welcome to the story.

What are the odds of it snowing on Christmas Day in Alabama, less than 20 miles from the Gulf of Mexico? Muahahahahahahahahahahaha! . . . . . . Muahahahahahahahahaha! . . . . . . . . Muhahahahahahahahahaha!

It's Christmas. Current Reading: Relevant Church Current Listening: Coldplay, They Might Be Giants, Walter Brueggemann lectures, N.T. Wright lectures, and Jimmy Eat World Current Viewing: Spanglish, Simon Birch, & Napoleon Dynamite

So my first full day home for Christmas looked a little like this. I sat in my brother's car for 3 hours reading and listening to Green Day and Jimmy Eat World while he cut the grass in 2 yards. We then drove around for a while and ended up at an old man with a mustache's house where his son in law sat staring at the classifieds without reading while cracking jokes about dollar bills from behind it. In the kitchen the man was mass producing peanut brittle that he put in a laundry basket when he was finished and it was stacked high. And he told us of how he traded his tithe at his local church for cutting their grass weekly. I then played poker for a while. Got out and drove around some more. Only to come back and hop in the hot tub. This proved boring after a while so I lit up a Punch (rare corojo) cigar and smoked it down to a stub. All while lighting fireworks with it and shooting them while standing in the hot tub. Smoking a cigar and lighting fireworks. Sublime. Then I pulled a 3 foot ceramic stork/crane of some sort that my parents bought in Mexico into the hot tub with me to enjoy the last few minutes of my soak. And now I write it. Onward to aunts & uncles dining at the Mexican restaraunt. Sublime.

I begin this post much like many others that have gone before it. With no agenda and nothing important to tell or describe or relay. No story. Just writing. And hopefully my apparent lack of a story substance will truly translate into something worth telling. Once upon a time, there was a boy. Pain consumed him at all times but he did not mind. It was real. Lesser of men would have dulled it with their best efforts. Would have brought others into the pain so as not to feel alone. Or if that didn't work, numb themselves with entertainment. Lulled themselves to sleep with mindless chatter. Voices and pictures alike would both do the job. The triviality of being frivolous is a way of life for many. I did not write this phrase, although I wish I did as I truly think it was one of the ingenious things ever created, but "dead men walking" is what comes to mind. But this boy. He was different. He felt the pain. He felt it deep. Many days it crippled him. Turned him feeble and busted him. Like a horse that was raised to be a proud, noble race horse. A throwback to the stallions of the royal courts. But an injury in training created a downward spiral. Crippling it in body and spirit. Becoming nothing more than a shadow of what it was supposed to be. The boy carried the same enormous weight of that type of letdown. The disappointment he himself felt, speaking nothing of what others felt. The disappointment of hurting while everyone else marched along with false smiles. To the drums that numb the true. It doubled him over. Wracked his body. Filled his thoughts. Whispering in the noise and echoing in the silence. In rooms full of people and warm spirits he heard it, sensed it. A little more distant but moving ever closer. On his pillow at night, it would become all the more loud and strong. Static noise bouncing around the hollow spaces. And he cried. He never really wept. But he did cry. And when he wasn't crying, he wanted to. Silently crying as he fell asleep. Then as he entered his dreams, he put the pain on a hanger in a corner of his mind. Walked around and acclimated himself to color. To dance. To life. A hopeful dream would always come. Always different from the last but never without beauty. Never without the colors that popped. The fresh smells. Or the music that stirred. It was something like a cheerful grace. Thats how he remembered the dreams. As cheerful grace. No matter how much the dream changed, there were always fire flies and lilies. An incandescent fairy or two. Shrubs and bushes that were more than just a simple kind of green. Rusty lanterns that hung on black iron posts. They were not old, just "slightly used". Cobble stone drives and nooks and crannys and streets with no names that all seemed to lead to a courtyard. The courtyards were always filled with fountains. And the fountains always had blue water. Bluer than any true blue sky known to man. He liked to describe it as an anticipatory blue. A color that you expected great things from. And in the middle of the courtyard there would always be a light. Illuminating all things. The worst way to describe it would be to say it was warming because it was much more than that. It was brilliant. But it always warmed. But not the temperature. It warmed the boy. The air was always crisp and fresh and cool. And the light never warmed it. I don't think it wanted to warm the air. But it did warm the boy. All of him. The light was affable. And the boy was drawn to it. As he lay down on the cool stone and closed his eyes he felt something. It was peculiar the first time he sensed it but soon became reassuring. The favorite part of his dream. He felt the light touch his soul. He could never really explain it other than saying he felt the warmth hit everything within. And it felt good. And right at the moment when he felt himself letting go. Right when he felt the light overtake him fully. He heard a soft singing coming from the most centered part of it. "Finger still red from the prick of an old rose. Well the heart that hurts, is a heart that beats. Can you hear the drummer slowing. One step closer to knowing. One step closer to knowing. One step closer to knowing. To knowing." And then he would remember what he was supposed to be.

So I had 5 Zaxby's chicken tenders for breakfast with a side of wimpy sauce and a Coca-Cola Classic and they were good. The only problem I have is with the title of the wimpy sauce. Now granted I am somewhat of a wimp. I'm scared of deep water, occassionaly use a night light, and constantly fear some sort of water snake coming up through the plumbing and biting me in my butt while I'm poo pooing. But to equate the flavor of a wing sauce with being a wimp is a bit much. So I do not enjoy Tongue Torch or Insane sauces. But I don't like heart burn and I don't like to scald my taste buds so I choose Wimpy sauce. Thats my only problem. Thats my only problem. On a different note, it was near 45 degrees in the studio this morning because the heat broke downstairs in that area. So Mike and I froze our butts off while editing Simon Birch. But the genius thing was, I found this massive role of bubble wrap, and when I say massive, I mean its about 5 feet wide and 5 feet long rolled into a big circle. Anywho . . . I cut some off and used it as a blanket. But it didn't help. But I did feel a little bit like the Indians on the Trail of Tears wrapped in the Aztec looking blanket. Has anyone seen a picture like that in their textbooks? Or is it a painting? I don't know. For some reason when I think of the Trail of Tears this picture of this old woman wrapped in an Aztec blanket riding on a ox cart comes to me as my visual. So I don't know if its something I've seen or imagined. And finally . . . the moment that no one looks forward to, and no one cares about, yet I continue to write it down so that when I look back at my journal 50 years from now I can remember the music that captured that time for me . . . my "What I'm Listening To" list. What I'm Listening To: Jimmy Eat World - Futures, U2 - How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb, Nada Surf, The Flaming Lips, Fountains of Wayne, & Weezer - Maldraoit, Green album, & Blue album

More notes/ideas from my little idea notebook . . . - A girl who is always hot for whatever reason - a 49 year old woman, with 3 kids and 1 husband who has to ask her mom's permission to get her hair cut a certain way - uncomfortable chairs at restaraunts - professional christmas tree lighters, people who decorate your house and tree for you - revisiting the plight of the domesticated fish (thanks beth) - how close is to close to sit next to someone? on a couch? loveseat? table? bar? are there different distances for different seats? how long do you have to know somebody before they get to take away a foot of personal space? (thanks sharon) - polynesia - the urge to drive fast and beat the car next to you at a red light when the light turns green - chicken & dumplings, its dough soup - loud yellers in a restaraunt, what are the rules for that - most sermons and churches are neither intellectual or spiritual. most people prefer one of the two. some people just like the knowledge without the spiritual/mysterious side. some people just like the experience/spiritual without any knowledge. isn't it a shame that most sermons and churches are usually neither. or they are one or the other. they provide knowledge as if facts were a way to God. or they create mystical experiences that aren't grounded or filtered through truth. reason or experience. so sadly most people just sit and are bored because sermons and churches connect with neither one of these two aspects.

One Step Closer U2 I'm 'round the corner from anything that's real I'm across the road from hope I'm under a bridge in a rip tide That's taken everything I call my own One step closer to knowing One step closer to knowing I'm on an island at a busy intersection I can't go forward, I can't turn back Can't see the future It's getting away from me I just watch the tail lights glowing One step closer to knowing One step closer to knowing One step closer to knowing Knowing, knowing I'm hanging out to dry With my old clothes Finger still red with the prick of an old rose Well the heart that hurts Is a heart that beats Can you hear the drummer slowing? One step closer to knowing One step closer to knowing One step closer to knowing To knowing, to knowing, to knowing

Now its time for my "Best Songs/Albums I Heard For The First Time This Year Even Though May Be 2-20 Years Old, However I Had Not Heard Them Until 2004" list. Followed by a look at the things that have stuck with me all year and continue to resonate and stir me even now as I type. Best Song/Album List Jack White - We're Going To Be Friends Colin Hay - I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You Brian Eno Remy Zero - Fair Gavin DeGraw The Poastal Service - Give Up Johnny Cash - Delia's Gone Frou Frou Keane 311 - Amber Maroon 5 - She Will Be Loved Jeff Buckley - Best Of Me The Frames - Lay Me Down Modest Mouse, Steriogram, Franz Ferdinand, & The Killers Iron & Wine - Such Great Heights Iron & Wine - The Creek Drank The Cradle & Our Endless Numbered Days albums Peter Gabriel - Greatest Hits album Damien Rice - "O" (a slight carry over from the end of last year, thus warranting a spot) Resonate List - Garden State - Napoleon Dynamite - Peter Pan the movie - The birth of a Red Cowboy - Love In The Ruins - Walker Percy - Missing my graduation, well almost - The thought of my dad driving 110 mph on the interstate in a Hyundai with my mom changing in the front seat while my 3 brothers hop out at a rest area and change in the parking lot with my dad so that they don't miss my graduation - 50 First Dates and the resolve to live a simple life that followed - Two turtles by the name of Rooster and Rice Number Two - Johnny Cash "Hurt" Video - Hurting people who didn't deserve to be hurt - Finding Neverland - Love Actually - "Take Me Out" video by Franz Ferdinand and the subsequent desire to translate that look to my graphic design - Lighthouse Family Retreats - Anna Cook - Finding hope again - "No more beach house" and once more for emphasis "No more beach house" - Wearing a Spider-Man suit in a Jump King - "Heavy" by Collective Soul - Getting to speak again to high school students and onward to the next year!

And the sage continues . . . move home and live with my parents and pay off debt and then have no prospects once I pay off debt or stay here and have little to no money to pay off debt and work for the man. What do I do? What do I do? What is right? What is wrong? Are either right/wrong? Either/or? Both/and? What is important is what we do with the time that has been given to us. What am I doing? Am I happy? Am I fulfilled? Am I operating out of my passion and my heart? Or am I surviving? Getting by because its what you're supposed to do? Is going a home an escape or is it the right thing to do? How do you know? How do you discern? How do you not get frustrated with the process of trying to figure out life? Of finding direction? What if God's voice isn't clear as it has been for other things? What do you do then? I'm emotional right now. I'm not going to lie. How do I seperate emotions from reality? Can I? Should I? Somehow I can not escape the reality that if I don't do something now and do the right thing, I'm going to end up regretting and dealing with the consequences for the next few years. And somehow I can not get away from the pipe dream I have of thinking life would make much more sense and be much easier were I living in Coasta Rica or Hawaii or some other island paradise selling sno-cones, renting sailboats, and making wooden hand crafts that go on necklaces and in your window sill, such as the ever present coconut carving of a gorilla face that is a candle votif.

tiles, paint, broom ball, grinch music, a christmas mix w/ the ramones and hanson back to back (you ask how, i say because), bad shampoos, emeril's - the nicest restaraunt ever, pompano is good, musical twinkling bells on trees suck, smashing pumpkins are now #2 behind weezer as the best band ever, and #1 on the best band to move me from happy to sad and back again in a matter of seconds but even the sad is somehow a happy sad - you know?, & finally the "Music For Dancing Elves and the Consequent Letdown That Procedes" is without a doubt my finest Christmas mix ever

Top notch birthday celebration. Without a doubt. By the way . . . I'm not depressed. Just disillusioned. Big difference. :) So I've decided to start carrying a little memo pad around with me for the purpose of writing down things that make me smile, ideas, thoughts, observations, and other assorted things that come to me at moments only to be forgotten later. Plus I'd like to write a sitcom one day and these notes might come in handy. Here are the notes from the first hour of my notebook. These aren't copyrighted yet so I'll have to trust everybody to be honest. - I think I would prefer all of my food to be served cold. Like leftovers that have been refrigerated. - Wouldn't it be cool to start a restaraunt that served only cold food. Cold pizza, etc. - "The Redefining Of . . ." - I've seen a lot of deer lately. - 3 for my last 4 in the toy machines with the hooks. I wonder if there are people who are addicted to this form of entertainment. Whats the world record for most toys won by a single person? In a day? Lifetime? - What does "booby" trap mean? Where did that come from? - I need to incorporate "tiles" into my Sunday morning message. How?

Its been two weeks since my last concise thoughts. And it feels longer. I feel that I am someone else today. Wanting to be someone else. Somewhere else. Its not that I'm depressed. Normally thats where recent events would have delivered me in the past. Did deliver me in the past. No, I'm not depressed. It has more to do with disappointment. Disillusionment. Both of which turn my heart cold and render my passion dead, served on a platter as a sacrifice to those who demand it to cease. I'm not a martyr. I'm not claiming to be. But I am tired. Of fighting. Of advancing. Does it mean I'm going to stop? I seriously doubt it. No amount of broken thoughts will force me to abandon what is right and true. You can't neuter me. But you can disappoint me. And you have. Who has? Everyone and no one. Both of which include me. And don't include me. That isn't some paradoxical, cyclical phrase. Its both/and truth. Maybe my disappointment has more to do with me looking inward at me. How can I be disappointed in others, if I disappoint others? I guess thats what makes us human . . . our ever present frailty. I don't know. But it makes me want to give up. It makes me want to walk away. But instead, I'll reject that and move forward. Slowly but surely. Battered, pissed, and frustrated at times. But moving forward nonetheless. I don't have it all figured out. I don't want to figure it all out. To much responsibility comes with that. But I'm going to start out of WHO I AM. I'm not going to be pulled into apathy. Into boredom. Into triviality. Into all things tame. I will not settle anymore. I will live with hope and adventure and mystery and danger and abandon and confidence. Frailty and all.