"Go away now."

My mom is hilarious.

There were a few moments today, with my immediate family assembled, when the conversations flew about like three middle-schoolers, seven bouncy balls and a racquetball court. Like the nimble lucky buggers they are, none of them got hit/hurt and, really, at least one of them should have. For crying out loud, a few eyes should have been knocked out - eh? Seriously, things were shouted all around and nobody heard anybody say anything. Yes, hilarity and excitement and family. Word.

There's jalapeno cornbread on the counter, waiting to be turned into stuffing tomorrow. Also, the turkey is drying, stuffed with aromatics and rubbed with oregano and parsley. And there are potatoes waiting to be mashed. Am I looking forward to tomorrow? In many ways, yes. Mom is making foodstuffs of the Korean variety for her husband, sons, daughter and all those Dordt students (of the Korean variety). Imagine how much of a celebration that will be - magnificent, straightforward, no-fuss Korean food. It'll be an honor to make three dishes with her. Just three! Make 'em count! And, you know, it will be eaten by all of the above... you know, the Korean variety. And that's great.

It's funny how you change when you go on break. I guess it's also humbling to find that you don't have as firm a grasp on your mind as you had thought or planned. OK - I need to absorb some crap and rest for awhile, I can accept that... I think. The problem is, instead of running back and forth from various classes, projects, meetings, etc. I find my mental energy running on what used to be (partially) blocked. Grr.

Readers... I don't know what to do with my life. Yep. Go!

It's pretty daunting, encouraging and cool that these video projects keep popping up.

I'm six pages into the new novel for Canadian Lit. It's "Obasan" by Joy Kogawa. I have yet to comprehend how it falls into the Canadian Lit. category, other than the author living in Canada or the narrator living in Canada. I don't know. But I'm six pages in and, like most novels are at this point, I have little idea what's going on. I have only an abrupt introduction with this character, this voice and, presumably, I'll gradually lose that initial wariness and fall deeper and deeper into the character and the story. What if human interaction were like that? What if our words and actions were nearly as deliberate? Imagine how we would be, to each other, if we were to take each other by the hand and fearlessly unroll ourselves?
It's not like that; we toss and turn, rolling with the wind and the hours while the words on the page stand still, waiting to be read. The people on the screen fade to black, but they are seen by patient viewers. The stage characters wash off their makeup every night, but they never forget the lives they filled and the characters they invited to thwart their own individual beings. The subjects are suspended in ink, posed or candid, and SNAP their physical image is captured, stolen, on paper.
Could we stand to be a little more brave? Would we benefit from taking each other in with more patience, and eagerness, as when we read a novel?

Love is a promise made of smoke.

I read short stories last night, I read poems this morning.
I read poems in class, I recited lyrics after class,
I discussed a novel in class, then I put up posters.
I assigned Charles Baxter, J.D. Salinger and Flannery O'Connor.
I negotiated election, petition, promotion and politics.
I hit a ball, against a wall, over and over and over and over again.

Arrangements have been made, the best they can, for the shoot tomorrow. Wednesday, at 3, the interior car dialogue scenes of Nick and Michaela who will call each other Paul and Jennifer.
Before I go on, I must apologize to whoever reads this, to the owners of the eyes that are probably saying, by now, "Oh Lord help us - he's bitching about existence again."
Well, I'm not... explicitly... this time... yet.
It's not very often that I get to sit down with friends, agenda-free, to drink and food without the looming obligation, and anxiety, of what still needs to be done immediately after. And the funny thing is that there were three of us and one person was talking about... just thoughts and how she reacts to various people. Myself and the other friend sitting there, listening, taking it in, sipping drinks, occaisonally asking a small question or chuckling. For a few moments, I conjured up the memories of past living arrangements and how it seemed, almost nightly, to invite friends over for small meals in the dark of night to speak freely, to confess, unload, vent, babble or catch up all with the freedom and openness that comes with a semi-occupied mind at the stove, at the cutting board.

"But you weren't as busy last year," and that changes things, I suppose.

Earlier today, a friend showed me an image of the Canadian landscape - trees surrounding a glacier-formed lake and... well, I suppose you would call them devotions, maybe not, but the one beautiful thought, idea or image that stays with you through the day, that shakes your bones to however God reveals himself that day. It might be the idea of the Canadian wilderness, a passage by Steinbeck, the solitary tones from a piano/clarinet recital.

And to venture there, to hike and camp and read and shout and sit.

Likewise, to spend days viewing films, reading stories, absorbing photography/design ideas...

But it's not like that, as a result of a conscious decision I made. Here. It's not paying my dues - I'm not a med. student, working towards a goal, a certificate that, then, allows me to do what I want. I'm already doing what I want here - responding to Canadian Lit, for one. And there are many.

I have to apologize also, then, for my finite temperance.

I miss my brothers, living their lives out in parallel directions, somehow, to mine.

I have miles to go. We all do, I suppose, as the semester is closing rapidly.

I hate that we end up taking each other for granted - that we lose each other in our ambitions and keep our greetings short, meaningless.

I dreamt, this is an odd one, that I was back in my church in Michigan and Jesus was there and we all gathered in one huge crowd, asking him questions and raising up differences in theology and doctrine... but Jesus just wanted to play basketball with us. He kept dribbling around us, taking shots and - of course - nabbing his own rebounds. At one point, he finally held the ball in his hands and looked a girl in the eyes, gorgeous, delicate eyes, and said,
"Do you really think I created you to..."
and, honestly, I forget how he finished that sentence. He embraced her then and continued to play basketball. No, we didn't join in at that point - the eighty gaping-mouthed Koreans we are/were - we watched him. Jesus tries really hard, but he's not very coordinated with a basketball. It's funny now, but at the time... wow...

In Front of Faith and Film

I'm standing here at the podium, at 7 36 waiting to start Amelie and there are about 20 or so people here, also waiting to start Amelie. The coffee/cider is on its way. It's Friday evening, everyone seems excited to be with each other, talking about fun things and other fun people. Everyone looks really good in their cold weather garb, having had shed one layer from the snow and wind outside. Where's Piper? Where's Jeremy? Has Poppa Lief come to any films this semester? Where are the Hulsts? They're on the email list, I know.
On the Radio, Regina Spektor is about to end... and I decided to start the film after this song.
Discuss film? End and simply go live life? Why should we stay inside to talk about living life? About falling in life with life? Who knows what will happen...
Field Below is a good song too... ... ... after this song, I'll start. They're going around each other, making sure they touch base with everybody here... Mark and Laura just started singing... other things they say, to each other, random little bits of questions, short giggles, slurred words. I think I may become an alcoholic (joke).
For that matter, if anyone was weirded out by the Guster post, No, I did not write that out of experience. Older brother Paul, I did not, and do not, sleep with girls. I wake up alone and, well, that's funny that you thought that.
What should I do after this? I want to take some photos, but I think my models are out of commission. A lot of people have been out of commission lately. I want to get out of Sioux Center to read. Oh shit. No, I can't. I can't. I'm meeting about shooting in Omaha after this. At the Bean. Yep. That's what I'm doing. I'm doing it. That's what I'm doing. And that will take some time.
Are there any drummers out there? I want to start playing music on a semi-regular basis again. I know I could ask Voss and I know he'd be enthusiastic about it, but I wonder if we would. Maybe after figuring out film nonsense, I'll just play guitar... or do some more photo research... or... bake something? I hope Amelie inspires me, I hope it wakes me up. 'Cause I may fall asleep...
OK, these people are starting to sound incredulous and dramatic. The song is ending. Here we go.

Shit. We have to listen to this song too! Hotel Song.
Love you.

It might sound crass to you, whoever you are, but...

Why is it that when you ask someone a question, they always preface their answer with the reasons why? I find myself being really annoyed lately with these situations. Just say yes or no. I don't care too much why; I just need to know if you can do this or you can't, not so much if you want do or won't.

This sounds crass to me, right now, but I know I feel this way still because... well, don't worry about disappointing me or, even worse, don't try to deflect my being mad or irritated with you by listing your reasons why.
We're all busy.
We are all very busy. We don't have time to tell each other how busy we are. It's not a contest and I'm not going to feel sorry for you. If you really need to, how about a "Can I tell you about my day?"

Bah what a week, but Monday was so beautiful. Today, even, was beautiful with the sky and the impending doom. And the rain.

---


I/Myself by Carol Shields

A moment of no importance
but there I was, three
years old, swinging at the gate

thinking (theatrical even then)
here I am, three years old
swinging at the gate

There's no choice
about this. Consciousness is a bold
weed, it grows where it wants,
sees what it wants to see

what it sees is a moment within
a moment, a voice
outside a voice

saying: here I am, three
years old, swinging at the gate

I Hope Tomorrow is Like Today
by Guster off of their album, Keep it Together AND the Wedding Crashers soundtrack.

I've always taken this song as a late night, pining for someone that doesn't even know it, song. Or maybe not even that, maybe just thinking about someone late at night and you don't want to wake them up, pull them out of bed and ask to have a drink. I'm awake, you're still sleeping. And the banality of this, the so-common tortures we commit on ourselves, The sun will rise like yesterday. I've been listening to this song for years, since before Wedding Crashers came out and my brother and I went to see it in the theaters seven or so times because 1) there wasn't much else to do in Sioux Center then and 2) what a funny movie. (They use this song when Owen Wilson's character is on his downward stint of crashing weddings by himself and Rachel McAdams' character is planning her wedding to douchehole. Not very fitting, actually, but still a gorgeous song.)

Today, for the first time and for whatever reason, I heard this song as a guy watching the lovely girl sleeping next to him in the morning. And he regards the sun rising out the window and he regales his thoughts, regales the girl, with this moment of meditation. And joy. I'm awake, you're still sleeping, the sun will rise like yesterday.
And maybe he's not all that clear or as completely self-assured about it all. Everything that we are now is everything we can't let go. Oh it's gone forever, far away... I hope tomorrow is like today. Somebody stop me - is there anything more beautiful than the affirmation of going through the risks and possibilities of human drama with someone? This will change everything, we're putting our emotions and maybe our existing friendship at risk... we may end up hating each other... let's keep doing this. I hope we do this tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, and the next.

What I think happened, initially, was the tone of the music - the bass line especially - set me to think it was a song at night, wandering around thinking about that girl who, assured and at peace and not staying up, like the guy, thinking over and over again about the one brief run-in they had together. It's a nice song to listen to at night, but maybe it will be a song about the morning, when she's still sleeping and she looks like she's comfortable, that she feels safe. She feels safe next to the guy who's so happy, and dumbfounded, that he wakes up to make sure it's real.

And the music continues on, escalating, and the strum of the guitar celebrates with the quick drum roll, the classy piano, the na na na nas and there's a circus in the mind of the guy, the lucky guy, and he slowly lays back down and watches the sun wake the earth up out the window.

I'm awake, you're still sleeping
The sun will rise like yesterday
Everything that we are now
Is everything we can't let go
Oh its gone forever, far away
I hope tomorrow is like today
Don't you go away tomorrow
I don't think I could handle that
You're probably dreaming that you're flying on
Then you start to fall
But then you rise
and shine forever
Don't go away
I hope tomorrow is like today


Listen to this, listen to it again, listen to it at night and in the morning. And then listen to Simon and Garfunkel's Wednesday Morning 3 AM.

-Ben Kweller, apparently, had a hand in writing the song. That is neat.