Pitchfork

Uh, yeah. So I went to the Pitchfork Music Festival. Here is the play-by-play. Be prepared, this is going to be a lengthy entry.

Saturday

After finally being tipped off to the South Bend Bus System, I woke up bright and early and made my way to the train station. I arrived in Hyde Park around 11:00 and headed to Katie's to pick up my tickets. I also picked up a delightful sandwich and ate it at her place. Then I caught the bus to the green line and headed to the festival.

I arrived somewhere around 1:00 and wandered around for a while. Union Park is a pretty nice venue: not too big, not too small. There were two stages in the main grassy area, a third stage for jazz, hip-hop, and electronic music, a massive record sale, a craft show, and a poster sale. It was pretty amazing.

I did some exploring and found myself catching the end of 8 Bold Souls. Wow, these guys are incredible. I'm pretty sure they're from Chicago, too. I decided to stay to see some of Flosstradamus, a "DJ super group." I didn't really understand why they were so acclaimed. I left after a few minutes and then I read the blurb about them in the readers guide. Apparently they do amazing mash-ups together. I wish I had known that beforehand.

I made my way to one the main stages to hear Band of Horses. I hadn't heard them before, but someone told me they liked them when they saw them with Iron & Wine. I greatly enjoyed them. Their music made me happy. After them, it was time for The Mountain Goats, who I have recently started getting into. I decided to just watch them from afar because I wanted to be hard core and get right at the front for my beloved Destroyer.


And I did. I was right at the stage and witnessed every glorious moment up close and personal. Dan Bejar is quite a character. He introduced one song with: "This song is about...eh..." (turns around and starts song). After another song he said, "One quarter of that song is a protest song." He played a couple of my favorite tracks, including "Rubies," "Painter in Your Pocket," "European Oils," and "Looter's Follies." He also played one of Stevie's favorite songs, called "Modern Painters."

I caught the first bit of Art Brut, then left, thinking that I wouldn't enjoy them since I didn't care too much for what I'd heard before then. I headed over to the tent to see a bit of Spank Rock, a pretty sweet hip-hop group. Then I went to get some food while Art Brut continued to play. I never would have guessed it: they put on a great show. Their single Good Weekend was a ton of fun (the link is the video of the performance). It included an extraordinarily British section which consisted of calling various bands "top of the pops," which was a lot of fun.


After I finished eating, I headed back to the tent to watch Matmos, the incredible experimental electronica duo from San Francisco that performed with Björk on the beautiful Live at the Royal Opera House DVD. They rocked my world. I couldn't believe it. It was an incredible experience that I'll never forget. Sunscreen and sweat in my eyes; heavy breathing; throbbing bass tempered by sounds of various random objects; warm, lush synths overlayed with affected speech; tasteful guitar and horn riffs; the heat of being squeezed amidst fifty people at the front of the stage; turning down pot but getting high off the experience anyway. You can see their opening track here. I'm warning you, though, it's not for the faint of heart.

After that amazing experience, I saw the last bit of The Walkmen, then went over to see The Futureheads. I'm a fan of their single "Skip to the End," and that was fun in concert, but the rest of their set was pretty homogeneous and uninteresting.

Finally, I wandered back to the tent to see a few minutes of A-Trak, a pretty spiffy DJ. I had to leave soon, though, to begin the journey to the Eastman's house. This meant that I missed Silver Jews, which didn't bother me.

Jenn's Dad picked me up and took me to their house. After some Hot Pockets and a shower, I crashed on some comforters in their basement. I was exhausted.

Sunday

While the Eastman's were at church, I woke up and made some breakfast (i.e. a breakfast burrito). I also packed myself a lunch, which proved to be quite handy.

I got out to the concert around 12:30. I decided to forego seeing Tapes 'n Tapes (sorry, JT) in favor of Jeff Parker and the Nels Cline Quartet. Yes, Nels Cline - guitarist of Wilco. It was an amazing set. They played jazz with some very interesting additional guitar textures. Post-jazz, anyone? Nels Cline is a phenomenal guitarist.


I saw a little bit of Danielson and then Jens Lekman, but neither of them inspired me too much. I headed back to the tent (noticing a theme?) for Bonde Do Role. It was here that I met my beloved dancing indie kids. They were seriously having the time of their lives dancing it up. I started secretly dancing behind them, but I didn't have the courage to join them. Once Bonde Do Role was finished, though, I went up to them and praised them for their dancing. Virtually no one was dancing during these shows - even during music that is typically made for dancing! My new friends said they weren't going to let trying to be cool keep them from having fun, and I thought that was great. They told me that if I saw them again I should join them.

So I did. After geting yelled at for being confused in the Port-a-Potty line, I ran into them at CSS, another Brazilian group, and we danced together for a solid 40 minutes or so. The circle started to spread, and eventually we had a fairly large number of people dancing it up. I think it was probably some of the most fun I've ever had. I also officially earned the nickname "Sammy Sammy Shimmy Shammy" from my new friend Liz, who looked suspiciously like she may have been related to Kathleen.

After that, I watched some of Cage, who gives me some hope for the rap/hip-hop seen. So do Aesop Rock and Mr. Lif, who I listened to while eating some dinner.

I sat down on the grass to listen to Mission of Burma, a veteran rock group that lived up to their reputation. I saw the first 10 minutes or so of Devendra Banhart, one of JT's heroes (whoa, as I typed that iTunes shuffled to a song by him). Then I traveled back to my favorite tent to see Glenn Kotche, the drummer from Wilco.


He was pretty incredible, performing compositions that included drum set, thumb piano, bells, and other percussive accessories. I hadn't seen a good percussion show in ages. I felt like I was at a PAS Day of Percussion. Glorious.

Then it was time for the legendary Yo La Tengo, who may have given the best performance of the festival. I was amazed. They've been playing together for about 20 years, yet they still pulled off a remarkable performance. Take that, Rolling Stones!

Finally, I watched Spoon while the guy next to me toked up. They too put on a great show. Of course, at this point my feet were dying and I was pretty gross. I had to catch the train back to Brookfield (the Eastman's neck of the woods), so I missed the also-and-perhaps-more legendary Os Mutantes. I apologize to the world for missing their first and last show in Chicago. There was nothing I could do about it.


And that was it. I saw more Sufjan Stevens, ninja-related, and thrift-store shirts, more tight jeans, dyed hair, and unknown shoe brands than I can possibly fathom. But it was fun. And, of course, I've always had a special place in my heart for indie girls. What can I say?

Monday

There's not much to say about this morning, except that I ate two fabulous meals. Jenn's dad made me a classic breakfast of coffee, eggs, bacon, and toast. Amazing. Not healthy, but amazing. I also ate a fantastic sub at a place called Chicago Sub, just off of Michigan Ave, while I waited for my train.

And now I'm home safe and sound.

If you made it to this point, I congratulate you. I think this may have been the longest blog entry of all time. Pictures have been posted to fbook. Soon I will update all my .mac stuff. Apple has specifically designed .mac to frustrate those of us who don't have iLife '06. It's a pain in the neck to manage sites without it.

Okay, that's enough.

Peace,
Sam
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Christianity is not about being a good person.

I just wanted to get that out of the way. If any of you are now thinking, "I hope he's not saying that because of something I said/did!", cut it out. I'm not. I just felt like it needed to be said.

So this is my 60th post already. I'm a blogging fiend. That's what happens when you spend your days in libraries.

After reading up on religion and authority in Carthage, doing some French, and reading more Noam Chomsky, I watched Coffee and Cigarettes, per the recommendation of Matt. It has a star-studded cast, including Roberto Benigni, Steven Wright, Bill Murray, and all kinds of other crazy people. It's basically a string of only somewhat connected meetings between people over coffee and cigarettes. It's pretty entertaining, though I feel like it would have been much better enjoyed with friends, rather than in a library. Of course, by the end I was dying for a cup of coffee and a cigarette (and then I realized cigarettes are gross). I think my favorite conversation was between Iggy Pop and Tom Waits. It was pretty priceless.

There were a few others parts of the movie that were pretty excellent because they had some really awkward moments. It almost made you wonder if it was non-fiction. If you've ever watched the British version of The Office, you'll know what I mean.

I decided that I need another break from fbook for a few days. Coincidentally, I read my Bible tonight for the first time in quite a long time. I also got Sarahmisu to send me some RUF songs. I am listening to them over and over again. Man, I really miss those folks, especially my good friend Djembe (or Da-jembe as some people call him).

Have I mentioned how much I love Elliott Smith? Why did he have to kill himself? I'm embedding a few of my favorite songs by him below for your watching pleasure. Warning for those who may get offended: the second one has a few curse words. Oh, and third one is a John Lennon cover (it's pretty much amazing). And by the way, Elliott's live performances don't let you see his unfathomable prowess at recording songs. You should go buy all of his albums.







Peace,
Sam
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"All of life is reduced to the common rubble of banality."

Today I watched Network. It was recommended to me by Alex, one of the handful of people whom I trust implicitly when it comes to movie recommendations.

The film started a little slow, but I rode it out. The dialogue is fantastic. For a film made in 1976, it was absolutely prescient in its indictment of television (TV news, in particular).

I had one of those terribly wonderful dreams last night - the kind where you wake up and get depressed because it wasn't real. In high school, we used to say that we would rather have bad dreams than good dreams. Good dreams just make real life miserable.

So this was one of those dreams. It started with me waking up in my bed with a fictional girl standing over me muttering something about how much she loved me. This was not a real person at all. Oddly enough, at this point I remember muttering in a moment of shocking lucidity, "Oh, no. This is one of those dreams. I guess there is nothing to do but ride it out." And I did. Why in that moment of clarity I didn't decide to wake up, I don't know. But I rode it out, and it was a great dream. It was just hanging out with this fictional girl who was supposed to be my girlfriend - there was nothing perverse or unusual about it. But it was nice. It was also completely and utterly unreal, which made it rather depressing upon facing reality again. It set the tone for the rest of the day, which was full of a sullen distance from God and people. This feeling that my own mind, in addition to God himself, is toying with me.

This happens unbelievably frequently to me. It is not a phenomenon that I can explain. I can't explain why these dreams take such hold of me. They do, though. For some reason, over a period of several years I have had some of the most unbearably pleasant dreams; dreams where my mind manufactures things I have never felt or experienced. This makes the experience particularly powerful - because each time I dream that I am experiencing it for the first time, and each time I wake up and realize that it was all an illusion. And because the emotion is so powerful, these dreams don't fade like other dreams. They remain. They haunt me as ghosts of memories - like those vague memories of childhood, or the feeling you have after a night of drinking enough to make your memory dim but not enough to cause you to forget completely, or when you stay up for 24 hours at a time. You can't remember everything too well, but you can remember flashes of emotion and detail. You can remember a laugh at a strange time that night, or the taste of coffee at 5 in the morning, or the feeling of your head spinning in the darkness of a bunkbed.

In the same way, I can remember a kiss or a hand held or a laugh or a dance that never actually happened. I can remember an impression, a feeling, a look in a girl's eyes - none of which I saw or felt while conscious.

This isn't the kind of thing that I would normally blog about. But I feel like I need to. This is a fairly large part of my life that I don't feel like I have in common with other people. Oh, I'm not saying that people don't have these dreams. But it's the way that these dreams play into my insecurities - the way they play into my constant struggle with depression and loneliness and hopelessness. I don't know if other people experience this or not. That's part of the reason I'm blogging about this. Maybe someone will read this and feel the same way.

I often puzzle over my desires. In the fall of this past year, we talked about longing in Dr. Horner's class. We talked about C.S. Lewis' notion of the scent of a flower you have not smelled, the melody of a song you've never heard, the memory of a place you haven't visited. Lewis was talking about our longing for God, our feeling that there is something transcendent in this life that we can't quite put our finger on. I feel like this is what I experience through these dreams, only with things far more earthy, far more imminent. I feel like I experience this with romance.

And maybe, just maybe, these dreams will be able to translate into an ability to understand what Lewis is talking about. And maybe, just maybe, I will one day understand to what my longings truly point.

Peace,
Sam
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Now THIS is a blog post!

Okay, I just got back from the Windy Apple. It was quite an adventure. I love adventures.

Saturday

So, I got up at 7:40ish on Saturday morning and seriously considered staying in South Bend. Then I thought, "When am I even going to have this choice again?" I knew as soon as I got back to Gainesville that I'd regret missing out on seeing Chicago again. The decision was made: I called a cab and got ready to go.

I'll skip the mundane details, but I ended up on the South Shore train and made my way to Randolph St. On the train, I finished Not the Way It's Supposed to Be. It is an excellent book; I recommend it to everyone. It presents a very interesting paradigm of shalom as "the way things are supposed to be" and sin as the spoiling and stripping of that good. The book is a little old-fashioned at times in its treatment of particular issues and groups (sometimes a few stereotypes sneak in), but it provides a thought-provoking frame of the world nonetheless.

I wandered down Michigan Ave. until I found a Giordano's, where I got some pizza and a cannoli. While I was eating lunch, my good friend Emily called me.

Em: "Mofro is playing Wicker Park today [editorial: it was actually tomorrow]. I know you're jealous since you're in South Bend."
Me: "Oh yeah? Well, I'm eating pizza on Michigan Avenue right now. Wanna go?"
Em: "..."

So we figured out that I could meet her at Wicker Park, crash at her uncle's place, and go to church with them the next day. I left the pizza place and headed to Millennium Park and the Art Institute (my two main goals). I hadn't seen the El Greco pieces when I was there before, so I did that and then visited the old favorites (Van Gogh, Renoir, etc.). I could stare at Two Sisters (On a Terrace) for hours.

I left the Art Institute and wandered around trying to figure out how to get to Wicker Park. I also walked up to the Sears Tower while listening to Sufjan's "The Seer's Tower" (I am so cinematic). Eventually, I ended up on the blue line heading towards Damen (after I had made lots of friends in trying to figure out how to get there).

I wandered around Wicker Park until I found Emily and her cousins (who are all trés cool). We hung out there for a while, walked around, and then Emily, Mary (the Indy cousin), and I headed back to downtown Chicago. We ate dinner at a place called The Artist's Café, which had good food but horrendous service - we waited 25 minutes AFTER finishing our meal for the check! It's the only time in my life where I didn't leave a tip. I usually vow to give a waiter/waitress the benefit of the doubt and tip anyway, but this was just deplorable (and money counts these days).


It started to rain, so our evening had to change a bit. We headed to Garrett's for some popcorn and then to a café (where I, of course, enjoyed a chai latté with cinnamon on top). In the midst of this, I met a homeless woman named Pat who had several small children (you can kind of see them in the picture to the right). I hate homelessness. I wish I could end it. Maybe I can at least make a dent in it with some other folks. Of course, I also want to end human sex trafficking. Who's with me?

I'm getting ahead of myself. Back to the story.

After that, we walked over to Millennium Park to hear a concert. It was wonderful, and it happened to be Carmina Burana by Carl Orff. Then we walked down to the Metra station and took the train to Glen Ellyn, where Emily's uncle lives. I crashed there...

Sunday

...and woke up bright and early for church. I took a shower and put on the same clothes I had worn the previous day (the life of random travel, which is always fun). Emily's aunt made us eggs, toast, and coffee, which was probably the best breakfast I had had in weeks. We hopped in the car and headed for River City Community Church, the church home of one of Emily's cousins. I really, really enjoyed it. It was certainly water in the desert, and the pastor preached on the book Esther. The topic was "Being a Cultural Leader," and the relevance of his sermon to this season of my life was absolutely uncanny.

I really feel that my time at Notre Dame and these trips to Chicago have been paradigmatic. It's been a period of tremendous self-discovery about who I am as a person, as a man, as a Christian, and as a Christian man (who is a person).

After church, Emily's family graciously invited me to lunch with them at a place called Wishbone, which has ridiculously good breakfast. Two breakfasts in one day. Amazing. The food and the conversation was just great. It was so nice to be with a family after these long weeks without my own.

They dropped me off on Michigan, where I proceeded to secure a ride for this evening and begin to wander again. For some reason, Lake Michigan had become my mecca. I walked with purpose toward the Lake, not having any idea where I was really going. I had this vague idea of going to Navy Pier, but I didn't really know how to get there. I mean, how hard can it be to get to a lake? You just head towards the shore, right?

Well, it ended up taking a lot longer than I thought. I walked for miles, probably, asking directions, being amazed at random parks and beautifully massive buildings along the way, and trying to get to the elusive Great Lake. I think I got all the way to the marina and realized that I was on the wrong side of the Chicago River to get to the Pier. What I should have done was keep going along the marina and walked to the edge. Unfortunately, I didn't have that kind of hindsight. So, I took a nice little detour walking away from the Lake along the Chicago River. Things could have been much, much worse. In Chicago, even getting lost is amazing.

That sounds like a t-shirt.


Eventually I did make it to Navy Pier, but I had misjudged how long the pier was. The thing is ridiculous. I was booking it to the end of the pier when I realized that it just wasn't going to happen. It was already close to 4:30 and I had to get to Randolph by at least 5:30. So I stopped, had my "Lake Michigan Moment," left a message for Chris, and began my trek back to the station.

I sat next to a guy named Darrin who was with his wife and two daughters. They were a nice little family from a small town south of Michigan City. He works in the fertilizer/chemical industry. Seemed like a nice guy. I have determined that once you know someone's name, you are no longer strangers. It was really interesting how far along we got in our conversation before we introduced ourselves.

I arrived in South Bend safe and sound. Dr. Sterk's friend Emily (apparently the name du jour) picked me up and took me back to Notre Dame.

All in all, it was an amazing weekend. I also think that Emily and I are practically related now. We've spent like 30 hours together this summer, and I've hung out with her cousins. She's a good egg.

I'm sorry that I am unable to distill the insights I've gathered about myself into this blog. I think once I get back home to Orlando or Gainesville and stop experiencing it all, I will be able to synthesize what I've thought about and experienced this summer.

Sleep well. Pictures are coming soon for fbookers and non-fbookers alike.

Peace,
Sam
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Eureka

To those of you who prayed and/or thought (intensely) happy thoughts yesterday: it worked.

I had a major breakthrough in my research today. If you're interested in plagues, famine, and the Christian response, ask me about it.

And I'm doing much better emotionally. I had magnificently helpful discussions with my sister and Charlie last night. Thanks, you two.

Quotes of the day:
"Integrity on one side of our character is no voucher for integrity on the other side." - John Henry Newman

"I better off my bling before I play." - Professor Louis MacKenzie, taking off his watch before playing Bob Dylan songs in front of a graduate-level French class. His use of the verb "off" is incredible given his abilities with several languages.

I didn't watch a movie in the library today. By the time I got to it, it was 4 pm, and I had failed to remember that the A/V section closes at 5 on Fridays. I may watch Rushmore or The Life Aquatic this evening. We'll see.

So instead I decided to grab a chai latté and wander around by the lake. It was beautiful, as usual. I have this unusual connection with chai lattés. They've been present in many of the great moments of my life, which have mainly been sitting in a Starbucks or equivalent with friends. One lovely connection is drinking chai lattés during Christian Study Center reading groups with Richard Horner and John Sommerville. It was during a discussion of Walker Percy's essay on bourbon that actually caused me to realize this connect with my favorite beverage. You should read that essay. It's in one of my all-time favorite books: Signposts in a Strange Land.

Wow, that really got me in the mood for Walker Percy. I think I'll go to the library soon and read a little bit of that book.

Anyway, I wandered around for a while. For most of today, I listened to some French lessons (trying to get my comprehension and speaking somewhere in the same country as my reading ability), but I switched to Sufjan's latest album of Illinois b-sides. It's a great album. I strolled by the lake, just taking in the vast, blue expanse. Lakes can calm me down in the midst of just about anything.

On the way back, I ran into a wedding party; someone had just gotten married in the basilica. It was so nice. All was right with the world.

I also saw the greatest graffiti of all time in the library today:
"CUBS GO ALL THE WAY IN
1995
1996
1997
(etc.)
2006!"

Each year from 1995 until now was in different handwriting. Amazing. Oh, and Tony, if you read this, someone had also written "WORCESTER, MA" on one of the desks.

I'm seriously considering taking a random day trip to Chicago tomorrow. Oh, Sufjan, what have you done to me?

Let's end this entry with a quick poll:

What do you think of Noam Chomsky's statement that professional sports are just a way of diverting the common person's attention from things that really matter? Chomsky is a king among men and I totally agree. Eh, that's only partially true. Recreation is an essential part of life. That's a stupid question - sports ARE the things that really matter! I only watch college sports, so HA!    Free polls from Pollhost.com

Peace,
Sam
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I am swallowed by night and fog.

I'm emotionally and intellectually exhausted. For those of you that pray, pray for me. For those of you that don't, think happy thoughts.

Today I watched Nuit et Brouillard (Night and Fog). Before you say anything, I watched it with subtitles - my French isn't nearly that good yet. I don't know if I can really express how brilliant, thought-provoking, and shocking these 32 minutes are. The film was made in 1955 and is a string of footage from the Holocaust concentration camps, contrasted with footage of the camp sites 10 years later. Just go watch it, and we'll talk.

I leave you with the end of a poem I found in that book I got in Wicker Park. It's called Poem for My Twentieth Birthday:

For my birthday thrust into the adult and actual:
expected to perform the action, not to ponder
the reality beyond the fact,
the man standing upright in the dream.

Pretty relevant.

Good night.

Sam
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"The only freedom that you'll ever really know is written in books from long ago."

If I haven't publicly professed my love of Belle & Sebastian, allow me to do so now. Songs like "If You Find Yourself Caught in Love" (quoted), "Fox in the Snow," and "Judy and the Dream of Horses" are just genius.

I listened to B&S today for a while. I decided to spend a bit of time outside. I ate my lunch from Subway outside in front of the dome, then I wandered down to the lake. I was again struck by how vibrant the grass and flowers are here. When I got to the lake, "Judy and the Dream of Horses" had just come on. I stood there finishing the song - which has an amazing ending - while just gazing across the lake (and I think was standing next to some ducks). I got all nostalgic and realized how much I'm going to miss this place. Sure, there are problems with loneliness and dorm life. But overall, this has been an amazing experience of "finding myself" proportions.

I then walked back to the library and proceeded to read for a few solid hours. It's a very interesting experience rotating between French, Cyprian, a book about plagues in Late Antiquity, Not the Way It's Supposed to Be (a book about the doctrine of sin), and Noam Chomsky. I love reading ancient history while reading modern history and religion. It gives me so much perspective. I had the most bizarre experience of Plantinga (C, not A) writing that militaries never call something an attack, only a defense, then reading Chomsky saying something very similar moments later.

After that, I headed to Starbucks and drank my frapp in the south quad. Beautiful.

Then I went back to the library for The Fog of War. [Destroyer aside: "Tread lightly through the fog," said the apothecary's daughter...] It was very good, and proved to be a valuable experience in the midst of reading Chomsky and other political things. It definitely contributed some valuable perspective regarding Vietnam, the Cold War, etc.

On a related note, I highly recommend checking out an episode of NPR's This I Believe, entitled Human Existence is in Peril.

Also, Matt posted a few interesting links regarding documentaries that I thought I'd share:
• Documentary Resource 2004. (This one has a section on The Fog of War.)
• The Shocking Truth About Documentaries. (About TV documentaries. Not fantastic, but informative.)
• The Gap: Documentary Truth Between Reality and Perception. (Speaks for itself.)

I haven't read them all the way through, so I don't know if I endorse them, but food for thought.

Peace,
Sam
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"The cowardice of a luxury-loving mind must be checked."

Three guesses as to who said that. John Piper? Wrong. Tony Campolo? Think again. Matt Nobles? Give him time.

No, this insightful title comes from none other than Cyprian himself, bishop of Carthage in the 3rd century. I really enjoy that phrase: "the cowardice of a luxury-loving mind." It's said in the context of Christians being afraid of death.

Lyrics of the day are from "Wake Up" by The Arcade Fire:
"Somethin'
Filled up
My heart
With nothin'
Someone
Told me not to cry.
But now that
I'm older
My heart's
Colder
And i can
See that it's a lie."

So today's movie recommendation comes from none other than Charlie himself. The film was With God On Our Side: George W. Bush and the Rise of the Religious Right in America. It was a very informative documentary detailing how the evangelical movement has gradually become more heavily involved in politics (mainly right-wing politics). As I have gotten very interested in this phenomenon, this was a good supplement to films like The Times of Harvey Milk.

The thing that consistently gave me the old "Simpsons shudder" was the endorsement of various religious leaders of political candidates over the years. Statements of endorsements of Nixon (Watergate, Vietnam), Carter (East Timor), Reagan (Iran-Contra), Bush (uh, Central America), and Bush Jr. (Iraq, massive deception) now look quite foolish in hindsight.

Anyway, I think it just proves my point that the Christian community needs to be a bit more cautious in how it approaches politics, a bit more thoughtful. We can't just go towing the party line - no matter what party it may be.

I felt like I had something more profound to say than that. I usually blog right after a movie to get my freshest thoughts, but I didn't do that today.

Research and French are still going fairly well. I have also gotten into a band called Sunset Rubdown (recommended, of course, by JT). They're enjoyable.

And for those who are interested, CSN is still going strong. We're regrouping and working a lot on site design, content for the site, and the constitution. We're also figuring out how to become a non-profit.

Peace,
Sam
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I tell you the truth, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you.

Today's cinematic choice was The Times of Harvey Milk. It is an excellent movie about one of the first openly gay men to be elected to public office and his subsequent assassination.

The combination of listening to Antony and The Johnsons and watching The Times of Harvey Milk has gotten me thinking a lot these days about the Christian response to alternative sexualities. Antony is a transexual of sorts (there are a lot of arguments over terms in this subject), he feels like a woman trapped in a man's body (and somewhat androgynous I think too). Hence song lyrics such as "One day I'll grow up/To be a beautiful woman/But for now I am a child/For now I am a boy."

Frankly, I feel like Christian responses to members of the LGBT community have been overwhelmingly attrocious. On the one hand, the most common approach has been nothing short of hate speech: from blatant displays like Turlington preachers wearing buttons that say "NO HOMOS" to seemingly innocuous things like acceptance of using the term "gay" to describe anything dumb or bad (e.g. "exams are so gay"). This is unnacceptable. Christians should never, ever condone oppression of anyone. One of the shockingly interesting things I gleaned from Haugen's Good News... is the awareness of injustice in its most subtle forms; injustice which is perpetrated by everyone in some way. It may be something like race, but it could even just be something like hatred of jocks or frats for no reason. Anything that involves separating "us" from "them" is just self-righteousness, which is a form of injustice.

On the other hand, the reaction from theologically liberal Christians has been equally disturbing. Rather than wrestling with the texts (Romans 1, for example) and trying to better understand the roots of alternative sexualities while maintaining a firm belief in the fundamental doctrines of Christianity (creation, the fall, the Scripture, the Gospel), it seems that this group has simply decided to throw out whatever is inconvenient. I applaud their courage to stand up and say, "It's not right to marginalize someone due to their sexual orientation." I agree completely. But it's also foolish to simply throw out the Bible because it makes you uncomfortable.

Christians need to find a middle ground. The bottom line should always be the Gospel. That should be our first objective. It shouldn't be "God will change your homosexuality!" That may or may not be true (and I believe 90% of the time it is not). It should be, "No matter what, Christ loves you." It's impossible to guilt someone into Christianity. It is possible to love someone into Christianity (of course, it's really Jesus doing the loving).

My point: if Jesus were at UF today, I believe he would be hanging out with Gator GSA and related groups.


I have had a special place in my heart recently for transgender people. I feel like they are currently the most marginalized group of people (speaking from a UF perspective). This affection started when GGSA did a campaign about bathrooms. They had a poster with a picture of the classic restroom sign (pictured at right) with something about how for a significant amount of people, this is a pretty difficult choice. I had never thought of that before.

Transgender people are often confused and lonely. Their confusion lies at the core of humanity: identity. And yet, isn't that what the Gospel is for? Aren't most of our problems as Christians related to identity crisis? Do I hide behind my job, my major, my status as "theologically right" or "pure" or "a good person"? Do I refuse to hide in Christ? I feel like the transgendered person is ripe for the harvest. The transgendered person struggles daily with the very core of their identity, right down to what bathroom to use. Who better prepared to receive the Good News that whoever they are or will be, they can be secure in Christ?

So you see, we shouldn't even be trying to address the doctrinal issues of alternative sexualities without first and foremost offering the living water to the thirsty. There will come a time when those issues will have to be addressed, and it will be difficult and partially offensive. But those conversations need to occur between friends, between family. Those conversations, like any conversation of this magnitude, cannot possibly be treated lightly. They most definitely must not be reduced to slogans on buttons or posters held up by middle-class, white, heterosexual Christian men.

I should mention, for the record, that the man who killed Harvey Milk was a white, middle-class, heterosexual, Christian man, part of "respectable society."

This is all part of a recent hypothesis that I've developed that states that Christians, which began as an underground movement of dissidents, should be looking to marginalized groups to try to get back to their roots. Where I depart from most people on this topic, though, is that I don't take the approach typical of this "social Gospel:" Jesus was just a groovy guy who wanted everyone to get along. He wasn't just a groovy guy. He was self-authenticating, he wasn't afraid to make outrageous claims to divinity. But he did stand up for prostitutes, he did love tax-collectors. I feel that in America we have become so used to being the majority (whatever that means) that we no longer have a place in our hearts for the prostitutes, the truly "shocking" groups of people that Jesus loved. We've managed to "tame" the homeless and the sick, but that's not where our mission ends. Who are the groups of people that most people are afraid of, or hate for no reason, or try to reduce to something less than a human being? Go after them. Jesus certainly did.

Peace,
Sam
P.S. I highly recommend Flannery O'Connor's story "Revelation" on a related topic.
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Musical Presents

So, first of all, I've created a musical gift for all of you. It's called Me and You and Everyone We Know in honor of the worst movie of all time that the Orlando gang watched together (good times). It's about how much I miss everyone (you'll need to unzip it). Be warned: it's cheesy and poor quality. And don't be offended if I forgot to mention you. It was starting to sound like an Academy Award acceptance speech. Nothing personal - I miss everyone. The style was inspired by JT, who recently wrote a similar song for a friend of ours.

That reminds me, as an addendum to the song and to make up for my poor memory, to remind everyone to vote for Chris Gerrard at some point in the next 20 years. I'm pretty sure he'll be sharing the ticket with Sheri Valera, who will be Vice President under Gerrard and then become our first female president.

I've discovered Antony and The Johnsons thanks yet again to JT. Go download Hope There's Someone right now. You will either love it or hate it. Personally, it's been haunting me for days now.

I pretty much spent the weekend hanging out with JB and his friends. It was pretty fun, but its lack of amazingness inspired me to write the above.

Onward, Cyprian, onward!

Peace,
Sam
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Excitement

Part One: Updates and Goodies

So, the first exciting bit of news is that Robin, Chris, and I have bought tickets to see Sufjan Stevens (with My Brightest Diamond) in Atlanta on September 20. It's a Wednesday night, which will be intense, but there may be camping involved.

The second thing is that for all of you who are not on Fbook (by necessity or by choice), I have posted a bunch of pictures for your enjoyment.

First, from the first visit with Emily:

Emily

Second, a ton of pictures from Chicago:

Part 1: The Train, Devon, UChicago
Part 2: Downtown and The Taste
Part 3: The Art Institute
Part 4: Downtown and Wicker Park

Finally, I have created a place for you to keep up with whatever meager musical attempts I make. Last night I decided to stay up until 2:30 messing around with only my laptop, my voice, Logic Express, and an iTalk. You can download the result here:

My Downloads

You can also get that version of These Days that I made. There are lots of mistakes in it, and it's terrible quality, but whatever.


Part Two: Emily's Second Visit

Emily visited yesterday, which was great (as usual). We ate at a place called State Café downtown, and then of course got some coffee at the South Bend Chocolate Café. Then she took me to the grocery store (for which I was much obliged), where we scrambled to acquire the items necessary to make brownies. Then we rented Bottle Rocket from Hollywood Video. It was fitting, really. It was the last Wes Anderson I hadn't seen. I very much enjoyed it, although not as much as Tenebaums. I need to see it again, though, to really rank it. Of course, even an early, less polished Wes Anderson is still leagues beyond most average movies.

We finished off the night with dinner at Fridays. It was a great day. If I haven't proclaimed it publicly before, the world must know that Emily Roderick is freaking awesome. All who do not know her must make contact immediately. Be prepared, Emily, be prepared.

Then I got pretty miserable (I had been feeling pretty down most of the day), called Chris, and spent four hours making music in a study room downstairs.

Part Three: Promises

So today I slept in and missed class due to my musical endeavors last night. Then I went to the library for a while to work and to watch Promises. It's a really great documentary about Israeli and Palestinian children. Very, very well made. It really struck me how different childhood in America is compared to over there. Those of you interested in the Middle East (cough Whitney cough) should check it out.

Now I shall go eat some dinner (with grape tomatoes and leftover brownies) and then make more music. I'll probably call people as well.

MBenson is coming next weekend, I think.

Did I mention I'm going to see Sufjan?

Peace,
Sam
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"Though we have sparred, wrestled, and raged, I can tell you I love him each day."

(Sufjan Stevens - Palisades)

I've really been enjoying what I've heard from My Brightest Diamond. Check her out (there's a song on that site for your listening pleasure).

There's an interview with Thom Yorke on NPR's Fresh Air. My dad referred it to me (yeah, he's hip).

Somebody ate my entire unopened jar of applesauce. It even had my name on it. It was even next to my soy milk. Who does that? Why applesauce?

I'm really getting tired of living with a bunch of people I don't know in a dorm. It's not even that I don't know them - it's that there is a de facto segregation between the jocks and the non-jocks (insert Simpsons reference here) that prevents people from really getting to know each other. I'm also getting tired of having to go down three floors just to get my milk in the morning.

I know it's nothing to complain about compared to the living situations of people around the world, but I think what makes it so difficult is the lack of community, the lack of friendship. I could live in pretty much any condition if I had a friend or a family member.

A small example of that was on the trip to Mississippi. The eight or so of us guys all crammed into that hot and humid room. Everyone had to wait in line at 6:30 am for mediocre food served under a tent (or "in tents" as Tyler so aptly joked) with multi-colored plastic forks in the shape of various animals. We had to wait in line to bathe in tiny, muddy showers (girls waited for hours sometimes). But you know, we had each other. And we had all the people we were trying to help on our minds. And that made all the difference.

I've been thinking a lot about that trip recently. I still think it's humorous that I finally decided to go the day before. It certainly was a good experience, but I think it has become a much more life-changing experience in the months after it was over. I didn't have any mission-trip epiphanies, so highly sought after by American Christians these days. I remember wanting to have one. I remember sitting at the edge of the Gulf, morbidly depressed and lonely and heartbroken, wondering what kind of person I was to not be excited about being there. I didn't feel like I could make any sort of difference. And that feeling stuck with me to the end of the trip, right down to the trip home. I wandered off for a while when we stopped for lunch. I remember Gerald coming outside and saying something to me. I only remember fragments, but it doesn't matter - I have a still shot of the look on his face frozen in my memory. What I gathered was that he cared about me, which was something I couldn't receive at the moment. I left him and walked around, feeling like I didn't belong, that there was something going on inside of my head and my heart that just didn't line up with anyone else. But I couldn't put my finger on it, and that's what really made it painful. I hid behind a tree for a while, contemplating its leaves in intricate detail to distract myself from the hot mixture of hopelessness, shame, and weakness that was drowning my heart.

In the end, I didn't really come back with a lot of heartwrenching stories, other than those of what I saw around the city. I didn't save somebody's life. But I came back with a lot of experience, and a lot of deepened friendships. At the time I didn't realize what things would mean to me after I reentered American culture (Bay-St. Louis felt like a foreign country). Sure, I thought that I would always remember the steeple on the ground or the rubble piled in the air. I thought I would remember the harrowing stories I heard. But I didn't think about the fact that every time I would look at my shoes, I would see stains of the tar from Tommy's roof. I didn't think I would care about that day that Charlie, Tyler, and I sawed branches from trees. I didn't think I would remember walking endlessly down the road with Chris. Rolling a trampoline to the side of the road with Casey. Picking up trash on the side of the road. Steven singing Amazing Grace on the beach, that seemingly God-forsaken beach that surrounded my seemingly God-forsaken heart. Somehow these random bits of memory still surface.

I don't know what it all means.


Today I watched a documentary about the Vietnam War called Hearts and Minds. It is excellent; very thought-provoking. The main reason it's so good is that it was made in 1974. Most of the views it expresses are really nothing new until you remember this fact. It was way ahead of its time. It does a great job of portraying the atrocities committed by the U.S. during Vietnam. There are a few devastatingly powerful scenes.

Still plugging away on CSN, Cyprian, Chomsky, and all the other stuff. Emily returns tomorrow. Don't try to fight your jealousy.

Peace,
Sam
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The Futureheads, anyone?

Ridiculous quote of the day: "A pastor needs to be media-centered if he wants to get attention." - Jerry Falwell on NPR.

Wow, there are so many things wrong with that statement that it's ridiculous.

Part One: Updates

I heard back from the one of the directors of Desert Nights (Aara Manoogian), the documentary about human trafficking in Armenia and Dubai. He said he would be happy to mail me a copy of the film to show at UF, and suggested that I try to get Armenians on campus to promote it. He recommended that I read up on his latest work and get back to him with any questions I may have. Mr. Manoogian also said that Americans could help by putting pressure on President Bush to put the UAE on the list of traffickers so they will face traffickers. He pointed me to an article he wrote here. I have no idea how that kind of thing works. Maybe we could start a demonstation or something. You know, take it to Washington. Lincoln Memorial steps and all that. Drop me a line if you're interested.

People from International Justice Mission also wrote me back. Cheryl Noble from Student Ministries wrote me back about starting a campus chapter at UF and has provided all the information necessary. If you are interested in being part of this idea of starting a chapter of IJM on campus (or even better, heading it up), drop me a line and I'll forward you the email.

Also, someone from IJM responded to my email about Armenia and the UAE. She said that IJM only works in South and Southeast Asia right now on this subject and has no offices in the Middle East or in Eastern Europe due to a lack of resources and contacts/partner organizations in those regions. Sounds like fertile soil to me. She referred me to a group called Progeny, which is dedicated to rescuing oppresssed children around the world.

Part Two: Chomsky

I've been reading a lot of Chomsky in the past couple of days. I really like what he has to say on topics like education, U.S. foreign policy, and the media. One interesting point he makes is that "there is a kind of margin for survival in the Third World that relates to the degree of American dissidence." This is based on his observation over the years that governments tend to force their terrorist/aggressive operations underground as activism becomes more successful. He uses the examples of the U.S.'s involvement in Nicaragua (the Iran-Contra affair) and El Salvador, as well as examples of the U.S.'s network of terrorist mercenary states (like Israel). Very interesting stuff.

Regarding education, he talks about several of the problems of the educational institutions in America, from public schools to Harvard. It mainly has to do with indoctrination - being taught that obedience is more important than creativity. Ever wonder why in high school you could get a C on a test and not be punished (key word is punished, and this doesn't involve parents), but if you showed up to class 5 minutes late, you were given a detention? He further points out the problems with universities, as they are essentially like corporations in that they depend on funding from wealthy, important people and the government. They are constantly having to make people happy, and because of that, it's very hard for anyone to do anything meaningful within them. You can't rock the boat too much for fear of losing a donor constituency.

Obviously, his views are much better documented and articulate than what I've said here. Those are just a few things that I've found interesting.

Part Three: Disappointing Human Rights Films

So today I watched this little video called "Life Choices: Human Rights in the 21st Century." I can't find it on the internet. Apparently, it was produced at Notre Dame sometime in 1989. It was pretty terrible overall. The first part, though, was an interview with the chair of Amnesty International, which was fairly interesting. He made a point about human rights abuse starting first with separating the "us" from the "them" in order to dehumanize the victim (prime example being WWII). The second part was a discussion between several people from different countries, and it was awful. It basically involved a bunch of well-educated people from the US (who were exclusively military, and exclusively white), Germany, Israel, India, Hungary, and Brazil meandering on and on about nothing really. They repeated the same canned human rights stuff, continually interrupted each other (especially the Americans, which was funny), and never really accomplished anything. The final part of the video was an interview with a Mennonite, who said a bunch of feel-good things about human rights.


After that disappointing experience, I watched a short documentary called No More Tears Sister. It's about a human rights activist named Dr. Rajani Thiranagama, who was assassinated in 1989. Unfortunately, the film is a bit of a failure. It documents her life, some of the situation in Sri Lanka, and her relationship with her family. It talks a lot about how she was a great human rights activist, but never actually tells you what she did. Sure, it says that she founded the University Teachers for Human Rights in Sri Lanka, and that she wrote some pamphlets, but that doesn't say much. According to the film's web site, Rajani "became implicated in grassroots organizations fighting for women’s rights and against the discrimination of Britain’s black people and became involved in the international campaigns of other liberation groups...Her work to rebuild her community after the 1987 October War is renowned." She is supposed to have "fought for the release of imprisoned students and helped establish the Poorani Women’s Centre for victims of war." None of this is very well-represented in the film. What a shame. It got good reviews, too, which I don't understand.

The one thing that I really did enjoy about the film was learning a bit about the conflict in Sri Lanka. I don't think I've ever been exposed to it before.

Conclusion
So, my new question is "What does a Christian view of human rights look like?" I think Haugen provides a good springboard, but I'd like to explore the question in further depth. I'm going to outline Good News and start brainstorming.

Research is starting to pick up. Dr. Sterk has really helped to point me in the right direction. I'm doing a lot of reading.

Peace,
Sam
P.S. New albums from Sufjan Stevens and Thom Yorke today. You can listen to Sufjan's latest here.
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"Help me in my weakness, 'cos I'm falling out of grace."

(The Velvet Underground - Jesus)


Today I watched La Vita è Bella. It was, to say the least, a beautiful movie. It deserves all the hype it got back in 1997. The film does a marvelous job capturing a flurry of conflicting emotions. Wow.

I came across these lyrics today and thought them quite applicable to many people these days:

"And it never comes off like you planned it!
Something once was delivered, then you banned it
But, oh, there is a key to this thing..."

Nothing like some Destroyer lyrics to get you thinking. That's from Notorious Lightning. I highly recommend it. In fact, not much would make my day better than someone else finally getting into Destroyer.

My tickets to Pitchfork arrived at Katie's the other day. How exciting. Unfortunately, she will not be joining me. So, this has the potential of being quite an adventure - getting down to Union Park all by lonesome and surviving an intense music festival. I also learned that The Autumn Defense (the band whose album I bought in Wicker Park) will be playing the night before the festival at a place called Martyrs'. Unfortunately, due to the wonders of American law, it's 21-and-up. Way to go. I can die for my country, but I can't watch The Autumn Defense. Lame.

As an update, my professor at UF wrote me and pointed me in the right direction. Now all I have to do as actually get something done.

Emrod is supposed to be returning on Thursday, and the Benson is also making a trip up at some point this weekend. Life is good (as well as beautiful).

Hope all is well.

Peace,
Sam
P.S. If I have the willpower, I plan on taking an hiatus from Facebook and AIM for a few days soon in order to be more productive for a season. We'll see if actually happens.
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Lies and Injustice

Clever follow-up title, no?

Yesterday I watched the film Manufacturing Consent: Noam Chomsky and the Media. It was a long, but very thought-provoking, look at Noam Chomsky's work and his views on American media. Chomsky is one of those activist intellectuals that is loved by many and hated by many. The film made me really appreciate Chomsky's views.

Chomsky is a linguistics professor at MIT. Apparently, he sparked a "Chomskian revolution" in linguistics with his theory of a universal grammar. Later, he determined that he had to become involved with politics. He's since become famous for his frank defiance of conventional wisdom which stems from his anarcho-syndicalist views. In the documentary, he basically propounds the view that whereas in a totalitarian society the people are coerced by force, coercion occurs in the war of ideas in democracy. The government and large corporations, then, control what the media does in order to serve their best interests (i.e. capital in the case of business, submission in the form of government). His views are very well-articulated, and I think quite valid. For example, he asserts that the media must be accused of a liberal bias in a democratic society because that's what defines the boundaries of criticism ("this far, but no further").

I would very much like to be a Noam Chomsky of Christianity. Someone who defies conventions and attacks all we hold dear for the sake of truth. Chomsky does this with democracy, and I think he does it quite well. While I may not ever be an anarcho-syndicalist, I appreciate his rigorously thoughtful and consistent approach. Its similar to how Destroyer is for music and how Nietzsche was for philosophy. Nietzsche had his "philosopher's hammer" to make sure that we set no further idol up in the place of a deceased god.

That's who I want to be for American Christianity.

Today I went to the CRC again, followed by lunch and grocery-shopping. Then I watched a movie called Paradise Now. It's about suicide bombers in Palastine; it's a good movie. I definitely recommend it if you're interested in Palastine.

That's all for now. I am feeling pretty discouraged these days that I'm not getting much accomplished as far as research (or anything else) goes.

Peace,
Sam
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Truth and Justice

Part One: "They told me I was going to Belgium to sell flowers."
I am taking a moment to provide some resources on human trafficking, especially sex trafficking. Here are some general clips from YouTube:
UN Ad 1
UN Ad 2

One of the best organizations tackling this subject is the Coalition Against Trafficking in Women. Their FactBook is especially helpful. Of course, there is also Amnesty and IJM.

I have discovered a fantastic documentary about sex trafficking from Armenia to Dubai entitled "Desert Nights." Here are the links:
Part 1
Part 2a
Part 2b
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5a
Part 5b/6

I have never heard of these particular cases of trafficking. Usually reports on this subject come from the Philippines, Burma, Thailand, or other places in Southeast Asia. So tonight, I emailed IJM about the matter to see if they were doing anything about trafficking in Dubai. I also emailed the creators of the film and asked them what was being done by governments or outside organizations, if Americans could do anything, and if I could set up a screening of the film at UF. The reporters work for an Armenian investigative reporting group called Hetq. They are following these stories closely, and you can read their work here. I am a bit embarrassed because I should have read everything on their site before emailing them. But oh well. If nothing else, they can know that I support them.

I also went ahead an emailed IJM about starting a chapter at UF. I can't play too big of a role in it since I'll be working on CSN most of the time, but I've been bugging a few of you about it recently. Hopefully a small group of people can pull it off.

Part Two: "We must not confuse dissent with disloyalty."


If you haven't figured it out yet, the library has a ton of movies here that I can watch for free. Today I was supposed to watch Life is Beautiful, but some crafty student in an Italian class had it checked out. Maybe tomorrow.

So instead, per the recommendation of Matt and my friends in Orlando, I checked out Good Night, and Good Luck. I enjoyed it. It was also beautifully shot.

The title of this section is a line that summarizes much of what I liked about the movie. I feel like we're at a time in American history right now where we are surrounded by a fear to dissent due to the enemy at hand. More specifically, I feel like Christians in this country are afraid to disagree with many of the policies and actions of our current administration due to religious convictions.

That's all for now. If you want to talk further about any of the above, you know where to find me.

Peace,
Sam
P.S. If you like Good Night, and Good Luck, you would also like The Insider.
P.P.S. Congratulations are in order to Matt, who's just been brought on with The Alligator as a columnist.
P.P.P.S. Music recommendation of the moment: Yo La Tengo - And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out
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How Deep the Pain of Searing Loss

Note: I posted earlier today about Spanglish. Be sure to read that - just scroll down. But read this first.

Tonight my mom told me that a friend of ours from church died today. Her name was Jo Ann. She was a wonderful woman with a loving husband and children. She had been battling cancer for years. I'm not sure what finally claimed her; many of us know all too well the additional complications caused by cancer.

In truth, I didn't know Jo Ann very well. I think I only spoke with her a few times in the years I knew her. But for some reason I had a special connection with her. I became intently interested in her condition over the years, and prayed for her quite frequently. At my last Sunday in Orlando before leaving South Bend, her husband was sitting in the row in front of us. For some reason, I was totally overcome with emotion as I sat behind him. The thought of a man coming to grips with the death of his wife, the death of the mother of his children, assaulted me. I imagine it's because of the loss of my grandmother; a fierce, courageous, and witty woman who battled lupus for over 30 years of her life. I've seen what the loss of your one true love can do to a man. I've seen what the loss of your mother does. I've seen what the loss of someone you love does. Death rips your heart apart like nothing else can, not even heartbreak. But when it's the woman you love who dies, heartbreak is part of the equation.

When I read that email, I was only shocked at first. I couldn't comprehend it. But I had the urge to go down to the Grotto to light a candle for her, and to pray for her family. So I left my dorm to take a walk in silence.

As I was walking, I remembered that last Sunday, and I remembered all the things I had thought about. It all came rushing back to me, and I realized that now all those things had come to pass. A man was now a widow; children were now without a mother. The phrase "how deep the pain of searing loss" kept running through my head. And then I remembered the context: "How deep the Father's love for us, how vast beyond all measure. That He would give His only Son to make a wretch His treasure."

I couldn't contain myself. I wept hard as I walked to the Grotto, and then I started to run. I ran and I saw the flashes of trees and grass and flowers that decorate Notre Dame's campus. My friend was gone, this friend whom I barely knew.

I lit my candle at the Grotto and wandered over to a bus stop bench on the side of the road near St. Mary's Lake. And I buried my head in my hands and cried. I cried for the man I knew who was now a widower. I cried for those children - who I don't think I've ever met - who no longer have their mother.

And then I remembered the last time I had cried, and how it too had been for children. Suddenly I lamented the injustice of this fallen world. Injustice is not just found in Africa. Injustice is the result of sin, and it occurs everywhere in the world. It shouldn't be this way. A man should not lose his wife. Children should not lose their mother.

Oh, death! Truly, here is your sting!

I thought of the next line of that song: "the Father turns His face away." I was struck by the fact that the Father does not have to turn His face from Jo Ann. She is welcomed by Him.

I wondered if Christ was weeping for Jo Ann's family, for the loss of such a woman. I knew that He was. And then I wondered if God the Father Himself could on the one hand mourn the power of disease in this life, and yet ordain this tragedy. Yet I know that He can, He does, and He now has again. It is beyond me.

I tried to call people, but was unsuccessful. Something felt so unnatural about facing this grief alone, so deeply painful about facing the darkness of death without a friend by my side.

I got up and walked by the lake, and I started to sing. I sang bits and pieces of songs and hymns that I knew. "Why should I gain from His reward? I cannot give an answer. But this I know with all my heart: His wounds have paid my ransom." "My sin, oh the bliss of this glorious thought! My sin, not in part, but the whole is nailed to the cross and I bear it no more."

"And from my stricken heart with tears two wonders I confess: the wonders of redeeming love and my own worthlessness."

I stood there contemplating the stark contrast between the beauty of the lake and trees and the darkness of sin and death. And yet redemption is the link. Redemption is the key. "Here they trusted Him before us, now their praises fill the sky."

I walked back in silence.

Goodbye, Jo Ann.
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Spanglish: The Most Poorly Marketed Movie Humankind Has Ever Known

So, I finally did it. I watched Spanglish, despite the fact that none of my Orlando friends had seen it in its entirety, despite warnings of "love it or hate it" mentalities, and despite the fact that I had to watch it in the library.

Aside: When I started watching the movie at desk 18, the dialogue track was almost non-existent. There was music, there were birds chirping, but no speech. For the first minute I thought, "Ah, artistic way to show a girl growing up. Clever." After three minutes I thought, "Okay. Uh...This is lame." So I moved over to desk 19 and started over. Much better.

I really, really enjoyed it. So I guess I'm a "lover." Considering the fact that growing up with friends in Orlando who have been studying film and making their own since middle school, I was nervous. I was nervous that I was going to be a hater. I probably dislike 80% of the movies made after 2000 that I see. I'm rarely impressed.

But Spanglish was different. It somehow managed to sidestep every possible cliché that could have made that movie absolutely nauseating. I won't expound too much on that just in case people haven't seen it. I also really liked how it portrayed Flor and Christina's lives before coming to America, and then their emigration to and immersion in America. I was also very embarrassed by the borderline stereotypical but all-too-true white upper class family of the Clasky's.

I hate trying to explain how I feel about movies or music over a blog. If you want to know more, just call me.

I did discover that, as the title of this entry suggests, that this movie had terrible marketing. I mean, seriously. The tag line is: "A comedy with a language all its own." To those of you who have seen this movie and love it: Watch the trailer. It's so incredibly cheesy. How bizarre. I would never, ever have seen that movie in the theater if I had seen that trailer.

So, take notes, marketing and PR majors. Advertising can make or break a product.


I close this entry with a prayer from The Valley of Vision, edited by Arthur G. Bennett. I discovered it last night/this morning while on the phone with Chris:

O Lord,

Thou knowest my great unfitness for service,
my present deadness,
my inability to do anything for thy glory,
my distressing coldness of heart.

I am weak, ignorant, unprofitable,
and loathe and abhor myself.
I am at a loss to know what thou wouldest have me do,
for I feel amazingly deserted by thee,
and sense thy presence so little;

Thou makest me possess the sins of my youth,
and the dreadful sin of my nature,
so that I feel all sin,
I cannot think or act but every motion is sin.

Return again with showers of converting grace
to a poor gospel-abusing sinner.
Help my soul to breathe after holiness,
after a constant devotedness to thee,
after growth in grace more abundantly every day.

O Lord, I am lost in the pursuit of this blessedness,
And am ready to sink because I fall so short of my desire;
Help me to hold out a little longer,
until the happy hour of deliverance comes,
for I cannot lift my soul to thee
if thou of thy goodness bring me not nigh.

Help me to be diffident, watchful, tender,
lest I offend my blessed Friend
in thought and behavior;
I confide in thee and lean upon thee,
and need thee at all times to assist and lead me.

O that all my distresses and apprehensions
might prove but Christ's school
to make me fit for greater service
by teaching me the great lesson of humility.

Amen.

Peace,
Sam
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Long Conversations to Make Up for Long Silences

The title of this entry comes from something I wrote in my journal today about such things. I have a lot crammed inside of me right now, and it's good to get it out every so often with people I love. In the past week, I've gotten to have a lot of those conversations. It's been very helpful. Thanks.

So, today was a somewhat productive day. I dragged myself to class, and then organized my life by making to-do lists and accomplishing things on them. That felt good. After a royal lunch of Easy Mac and peanut butter on crackers (I'm really getting tired of only having a kitchen on the first floor), I headed off to the library for a while. Then I came back and watched Rushmore in honor of Emily, my Wes Anderson partner in crime.

Naturally, I greatly enjoyed it. I am a big fan of Wes Anderson. I didn't find Rushmore to be as polished or complete as The Royal Tenenbaums (one of my all-time favorites), but it was perhaps more coherent than The Life Aquatic.

I have discovered that the library has a copy of Spanglish. I plan on watching it tomorrow.

I was thinking today about how I often get asked the question, "How do you know so much about these bands I've never heard of?" Or, as I like to interpret that question, "How do you have such exceptional taste in music?" (I jest, I jest...sort of.)


So I've prepared "Sam's Guide to Becoming a Musical Snob."

Step 1: Visit web sites like Pitchfork and Paste to get the latest news on indie music. Also, listen to All Songs Considered.
Step 2: Get a subscription to eMusic. It's the indie version of iTunes music store - complete with no digital rights management (i.e. burn at will).
Step 3: Preview music found at Pitchfork, Paste, All Songs Considered, and eMusic using iTunes Music Store and the amazing Pandora.
Step 4: Download and enjoy said music.

Alternate Route:
Step 1: Get hip friends like Stevie and JT.
Step 2: Borrow music from them as if someone told you they would eat all of your favorite food in the world within the next week if you didn't.
Step 3: Legally acquire said music via eMusic after discovering what you like.

Update: I spent a healthy portion of today editing photos from my trip to Chicago. They are now available on fbook (consider it stolen, Emily and Michelle). For those of you who aren't on the necessary networking evil (NNE I like to call it), I will be posting photos on my .Mac page soon.

Peace,
Sam
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Happy 4th?

Okay, technically it's the 5th now. And all you're getting in the following post are mundane details about my life.

So this was by far the strangest Fourth of July I've experienced. It is the first major holiday that I've experienced alone - no family, and no friends who have known me for longer than two weeks. Needless to say, it wasn't a fantastic day. However, I did talk to several family members for a while, and I watched Punch-Drunk Love. It's a bizarre but interesting movie. I borrowed it from a friend from church who recommended it as his "second favorite Adam Sandler movie, the first being Spanglish." Of course, this means I need to track down Spanglish. My favorite part of the movie:

RECEPTION WOMAN: Are you Barry?
BARRY: Yes.
RECEPTION WOMAN: It's for you.
[Barry walks towards the phone]
BARRY: This is Barry.
LENA: This is Lena.
BARRY: Hi.
LENA: I just wanted you to know, wherever you're going or whatever you're doing right now I want you to know that I wanted to kiss you just then.
BARRY: Really?
LENA: Yeah.

So yeah, good movie. Reminded me of Eternal Sunshine. It was kind of a poor choice to watch alone, though. Oh well.

Emily left me a great message. She was sang part of the national anthem, and then read my mind: "No, I have not been drinking." Fantastic. Hurray for Emily.

I bought tickets to the Pitchfork Music Festival. I'm pretty stoked. I'm not sure how I'm getting there or who I'm going with, but it doesn't matter. I will see Destroyer, Spoon, and Yo La Tengo (among others). Fantastic.

In other news, I made two new music purchases today:

•The New Underoath CD
•The New Camera Obscura CD

I also watched X2 with JB (my roommate) and Pat (my roommate's friend). It was way better than the first one.

Final bit of information: I picked up The Short Stories of Heinrich Böll from the library per the recommendation of my good friend Stevie. The stories are amazing. They are like literary fireflies: short, but vivid and compelling. Böll won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1972. You can read more about him here.

Speaking of which, I saw more fireflies in Chicago. Sarah (Katie's roommate) picked one up and we looked at it for a while. Fascinating, magical creatures. Why did God create them? Just so we could enjoy them on a summer stroll through Hyde Park?

So, technically I should have written something profound and lengthy about the troubles with America in response to the patriotic frenzy of Independence Day. However, I'm tired, so I think I will instead provide you with the following assignment:

1. Go to JT's MySpace.
2. Listen to "The United Stench of America."
3. Marvel at the beauty of JT's voice.
4. Enjoy the lyrics, especially the end. It pretty much sums up how I feel.
5. Tell JT how much you love him.

Good night. Hopefully you'll hear something more profound from me later.

Peace,
Sam
P.S. The Chicago pictures are getting edited, slowly but surely. They'll be up soon.
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I fell in love again.

Well, I'm back from Chicago. It was excellent. Here is the play-by-play (though I will try to keep it readable):

Friday
I took a cab at about noon, got on the 1:02 South Shore train, and proceeded to listen to Sufjan Stevens while reading the rest of Good News About Injustice. We had a bit of a delay somewhere, but it was fine. I finished GNAI (it was excellent) and put on "Chicago" right as I stepped off the train into Hyde Park. Katie came and met me and we headed to her place. She took me on a tour of University of Chicago, which was very nice. After that, we just chilled at her house for a while, and then headed out with her roommates (Sarah and Hillary) to Devon St. It is the Indian/Pakistani/etc. area, which was quite an interesting experience. I've never been a minority before. Those few hours provided me with a lot of insight into the lives of quite a healthy portion of the country. We ate at a place called "The Taj Restaraunt." It was pretty good. We headed home (enjoying the night skyline of downtown Chicago on the way), and I just went to bed.

Saturday
We (Katie, her roommates, and I) got up relatively early and headed downtown to The Taste of Chicago Food Festival. It was incredible. In the midst of taking in the beauty of downtown Chicago, I also got to enjoy some delicious food. After that, Katie and Sarah (Hillary left on a trip) took me to Jamba Juice (smoothies) and then the Art Institute. It was amazing. I saw some of the most beautiful paintings. I realized that Renoir was an absolute genius. Amazing. We left there after a few hours and walked around more. Late in the afternoon, we headed back to Hyde Park. We grabbed some dinner at Potbelly (subs) and went to the campus movie theater to see this ridiculous movie from the 30s. After that, some of Katie's friends came over for a bit. Then it was bed time.

Sunday
After another semi-early wakeup, Katie took me to a café called Bonjour for some French Roast. Then we headed to Wicker Park, the hipster area of town. It was definitely one of my favorite trips. We went to a particularly fantastic used book store called Myopic Books, where I purchased a really cool anthology of American poetry. Oddly enough, the folks at the bookstore had Sufjan's Illinois album playing. So I got to hear "Chicago" while in a hip bookstore in Wicker Park. How cool is that? We also went to an incredible music store that made me discontent beyond belief with Gainesville's music scene. I purchased an album by The Autumn Defense. They are a side project of one of the guys from Wilco. Then we went a place called Swank Franks (is that not awesome?) for some Chicago-style hot dogs. After a bit more walking around, we headed back to downtown Chicago for more exploring. It was a great time - I even got to see the buildings from the cover of Wilco's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. Then it was back to Hyde Park to get back on the train.

I took a ridiculous number of pictures over the weekend. Fear not - I will organize and edit them over the next couple of days for Facebookers and non-Facebookers alike.

Until then, sleep tight. More from me soon - this was a somewhat cursory glance at a massive amount of activity.

Peace,
Sam
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