Three Words Back...

Mishawaka Nostalgia

When it's not thinking of the never-ending to-do list at work, my head has been in a cloud of nostalgia lately.

Ten years ago I was a month into my sophomore year at Howard Payne. Looking back on it, fall 1997 was probably my favorite semester in college...and for me, that's really saying something. I was blessed with four phenomenal years of school that I would hardly change a detail of, if such a thing were even possible. No longer freshmen, my friends and I were the wise soul sophomores (and wise asses, too, come to think of it). It felt like we owned the campus, probably because we were the oldest kids not yet old enough to live off-campus. Our entire community was either down the hall or across the street in the girls' dorm. The other side of town was a five minute drive. And Brownwood was light years from anything "fun" to do, so we had barn dances and broke into old, dilapitated buildings and played lots and lots of Playstation. Most of my friends met or started dating the girls they would go on to marry that semester. I managed to fall for a really great girl, too, and we would spend the next two years together. There is a time for every season, and that was a time for a nearly-perfect season.

Five years ago I was a week into my two month sabbatical in Europe. Twelve countries in 58 days. England, France, Spain, Italy, Siciliy, Austria, Germany, Poland, The Czech Republic, Switzerland, Belgium, and The Netherlands. I saw so much...I was like a kid discovering a whole new world. It felt like I conquered far away lands all on my own, when really it was me who was forever changed.

I don't know that I would necessarily want to be back in school to relive it again. It was a great time, but I'm glad that's not a real option. I like being the current me, and I'm definitely better at that now than I was back then. And yeah, it would be fun to be back in Rome or Paris or Florence or London for a week or two...but my nostalgic daydreams have really been more about appreciating the opportunities, friendships, and experiences I've been blessed with. And maybe even more than that, to appreciate how time is slowly, rapidly playing out the story of my days.

Memories help me appreciate the here and now in Mishawaka, Indiana. Someday I'll be writing about this place, too.

Awe and Awful

I've been thinking a lot lately about using this space not just to blah blah blah about the current ins and outs of my days, but to put up some of my favorite stories from the past as well.  I drove home from a movie tonight, saw some lightning in the distance and couldn't help but remember this:

For whatever reason, I was feeling braver than normal on that particular day.  More optimistic or something.  A little more bounce in my step...whatever.  And come early afternoon I was listening to a director's commentary on one of my favorite dvds.  He explained how the impetus of a particular scene was his observation that so many times in life we never fully share ourselves with other people.  We trade transparency for safer, more guarded layers of communication.  The director wondered if in trying to protect ourselves we eventually cost ourselves much more in the long run.  And that was really the feather's push that I "needed" to make up my mind: I was going to stop hemming and hawing, and I was going to ask Claire out (note: not her real name).  That night.  Carpe Diem and all that Latin jazz.  The mental note cards were filling up fast with the outline of what I would say.

Church was that night.  Or at least it was scheduled that night.  Tornado sirens and thunderstorm warnings and electricity going out kind of put the kibash on any organized plans.  So we all just milled around and waited out the nearby storm by generator lights and a handful of candles.  An opportunity presented itself as a small group discussion suddenly dwindled down to just the two of us.  "So what did you do today?" she asked.  Oh boy.  Gulp.  Here we go.

"Funny you should ask," I replied.  Then I started in.  I talked about the movie and its director and his commentary.  I spoke enthusiastically about the need for honesty and openness in communication.  I rattled on about taking chances - the good kind of chances, the best kind of chances - no matter the risk involved.  (I should point out here that, again, it was way darker than normal.  So what I was hoping was a look of interest and fascination on her part had probably long since made a left at Where exactly is this going? and eventually merging with Where the hell are my friends and OH MY GOD WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?).

Alas, I steamrolled on.  Here is where I proceeded all the way up and out to the shakiest heights of the tree, turned around, brandished my saw, and went straight to work on the limb beneath my feet.  Now, I don't remember exactly what it was that I said next, but I know that I cut to the chase pretty quickly.  I didn't want to waste any more time only seeing her in group settings.  I really liked her, thought she was pretty and funny and smart and yadayadayada...did she maybe want to go out some time?

And finally I stopped talking.  I let my mouth fall shut and I forced it to stay that way.  And in that moment a new dimension was added to how I perceive the concept of time.  A furious montage of thoughts and images raced through my mind.  (Just how long had I been talking?  Did I really just unload all my unfiltered thoughts on this poor girl?  Tell me again what the signs were that this was a good idea, and who exactly green-lighted this project?  This kind of thing only works for Hugh Grant, right?  Was it a good or bad thing that I could not read her facial expression in even the smallest detail?)  They say that one second is made up of a billion nanoseconds, but I think the absolute quiet between us stretched each individual nanosecond out to immeasurable lengths.  I thought about how in the next minute or so I would get a really great response or a not-so-fun response, but there would be nothing in between the two.  I have always toed the line between optimist and pessimist, and it just so happened that in this instance - in those precious nanoseconds - I was anxious with my glass half-full.

Oh boy.  Gulp.  Here we go.  Me and my fool's grin were cautiously hopeful during that first billion nanoseconds.  It was in the second billion nanoseconds of deafening silence that I knew what was coming next.  "Um...okay, well..." she started out.  And I tried to listen carefully to what she said.  But I was also fighting like mad to not let any sign of disappointment cross my face.  So I don't remember exactly what was said.  But I do remember the tone that was used.  And folks, in my day I've had more than my fair share of "No's" and I can tell you that this particular one still stands as the most gentle, well-put denial I've ever received.  I was shot down, but softly.  Given the setting and the circumstances and a hundred other details that aren't in this blog, I remain grateful for that.

I mumbled something about "Well...a guy's gotta ask, right?" and beat feet out of there.  Fresh air sounded pretty good right about then.  I walked outside just in time to see a massive lightning bolt stretch out across the sky.  The biggest one I have ever seen, with countless smaller capillaries branching off from the main bolt.  It literally filled the sky; running parallel with the horizon.  And in that moment my feelings of disappointment and foolishness fell into some semblance of perspective.  It's tough to put exact words to it, but I was reminded of how storms come and go...they just have to be endured.  I thought about the worship song with the line "Who has told every lightning bolt where it should go..." and felt comforted.  The rain had stopped, but the air was still thick with the smell.  The sky was both steel gray and a cold blue with streaks of silver, red, and orange.

I just stood out there and stared up at the sky.  Feeling awe and awful, all at once.  Girls...weather...I mean, all you can do sometimes is shake your head, flip a coin and hazard your best guess as to which way women and clouds are going to go.

I Had The Moves, Whoa-Ai-Oh

Here's a fun, slightly embarrassing story from December, 1995.

Senior year of high school.  Each year the Theater I and II students put on a show full of musically themed skits as a fund-raiser for the department.  It was one of those events no one missed, so you had to put on a good skit and either be over-the-top silly (see below), or do something else cool and memorable.  For some reason my group (which was three-quarters male) decided to lip synch Walk Like An Egyptian by The Bangles.  I don't know why, but it seemed like a half-decent idea at the time.  Toga-like costumes, hokey dance moves lifted from the song's video and Steve Martin's King Tut routine, and the whole guys-singing-a-song-sung-by-girls thing.  Again, I don't know why, but that's what we chose.

So show night rolls around, and I was suffering from the usual stage fright jitters.  And to top it off, I realized last-minute that I'd forgotten the all important shorts I needed to be wearing under my Egyptian-ish toga costume.  Couldn't keep the jeans I'd worn up to school (had to show some leg), and I definitely wasn't going out there with just my drawers on (see: flimsy costume).  So we're due on stage in like, 20 minutes, and I'm freaking out.  And miracle-of-miracles, Alex Padilla was around backstage to loan me an extra pair of boxers he had in his car (beggars can't be choosers, nor can they ask too many questions when it comes to these situations).  And the next thing I know I'm out there in front of the whole school - Egyptian-walking in the spotlight, lip-synching the heck out of the Oh-Ah-Ohhhs, and absolutely nailing my faux-tambourine / whistle solo (ten seconds of musical genius that just take the song to a whole other level, by the way).

So the costume crisis was narrowly averted and this normally shy kid figured out how much he kind of dug the spotlight sometimes.  I was also some less-memorable Christmas carol skits that night, which is why I'm always reminded of the whole experience whenever I hear either The Bangles or We Wish You A Merry Christmas.  The latter of which is what specifically brought the whole thing to mind earlier tonight.  Ahhh...good times.  Thank God that YouTube had yet to be invented.  It's fun to remember, but I'd hate to see video of it now.

(And Alex, if you're reading this, sorry for never returning those boxers.)

Non-Reunion Blues

Right now I'm listening to a Dave Matthews song from a cd that was released the same year I graduated from high school:  1996.  It's like itunes can sense that I'm hearing all about the 10 year reunion I missed over the weekend.  Instant Messenger wasn't even around back then, but it's good for keeping up with the people who were.

I have some mixed emotions about missing this reunion.  On the one hand, I did spend a great weekend at Curt and Amy's house.  No regrets as far as they're concerned.  But looking at myspace slideshows and hearing a little about it makes a part of me wish that I had gone.  Even with friending people from our class on myspace over the last year, something about seeing so many of them in all the pictures...I felt like I was suddenly missing people I hadn't seen in years, some of whom I barely knew in school. 

Here's the rub, though:  I probably would have spent the whole weekend inside my head.  Going into it, the whole concept felt daunting.  Facing all these people that know me only from such a long time ago.  And not really knowing me, but the me that was five or six mes ago.  I know that I'm ridiculously over-thinking all this...but part of me has no idea what I would tell these decade-removed acquaintances and time-faded friends about my modern-day life.  After meeting their spouse and kids, what would I have to brag about?  "Um...I've got this blog.  And it's a lot of fun, and I'm good for two or three sentences a week that I am really proud of.  Oh, and I work at a bank."  Que the awkward silence and the stilted segue to mingle off to another corner of the party.

It would have been sensory overload:  Faces older but still familiar, names on the tip of my tongue, voices coming back from forgotten memories.  And I'd socialize and do the catch up thing, and all the while I would be sorting out how I fit into the whole situation.  In the middle of a reunion with 200 classmates, I'd be using it as yet another context to better understand and define myself before presenting it back to the next person with a nametag.

And it's a shame that all this leads to so much navel-gazing and hem-hawing on my part, because it would be nice to hear firsthand the various stories of my graduating class.  To hear how they'd filled their time and find out what time had done to them. 

Lyrical Spotlight - Jason Mraz

Today we're taking a look at You And I Both by Jason Mraz.  These days I'm a little burnt out on Mr. Mraz, but when I first heard this song (and most of the Waiting For My Rocket To Come cd) three or four years ago I thought it was brilliant.  I hate throwing cliches like "wordsmith" around, but clearly Mraz has a unique lyrical style. 

My theory (which I in no way claim to be of my own original thought) is that in order for music (or any other art form) to be of any value to the listener, it has to establish some sort of personal connection.  Whether it's some common ground or a shared belief, the music has to meet up and join with something inside the listener.  Here's the story of how I got to be friends with this particular song.

Scene:  Spring, 1999.  Brownwood, Texas.
College girlfriend (or CG, from here on out) and I are 1 1/2 years into what would be a 2 year relationship.  My junior year is drawing to a close, and on this fateful day we were talking about my post-graduation plans that were now just a year away.
Me:  I don't know what I'm going to do.  I've been thinking about grad school.
CG:  (sounding shocked) Grad school?  But you have to be sm-...um, you need pretty good grades to get into grad school.
Me:  (feeling insulted) Are you saying that I'm not smart enough to get into grad school?
CG:  No, not at all.  It's just that...you...um, never mind.
Me:  No, tell me what you meant by that.
And honestly, I don't remember much else about the conversation.  Before the afternoon was over, CG had mostly crawled out of the hole she had dug herself.  But the conversation was good for motivation.

And in the interest of full disclosure, I should probably point out a few things.  One, CG was a very conscientious honors student, whereas I was happy to balance work and play (ok, 40% work and 60% play) and escape with A's and B's after only a modicum of extra effort.  In fact, the next semester she saved my bacon in the Stats class we shared.  Two, generally speaking CG was exactly the kind of smart, funny, supportive, hot girlfriend that any guy would wish for. 

Ok, now that I've covered my bases if this should ever get reported back to her, on to the song.  The sections in bold type are ones that I found to be particularly expressive of my sentiments, as I went on to graduate college, and then enroll, get accepted, and graduate from Baylor Graduate School.

You and I Both

Was it you who spoke the words that things would happen but not to me?
Oh things are gonna happen naturally
And taking your advice I'm looking on the bright side
And balancing the whole thing
But often times those words get tangled up in lines
And the bright lights turn to night
Until the dawn it brings
Another day to sing about the magic that was you and me

Cause you and I both loved
What you and I spoke of
What you and I spoke of
Others only dream of the love that I love

See I'm all about them words
Over numbers, unencumbered numbered words
Hundreds of pages, pages, pages for words
More words then I had ever heard and I feel so alive
Now you and I, you and I
Not so little you and I anymore
And with this silence brings a moral story
more importantly evolving is the glory of a boy

you and I both loved what you and I spoke of
and others just read of and if you could see me now
well I'm already finally out of

and it's okay if you have to go away
just remember the telephone works both ways
and if I never ever hear it ring
if nothing else I'll think the bells inside
have finally found you someone else and that's okay
cause I'll remember everything you sang

you and I both loved what you and I spoke of
and others just read of and if you could see me now
well I'm already finally out of words.

You just can't beat a good "boy meets girl, girl's words continue to motivate boy long after relationship ends, boy gets a blog and tells the world all about it" story. 

Twenty Two Hours In Oklahoma

What a good twenty four hours it's been.

By 3:00 Friday afternoon my car was gassed and I was driving north on Interstate 35.  My friend Stacy's wedding was Friday night in small town, Oklahoma.  Since she moved to Georgia, her Texas friends obviously don't get to see her as often as we'd like, so quite a few of us were making the short drive up to Sooner country.

I was making great time once I completely left the Metroplex and its early-Friday-afternoon-before-a-holiday-weekend traffic.  The wedding was slated to start at 7:00, and according to the mileage estimates from both Mapquest and my friend Emily, it appeared I would arrive at approximately 6:30.  Then I hit the H.E. Bailey Turnpike.  Now, in all fairness, Emily warned me to bring coins for the tolls.  I pulled $40 from an ATM before leaving work, and I thought I had a few $1s in my wallet as well.  Well, I get to the toll booth, and it's unmanned.  There's just a bill changer machine that only takes $1s and $5s.  Hmm.  No small bills in my wallet.  I scavenge my car for loose change...a quarter and a nickel later, I'm still short by 15 cents.  So I toss those in and run the red light.  I even set off an alarm.  The "we take toll skipping seriously" signs suddenly looked more menacing.

Rather than run the next toll as well, I figure I'll take the next exit and hit a gas station.  Well, the next exit is for I-44 North.  Where I drove a good seven miles before an exit with anything but farmland to offer.  I exit, stop at a Brahms...and run into the nightmarish scenario of "Um...in order to break your $20 I'll have to go find a manager."  "Fine, I'll just buy a small drink."  I get back to my car...where my path is blocked by an SUV's doors and a soccer mom getting her three kids situated in the backseat.  Awesome.  So much for getting there early.  I get back in my car and stupidly misgauge the road running in front of Brahm's as a service road back to I-44 South.  It takes me a mile to get to a point wide enough to U-turn.  Stacy is the only person on earth with a navigational sense worse than my own, so my best attempts to get lost on the way to her wedding somehow seemed appropriate.  Some backtracking and several 270 degree exit ramps later, I was back on the Turnpike.  There were no highway patrols with flashing lights and sirens patrolling it, so I guess there were bigger fish to fry in Oklahoma last night. 

Luckily, I made it to the wedding in time.  I even got to say hi (separately) to Stacy and her almost-husband Joe before the wedding started.  The wedding itself went really well.  Stacy has her own blog, so I'll let her talk about it if she so chooses.  I was glad I could be there for her big day, and hopefully someday everyone's schedules will work out and I can spend more than 10 minutes hanging out with Joe.  He really does seem like a pretty cool guy.

I also got to hang out with some friends from my last church.  I hardly see most of them anymore, so it was fun to catch up at the reception.  Jay and Jackie generously offered to let me stay in the extra bedroom at her parents' house.  And here is where the roadtrip transitioned from being a planned good time to an unexpected good time.  I had been keeping my post-wedding options open - and had considered driving home afterward - but since Jay and Jackie are two of my favorite people I figured this would be a great chance to hang out.

Jackie's mom is an administrator for a local school district, so we met up with her towards the end of her high school's football game.  Except it wasn't just any ordinary high school football game.  It was the Moore War.  And if you don't know what I'm talking about, than you obviously don't know your Oklahoma high school rivalries.  Actually, I was clueless myself until last night.  But Jackie caught me up.  Apparently this is one of the biggest cross-town high school rivalries in America.  It was an electric atmosphere, and it was fun remembering how a community can get so wrapped up in high school athletics.

After a great night's sleep and a chance to sleep in, I was told there was no way I was leaving before joining them for breakfast.  We feasted on pancakes, bacon, eggs, and endless cups of coffee at Cracker Barrel.  I was a last minute addition to the first part of their family weekend, and they could not have been more welcoming.  Phil and Deborah, if you come across this, thanks again for your hospitality.

What a fun twenty four hours.  I got to see one of my good friends get married.  I got to talk music with jay and share a Hallmark card-worthy family breakfast with him, Jackie, and her parents.  I got to enjoy a few hours on the open road - time to think, process through some internal stuff, and my ipod's shuffle mode was in quite the groove.

I'll probably have more later...but for now I'm wrapping this up.  Plus I need to go pay my rent.

I Went To DisneyWorld

Apparently there's a romantic holiday this week.  Valentine's Day is what they're calling it, from what I hear.  And in honor of all this red, pink, and chocolate I thought I would dust off a few of my favorite stories about ol' Cupid.  Great guy, that Cupid.  If he's not shooting you with his arrows, he's busy kicking you in the shins.  But enough snark.  On with the story and down with the bitter. 

Cue the going back in time music.

Spring. 1995.  Junior year of high school.  Life is going incredibly well.  School is a week away from being over, there's a band trip to Disneyworld the next week, and KL and I had been dating for about a month.  One night we were watching a movie at her house.  I think it was True Lies, or maybe Eraser, but at any rate we were watching a Schwarzenegger action flick.  And by "watching" I mostly mean "making out."

Now...on some level, I must have been interested in the movie...otherwise I can't really make sense of what happened about 2/3 of the way through the film.  For any other red-blooded 17 year-old boy in the country, it would have been enough to be making out with his girlfriend.  But no.  Not me.  I have to be able to make out AND keep up with plot developments in the movie.  Which might not have been a problem, and she probably would have NEVER known of my two-track mind that night, but freakin' Schwarzenegger had to crack a joke.  And I had to go and laugh.  Because it was funny.  And fellas...let me give you some advice from someone who's been around this particular block.  DO NOT START LAUGHING MID-KISS.  It is a MOOD. ENDER.  No mo' mojo, if you know what I mean.

So yeah, needless to say, there was no threat of any girlfriend-imposed distractions for the remainder of the film.  Or the night.  Or that whole weekend.  No wonder they call him the Terminator.

It took all the wit, charm, and groveling I could muster to get out of the doghouse.  There were probably flowers involved at some point.  Or maybe I'm just too irresistable for one little transgression to get in the way of a good thing.  Whatever the reason, KL and I were still an item (and seated side by side) when the band's charter bus left for Florida a few weeks later.

Thirty-six hours later we arrived in Orlando.  My best friend Jeff had to sit next to KL's best friend SL the whole way...which was fine with her since she had a thing for him before the trip started.  So by the time we all crawled off the bus, the two of them had all but hooked up as well.  And thus the stage was set for a FAN.TAS.TIC. three days in the Magical Kingdom.

Day One:  Our band gig at DisneyWorld.  An hour or so of marching around the park, playing some songs, and sweating more than we thought was humanly possible.  100% Humidity + Band Uniforms = More Deodorant, Please!  Once everyone's grossness was dealt with, we settled down to the task of being teenagers let loose on a theme park with little direct adult supervision.  Jeff, SL, KL, and I roamed the park, ate lots of ice cream, and had fun. 

Day Two:  For me it started in the still-dark, wee hours of the morning.  Sick doesn't even begin to describe my condition.  Not only was I most-certainly NOT feeling well.  I was physically ill.  Everyone has their own personal story of The Day They Were So Sick, They Thought They Would Die.  This was that day for me.  Non-stop nausea.  Stomach cramps.  Diarrhea.  A see-saw battle between chills and hot flashes.  Yeck.  By the end of breakfast time, I thought the worst had passed and figured I could John Wayne myself through a day at Epcot with just a few crackers and Sprite.  No dice.  An hour after getting to the park I was chilling in the infirmary with a sponsor.  I have no memory of that day or night, other than watching a Magic-Rockets NBA Finals game.  (Different best friend Jeff from college would want me to remind you that the Rockets won that series.)  But back to this already-too-long story.

Day Three:  I felt human again.  I spent most of breakfast wondering how to tightrope my way through the minefield that is the TFBMGFDOMIMSYBMFWTMFIIDHWTAAT conversation.  (that's Thanks For Being My Girlfriend and For Doting On Me In My Sickness Yesterday, But My Friends Will Taunt Me Forever If I Don't Hang With Them At All Today conversation).  And as prepared as I was to tiptoe that particular highwire...I never got the chance.  KL broke up with me in the parking lot just before we all boarded the bus to MBM Studios.  Pearl Jam's Black was on repeat at volume 11 for the whole ride.  And thanks to Jeff's ongoing affair with SL, KL was in the seat next to me complaining about how she could hear that music, and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WOULD I PLEASE STOP WHISTLING THAT ONE GUITAR PART??!!!!

Between my friends and the coolness that was MGM Studios, I had a pretty good Day Three.  All things considered.  And the Jeff - SL hookup ended up being one of those "What Happens In Florida, Stays In Florida" type things, so the ride home wasn't completely intolerable from three rows behind my latest ex-girlfriend. 

Cue back to the present music.

Morals of the Story:
1.  No sucking face during films when the lead actor has a funny accent.
2.  No drinking directly from the water fountain at theme parks. 

Happy Birthday, Tammy

My cousin Tammy - who is one of my favorite people EVER - has a birthday today.  And being the slacker that I am, I have yet to find a good birthday card to drop in the mail.  I know, I know...I SUCK.

When I was in the 5th grade she lived with me and my mom while going to college.  Not sure how excited she was about sharing a house with an 11 year-old, but for me it was great.  And then she was a cheerleader...how cool is that?  A year later my junior high stock hit its high water mark the day they performed at one of our dinky junior high pep rallies, AND AN ACTUAL COLLEGE CHEERLEADER TALKED TO ME.  IN FRONT OF GOD, PRETTY JUNIOR HIGH GIRLS, AND EVERYBODY.  (Unfortunately for me, this would prove to be the only conversation I would have with a cheerleader at school all year.)

When I was in the 8th grade I was an usher and a candle-lighter in her wedding.  By the grace of God I was in charge of the candles on the opposite side of the sanctuary from the Unity Candle, thus preventing me from lighting it.  (Ha, that duty fell to my cousin Larry, who did, indeed, light said Unity Candle.  What do junior high boys know about these things anyway?)  Candle snafus aside, it was a cool wedding.  It also brought Stacey into our family...and we've never been the same since.  At the time I thought he was cool because he would play computer games with me instead of hanging out with all the adults in the house.  Now he's cool for lots of other reasons.  But his birthday's next month, I'll tell Stacey stories then.

Less than a month after I graduated from high school, Forrest was born.   Three years later Reagan came along too.  Add two more names to my list of favorite people.  Now they're both in elementary school and continue to grow like weeds.  Every time I go home they're taller and even more fun to hang out with (which I didn't think was possible, but somehow it just is).

Tammy is awesome for, literally, a million different reasons.  First of all, there's the cooking.  Incredible.  Then there's the sense of humor.  Our generation of the family specializes in a dry, smart sense of humor, with a specialization in sarcasm.  She makes me laugh.  Next there's a little something I like to call The Nice Factor.  You can't find a nicer person the planet, I promise.  Throw in the fact that her husband and children are equally awesome in their own rights, and you have a home that is always a highlight of my trips back to west Texas.

Happy Birthday, Tammy!  Thanks for not getting (too) mad over this.  I love you.

(and your card will be in the mail soon, I promise)

No Matter How They Tossed The Dice

Yesterday I heard "So Happy Together" by the Turtles on the radio.  It reminded me of (what I think is) an awesome story from my college days.  So travel back in time with me now, to the 1996-1997 school year.  I was a freshman Telecommunications major and life was just starting to get good.

While most of my new friends were taking freshman-level Theology classes, I had classes with projects that required me to run around campus with a school-owned video camera.  I also worked on a student-run tv show called "Take One" that aired on a local access channel.  I did the sound for the show, which was done "live to tape" so we didn't really have room for screw-ups.  Now keep in mind that God and I talked on a regular basis anyway, but the Almighty never heard an 18 year-old pray harder than I would in those five minutes before we started taping.  I confessed to stuff I hadn't even tried yet; all in hopes that I would be rewarded with flawless pushing of all those volume knobs for the next thirty minutes.  Plus I had a crush on one of the show's hosts, who was also a freshman.  Imagine how hard it is to score points with a girl when your mistakes make it sound like she's screaming into her lapel mic.  AND THOSE MISTAKES ARE THEN BROADCAST THREE TIMES A WEEK, FOR (what felt like) THE WHOLE WORLD TO SEE!  But I digress...

There's something to be said for the bonding that takes place in an editing booth.  Especially in the pre-digital days of the late 20th century.  The rule of thumb was that a minute of tape was worth an hour in the editing bay.  Plus we were perfectionist freshman, new to the ins and outs of all this video editing stuff.  So we helped each other out with various class projects requiring five or ten minute video packages.  We hashed out ideas, worked out schedules of checking out the equipment, and from time to time we agreed to do stuff on camera for each other.  Enter my telecom friends Kelly and Kristie - two of the nicest people I ever met at school.

The way I remember it, Kelly had what sounded like a cool idea for her video final.  It was some variation on the "boy meets cute girl, boy somethingsomethingsomething, boy gets cute girl" story.  Now this was the final, so it required some voiceover work, a few different pieces of music, and other video stuff we should've mastered by then.  But the editing stuff was for Kelly to worry about...and perhaps the pressure of such a project led her to make The.Worst.Casting.Decision.Ever.  Yep, she asked me to play the part of "the boy" alongside Kristie as "the girl."  So I said yes, possibly still basking in the false glory of the A I got in high school theatre.  We spent an afternoon location scouting, in search of a city park that still had a see-saw.  I forget the exact plot, but I remember shooting various scenes at the park:  Us swinging, see-sawing (with me falling off the see-saw at one point), then talking / fighting / making up while sitting at a park bench, and then walking off hand-in-hand into the sunset.  The video ended with this long, steady shot of us from behind, walking towards the sunset with "So Happy Together" playing in the background.  Ahhhh...Holly(Brown)wood Movie Magic at it's finest.  I think of that shot every time I hear

Imagine me and you
And you and me
No matter how they tossed the dice
It had to be
The only one for me is you
And you for me
So happy together
So happy together
How is the weather
So happy together
We're happy together
So happy together...

On paper it was a chick-flick tearjerker.  And it was a tearjerker; but mostly in the vein of My Gawd, How Awful Is The Male Lead In This??!!! Get Me A Kleenex 'Cause I Can't Laugh Any Harder.  The worst part is that we had to show the final cut to the entire class.  I cringed so much that day they thought I was having a seizure.  Looking back, and ignoring my Depression-era poor man's Keanu Reeves performance, I can appreciate how fun an experience that really was.  Nine years later, thanks again Kelly H.  And if you didn't make an A in that class, you can blame it on me.

Baseball and Sunflower Seeds

As I write this in my bedroom, Game 1 of the Red Sox - White Sox series is on the tv in my living room.  I'm hoping Boston finds a way to repeat this year, but Chicago is up 12-2 and ESPN's announcers have a way of making any winning team sound virtually unbeatable.  On paper Chicago is a better team than Boston.  But they don't play the games on paper, they play them on grass.  So the real fun in being a baseball fan is knowing that on any given day, anything can happen. 

When I was six I didn't care about baseball.  I thought it was boring.  At the time, all I needed was a hoop and a ball that would bounce.  By the time I got interested in America's game eight years later, it would have to be from a fan-only perspective.  Or so I thought.  I was a freshman in high school; the last year of age eligibility for city-run organized baseball.  As summer loomed, my friend Matt's team fell short a few players.  He suggested I join the city league late and have fun the last few games.

And so I did.  As the saying goes, it's just hitting and throwing and catching and running.  After two practices, I discovered how hard it is to play baseball.  Fourteen years of rust definitely showed.  My first game was on a Monday night, I think.  I was scheduled to bat ninth.  "Relax and remember to bend your knees.  You'll do fine," the coach said.  Being fourteen, I only heard, "Everyone in school will see your every move on Sportscenter highlights, so don't screw this up." 

I stepped into the box for my first at bat.  I'd been told that the pitcher we faced only threw fastballs.  Which was a good thing, since one curveball would have had me diving back into the dugout.  I was determined to take a pitch or two to get a feel for his timing.  Well...timing be damned 'cause the first pitch hit me in the shoulder.  I jogged down to first base, unsure whether to be mad at the pitcher or thankful and relieved.  I stole second base and ended up scoring two batters later.  Set aside the hitting, catching, and throwing parts for a moment...the running part was turning out alright.

My portion of the final box score for that game reads 0 for 3 with three strikeouts, a stolen base, and a run scored.  Due to rainouts and family vacations, that was the only organized baseball game I ever played.  I finished with a career batting average of .000 and an on base percentage of .250.  Not exactly Little League Hall of Fame numbers, but I'm still pretty proud of stealing second base and crossing home plate. 

I was reminded of all this last Sunday as I drove home from Houston.  I had stopped at a gas station, where for some reason I always find myself buying things to snack on that I NEVER buy at the grocery store.  I walked out with a bottle of water, some Corn Nuts, and a bag of sunflower seeds.  I had tried to learn to chew seeds when I was a kid, but it never took.  I finally decided that my mouth wasn't coordinated enough for anything more advanced than chewing gum.  But I had always liked the flavor of sunflower seeds, so if someone had a bag and the mood struck I would suck all the flavor off the seedtops for a while before spitting the unbroken shell into a cup.

Not on this day, though.  It took me an hour to drink all the water, then it was on to the bag of David Bar-B-Q flavored Sunflower Seeds.  I tried and I chewed, I tried and I chewed.  And finally, just before passing exit #239 on North Interstate 45, I chewed my first unassisted seed.  Cracked the shell, uncovered the seed, and spit the newly empty shell into my Deja Blue bottle - no hands, just my tongue and my teeth. 

Needless to say, I was duly impressed with myself.  Though it wasn't quite the ecstatic feeling of crossing home plate for the first (and only) time, it was the full feeling of pride in having accomplished the previously impossible.  I wouldn't have been anymore proud if I had pried an oyster out of a clam from the bottom of the ocean.  I stared "I can't..." in the face and proved it wrong.  My badge of honor was probably a small piece of seed-film going unnoticed on the edge of my lower lip. 

And so life goes.  Full of surprises.  Reminders that on any given day, anything can happen.  Eat. Spit. Be Happy.  Indeed.