30 yards, exactly where he hopes she will stay I hope she waits for me, it might mean that she really does like to be around me if she’s still there when I get back. Looking on as the nylon woman talks to her with his hands, she convinces herself that this is good.  That what he is doing, whatever it might be, is good, has to be good, because this nylon woman is smiling, with her nylon covered plastic helmet.

The only thing that the nylon does not cover is her wizened face, and he looks into it as he asks her a series of questions.  Nylon woman answers succinctly, taking long drinks of water between each yes, no, or barely longer string of words that she lets him have.  When his barrage of questions continues, she seals her water, reaches in her bag, and pulls out another bottle.

I have a spare, here - nylon woman says and hands him her extra bottle of water.

Oh, you don’t have to - he says. Why would she give me her water, she’s the one riding the bike.

Don’t - she interrupts - Just drink.

And he does.

When he arrives at the spot where she was standing, he is the only one there.  She has already left.  He waits three minutes, checks his watch, and leaves with the empty water bottle in his right hand.

Back at her house, she hears a knock on the door, which is unlocked.

Come in - she says, while keeping her eyes on her book - It’s unlocked.

Hey - he says as he steps into her room.  She is so beautiful, even now, maybe even more so with her glasses and the way that her hair is right there.  You were gone, and though... I knew you might be.  Where did you go? - he asks.

I just came here - and she sets down her book.

Did you walk the whole way? - he asks.

Yes - she says - It was nice.

Have you eaten yet? - he asks

My mother and I shared two sandwiches, half and half - she says, with the motion of her hand landing perpendicular on her other, cutting through the air.  She laughs with herself and looks up at him, placing her glasses on the book, brushing hair out of her face, smiling.

How is your mother? - he asks Did you see the nylon woman?

She is great - as her smile grows - She asked about you.  I told her everything.  What’s with the water bottle? - she adds, as if it’s the only thing she doesn’t understand about him.

Did you see the nylon woman? You must have seen her - he asks - She asked about you.

Oh? - she questions - And what did you tell her?

I told her I’d have to get back to her - he says.

What do you need to know? - she says, and leans forward.

I need to know that you saw the nylon woman, that she was beautiful, and everything she said about her family and we shared the water and she knew everything about me through the questions, and not through the answers.  I need to know that you will let this become something that you can give yourself to.  I need to know who and what and how you are.  I need to know exactly what you need to do to be you, and how I can be by your side.

I need to know how I can be by your side.  Can I be by your side? - he asks.

Just To See If It Works

I set up a mail to blog address, so now whenever I am somewhere with only my iPod and no computer, I can still write emergency posts!
Awesome!

So even though I am sitting at my computer right now, I'm wasting time typing this out on my iPod touch. I love technology.

There's a First for Everything

Hello.  This is the beginning of the blog that I have finally decided to start, and hope to keep writing in for a while.  I like to write, so a blog felt like a good thing to have.  This way I can stay up on my writing, and maybe even improve.

But I've already gotten ahead of myself.  I haven't explained what this blog is, or even who I am.  I am Chris, I am nearly a college graduate, and I enjoy things in life which deserve to be enjoyed.  These include, but are not limited to, ice cream, good books, matinees, dance parties, warm days in the spring, cool days in the summer, and coconut macaroons.  I think these are the types of things blogs should be about, and these are exactly the types of things my blog will be about.  I hope you like them as much as I do.

So stick around; I'll be talking about questions, speculations, and insights about life and the rest.  Kind of like a family dinner. (I tried really hard to tie this into the picture above, which my good friend Reed took with his nice camera.)