Brad Pitt Is a Celebrity Among Celebrities

And this is a blog completely unrelated to Brad Pitt.

A friend and I were having a conversation recently. I mentioned the fact that she has a tendency to hold on to relationships longer than most people, or possibly just myself. In fact, she has already written a post about this same conversation. You could call this a call-and-response blog, similar to "Hallelu, Hallelu, Hallelu, Hallelujah, Praise ye the Lord".

In my experience, relationships (at least 95% of them) don't last very long.  Soon enough, you graduate from school, you change jobs, you move out of town, or you make a some other change in your life that causes you to leave one group of people and join another.  I'm a huge proponent for change.  I don't stand on streetcorners protesting stagnancy, but I know that it's safer to drink out of a river than it is to drink out of a pond.  When we allow movement to take us, we find the opportunity to look outside of ourselves, to realize that there is more than just "us".  Staying put causes people to decrease the size of their world, until it fits inside a small town, or a house, or cramped inside one person's mind.

I don't consider myself a pessimist. In fact, I'm usually optimistic in most situations. But this may be one of the areas where I appear to be drinking out of a glass that's half empty.  Why would I give up on the relationships of my past, the very people that have shaped me directly or indirectly, to be who I am today?

I haven't given up.  I've acknowledged and appreciated their impact, applied it to my life as best as I could, and moved on to acknowledge and appreciate other people.  Just like they have moved on as well.  If I were to spend all of my time with my high school friends, wouldn't I be cheating both parties out of other more significant relationships?  Relationships that could help challenge and enrich our lives as they are now, in the present, as opposed to how they were when we were sixteen?

Anyways, I've had really mixed emotions while writing all of this, and I'm still trying to decide what to make of it all.  These are the list of possible reasons why I could have come to this stance on relationships:

• I am bitter that I don't have a lifelong best friend.
  
• I've been rejected so many times I've been forced to learn how to move on in order to survive emotionally.
  
• I don't have enough energy or space in my life to have more than a few close friends.
  
• I'm a parasite that moves from person to person, sucking them dry to serve myself.
  
• I won't get close because I know that change is inevitable, and I don't want to go through the pain of losing someone.
  
• People haven't initiated contact with me, and I'm too proud to contact them first.
  
• Who I am now is not a significant improvement on who I was then.
  
• Once people get to know me, really get to know me, they will discover that I'm not at all interesting enough to have around, and I move on before they get a chance to dig that deep.
  
• I just get tired of people once I get to know them.
  

Life is ridiculous.  I don't know whether to thank God or be angry with him for giving me emotions. Because of who I am - a selfish, confused, small, completely unimportant person - I have to go to a perfect God for guidance.  That's either love, or false advertising.  Did God make me imperfect knowing that my only choice would be to go back to my manufacturer and pay for repairs?  Is this free will?

I've got questions!  Am I supposed to go to God for the answers?

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?

Art & Worship Before Work

I had the privilege of playing worship music with a couple other guys at college church this morning.  It was only for an hour because I have to go to work soon, but I'm glad I got to be there.

We played background music while students at a ministry conference took part in a group creative project.  Three paintings depicting different moments in Christ's life (the crucifixion, burial and resurrection) were at the front of the room, unpainted.  It was the student's job to each paint different parts of the canvases until all three were complete.

While watching the students and their youth pastors paint, I couldn't get the thought of someone making a mistake out of my head.  What if one person took liberties with a gross color all over the sky, or painted someone with purple skin?  I thought it would ruin the painting, or at least ruin the creative direction that someone may have had for the painting.

And then I realized that these "mistakes", or differences in direction, are what will make the painting beautiful when it is finished.  Each person played a different role in the process, and even though some people may disagree with others, it still works together for good.  How many times have I wanted to make things out of my control work out to meet my desired end result, and at the end, something far greater that I could have never imagined is accomplished?

I didn't actually get to see the finished product, but I am sure it will be beautiful, and completely different than I first pictured.

Critic Critique

I decided yesterday that if I were given the choice, I would much rather be a film critic than a book critic.  Even though I like reading books more than watching movies, I wouldn't want to ruin my love for books by making them my career.  If I were to read books all day long, I would have to do that alone.  Whereas I could watch movies with friends or my wife someday and be working at the same time.  And I've never been able to read a book in two hours, except for If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.

Also, I think book critics are uber-scholars with a thick repertoire of literary references used only in an attempt to impress their colleagues.  So there.

Even so, I would like to make an attempt at impressing anyone who reads this dilapidated blog by talking about several books I've been reading lately.

I finished The Red Pony.  A short and simple book by John Steinbeck.  I won't say much about this book except that I believe it might have changed my life.  Why say something in 400 pages that you can say in 90?  Never before has a book made me feel the way this book did.  Have you ever wanted to cry for all that has been lost and all that is yet to be found?

I'm currently reading A Confederacy of Dunces.  And I need to do my laundry, so I'll talk more about this book when I finish reading it.

Signing Up For Eternity

I just added 59 movies to my netflix queue.  Every academy awards best picture winner.  I've only seen 19 so far.

When I was looking for a bookmark to use for a book I was starting today, I came across one that I had picked up at powell's this summer.  It's a list of all the pulitzer prize winners in the fiction category since the award was first given in 1918.  I decided that I'm going to read all of them.  I've only read 4 so far.

Of course, after I finish these two lengthy lists, there are many other lists.  There are the golden globe winners, the sundance winners, AFI's 100 best movies, the Criterion collection, etc.  There are the National Book Award winners, the New York Times bestsellers, Oprah's book club selections, and on and on.  And apart from these notable lists, there are personal goals I would like to accomplish in the form of lists, such as reading every Steinbeck, or Vonnegut, or Hemingway, or watching every Hitchcock, or Allen, or Altman.

And right now, even though I am excited to get started, it worries me that I might not ever finish.  That I don't have enough time!  Even deeper than that, I'm getting worried that I won't enjoy the lists eventually, that my strict adherence to the lists will decrease the amount of spontaneity and increase the predictability in my life.  Whether or not these concerns are superficial, they are closely related to the amount of uncertainty in my life (if I have enough time to accomplish lists that really matter, i.e., things I need to do to start a career, places I would like to visit and/or live, or in other words contained in this one list; what to do before I die).

I would much rather worry about movies and books.

Either way though, it reminds me of a line from a Five Iron Frenzy song:

"It's a little disconcerting, signing up for eternity."

Saying Goodbye To Friends

No, I'm not leaving Oregon yet.  Not until next week.  But I did have to say goodbye to some very dear friends tonight.

Twitch, Katee, Courtney and Joshua, you will be missed.

In case you don't already know, these were the final four dancers for the show So You Think You Can Dance.  The finale was earlier tonight and Joshua took home the title, which was well deserved.

The first episode of this show came on around the time I came home to Oregon City from Idaho.  I knew that this was my last summer at home, even though I didn't know what I would be doing when it ended.  I had no idea what to expect from the few months after college.  I thought I would hate these last three months.  I didn't want to be living in the same house and working at the same job I was before I ever went to college.  There were many times when I felt like I hadn't accomplished anything.  But this summer was different, better than that.

So the summer started off with this show, So You Think You Can Dance.  I wasn't sold on it from the beginning.  No matter what though, I would sit down with my mom every Wednesday night for another episode.  And eventually I was hooked.  Some of the dancing was amazing, but I loved the show for the personalities of the dancers.  One of the dancers, Twitch, was fun to watch perform, but off the stage he was always smiling and encouraging people.  He was the first person to support someone who moved on to the next level or got eliminated.  Everytime. He was there with a hug and a smile.

And in a way, like I so often do, I connected with the people on the show.  They became my friends.  I do this with books all the time.  For the last month of school this year I was slowly making my way through Sometimes A Great Notion, a novel by Ken Kesey.  I finally finished it almost two months after I started.  Now, when I think back to graduation, the moments leading up to it and the weeks after, I think of Hank, Leland, and Joe Ben cutting logs on a hill near the Oregon Coast.  I feel like I was there!  When I had read the last sentence of the book, it took me nearly ten minutes to close the book and put it down.  I didn't want to leave behind the friends that had carried me through Graduation.

And here I find myself, saying goodbye to another group of friends.  I meet them, I grow close to them, and we leave each other.  The friendships I make in books, on TV, in movies, they hardly mean anything to me.  It's when I have to say goodbye to the real friends that I struggle.  And the worst part is, I'm used to it.  Summer after summer, I left Nampa.  I said goodbye and went home.  Never before has it been difficult leaving Oregon to go back to Idaho though.

This summer was better than I could have ever expected it to be.  This was the beginning of life after college!  And I'm leaving it for another beginning.  You don't have to tell me, I already understand that every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.  I just hate all of this goodbye stuff.

And so, in the spirit of life, friendship, and beginnings

I will never read the last sentence,

I will never watch a finale,

I will fall asleep in the last ten minutes,

I will do what I can to make sure that you and I don't have to begin again

Because I never want these friendships to end.

Viewing Points

Facebook Status for current blog:  Chris Spicer thinks that there are viewpoints along the highway of life; opportune roadside pull-offs that allow us to see the whole picture once again before heading off down the road.

One of my favorite viewpoints is at the edge of the Blue Mountains in eastern Oregon.  Before you descend the mountains to Pendleton, you have one last chance to pull off and appreciate the majestic landscape.  When I'm up there I feel like I'm bigger than the Blue Mountains and all of Oregon, even the Northwest and the entire Pacific Ocean.

In two weeks, I'll give all of that back.  Is it sad?  Or is it symbolic, to drive the other direction, not knowing when I'll see this view again?

I am sure that where one viewpoint ends, another begins.  I won't stop here on my drive to Idaho.  Right now, I don't think I need to see where I've been.  I'll keep the car and drive, searching for viewpoints that reveal where I'm going.

This Is Why I'm Hot

I saw this question posed on the internet recently.

You have a child that is born deaf.  When your child turns 16, they receive implants that allow them to hear.  What is the first song that you play for your child?

I have spent a lot of time thinking about this question, and I still don't know if I have a clear answer.  Several of my favorite songs immediately came into my head, but I just don't think they would be appropriate for the first song ever heard by my child.  One song I considered was Straralfur by Sigur Ros.  It is a beautiful song, and it gives me the shivers every time I listen to it.  And yet, I believe my child would be confused by the language of the lead singer.  I also thought about some important classical music, but I wouldn't want this to be a history lesson.  I don't want to sit down with my child right away and say, "alright son/daughter, this is everything you missed out on while you were deaf."  It has to be more than that.

And so I searched for passion.  A song that makes you connect with the musicians and singer and understand their love/struggle/pain/growth.  Something that makes you hear the music, and realize it's completeness, and yet desire more when it's over.  And something that is just plain aesthetically pleasing to the ears.

Therefore, I've narrowed it down to four songs.  Don't make me choose between these four, please.

The Whaler by Thrice.

Falling Slowly by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova.

Blackbird by The Beatles.

And Amazing Grace sung by Aretha Franklin.

Hate me all you want, but I really feel like these songs would be amazing to hear before any others.

I also can just imagine sitting with my child listening to these songs together.  It would be like the scene from Once when father and son are listening to one of the son's songs for the first time.  When it's over, there's a moment of silence, and finally the father says, "It's brilliant. Now play it again."

This is why I love music.

This is why I want to learn how to play guitar.

This is why I want to be a father.

This is why I et cetera, et cetera.

Bustomer Case

Top 10 Questions Asked By Spicer Bros. Customers:

10.  What time do you close?

9.  Where are the bags?

8.  Will you donate produce to my charity/event?

7.  What do you do with the bad produce?

6.  How much does this watermelon weigh?

5.  Could you pick me out a good watermelon?

4.  When will you have local corn?

3.  Do you have local strawberries?

2. Where Are these tomatoes from?

1.  Are these tomatoes safe?

Answers:

10.  Seven.

9.  In the basket right over there.

8.  No, we already donate to the food bank at the local Nazarene church.

7.  We give it to the pigs.

6.  About 20 lbs.

5.  Yes.

4.  It could be tomorrow, or two weeks from now.  No one knows for sure.

3.  You just missed them.  We had them during June.

2.  Mexico, California, and Canada.

1.  We wouldn't sell you bad tomatoes.

I Trained a Bull in Puerto Rico to Kill a Man

I'm restless.

I don't know why.  But if I had to attribute it to something, here is a list.

I don't do much when I'm stuck at home in this basement.

There really are too many books and too little time.

All this looking at apartments makes me want to move NOW.

Norway is a long distance from here.

My dad and I are on different wave-lengths.

I can't talk to my dad about anything that isn't superficial.

I can't talk to my dad without feeling either a.) guilty b.)irresponsible c.) immature d.)misunderstood.

I can't measure up to my dad's expectations of me.

I am living in the same house and working at the same job I was before ever going to college.

Temptation has been really bringing me down lately.

I work all the time.

I drive everywhere.

I have too many friends here to move to Idaho.

I have too many friends there to not move to Idaho.

I feel tied down by the responsibility that comes with every paycheck.

I am going nowhere.

I am going everywhere.

I don't know where I'm going.

And yet, in the midst of this burden, I feel the presence of an almighty God working in my life.  This restlessness is most likely attributed to a battle between control and surrender, guilt and redemption, lust and love, and justice and grace.  

My prayer: Oh dear God, help me, I'm crying out to You. I can't do this on my own, and yet I keep trying.  Release me of self and fill me with Truth.  Trade this restlessness for peace.  Peace in a broken heart and soul, I beg of you.  Give me joy that cannot be contained.  Let me spill over into the lives of those around.  Let them see that my life is for a higher calling, to be a servant of the Most High.  Erase my thoughts contrary to Your spirit, do away with my selfish actions.  Let everything I do shine a light on You.  Please, Lord, let everything I bring to You be an offering of my soul, my love and thankfulness for the work You've done in my life.  See that what I bring to You is not worthy to be considered, but it is my hardest work, the best I can do, everything I have laid out before You unconditionally.  I want nothing more than to praise Your Majesty and dwell within the depths of Your love forever.  This is my prayer.  This is all of me.