QUARTER LIFE CRISIS

Last night, Erika and I headed downtown to see Minus the Bear, Paris, Texas and The Statistics. Doors opened at 8:00, but the show didn't start until around 9:15. The audience was primarily composed of hipster-clad scenesters worrying about when the next Yeah Yeah Yeah's album will be released. Mary-Janes, rolled jeans, paper boy hats and Parliament cigarettes - these are a few of my favorite cliches.

In an effort to not slander any one person's (or band's) work, I have decided to post anonymous reviews. Band #1 was extremely talented. They seemed to have a tight cohesion that most bands only find after playing together for years. The timing and layering involved in their music was amazing. It's not hard to produce a studio album that is comprised of piles of layering, it's another thing to actually execute that layering at a live venue. Band #2 featured a lead singer with a great personality that translated through the microphone and to the audience. While I enjoyed their set, side projects of semi-popular indie band lead singers don't usually tickle my fancy. Finally, band #3 was simply over the top and ridiculous. Enough said.

Half way through the opening band's set, Erika noticed that one of our friends had come in to the venue. It has been a long time since I've spent time with this friend, so it was great to see him. He is a great guy that has a lot of intelligence and creativity to offer. Spending time with him helps me feel alive.

As the night progressed, we talked about his recent trip to Israel. What is the first thing that you think of when you hear Israel? Palestine? Syria? I always think of violence and unrest. Sage Francis says that the media has some involvement with the way I think of that region of the world.

"...while a camera man creates news and shoves it down our throats on the West Bank, with a 10 second clip put on constant loop to provoke US angst."

While I do believe the media plays a role in how we view that part of the world, my friend presented an opposing view. He painted the picture of a place where Biblical "stories" actually happened. He told us about his group jumping off of a 9 meter barge into the sea of Galilee in the middle of the night . Wow. Christ walked on the water there.

As my friend continued, his tone became a bit more serious. During his trip, he visited a group of underground Jews that are attempting to rebuild the 3rd temple. This led to a discussion about Jews returning to Israel after the temple is built so that they can be atoned for their sins. My mind began to wander and the conversation came to a close shortly after. It was at this moment, with music blasting from the stage and the smoke burning my eyes, I realized that tomorrow I would be 25. No, it was not the first time I realized that my birthday was coming soon, but it was the first time that I began to process what that meant (if anything).

Car insurance costs go down. Renting a car is no longer a problem. In this country, these are the typical things that are associated with the age of 25. The first thing that I associated with the age of 25 was insignificants. Perhaps I felt foolish for watching some rock bands play while there are people on the other side of the earth fulfilling history (prophecy?). Perhaps the cards that I have played thus far in life have amounted to nothing more than a pair of duces. I suppose that I could get fired up and tell you that this year will be different. This year will be BIG and I am ready to take control of my destiny. I could, but that would be a lie.

25 means that I can serve more people. 25 means that I can understand myself better. 25 means I get to grow closer to the one that I love. 25 means I can begin to grasp what it means to be a man. 25 means I can reach out to the marginalized. 25 means I can love.

While I write this, I'm still wrestling with my significants in this world. Without reading a formula-turned-book, I realize that there is a purpose for my life. Obviously, I do not live up to that purpose everyday. I am simply strugling to understand the significants of that purpose in a world this big.

IVAN

Hit me baby one more time.

CAN I GET A WHAT-WHAT?

God uses messed up people, right?

I lead a Bible study. I never prepare for this Bible study sooner than the day of, usually on my lunch break. Today I grabbed a lunch at Firehouse Subs and headed out to the rear of Strang to eat whilst doing my study. I encountered the picnic table laying on the ground upside-down. This was doubtless a Hurricane Francis precaution. I set down my study materials and lunch on the ground and heaved the table right-side-up. It was covered with leaves and dirt and lizards, which I brushed off as much as I could, and I commenced my eating/studying.

The wind was fairly gusty and was working on pitching my lunch bag off the table, so I set my large lemonade upon it to secure it. I struggled to eat, keep the pages of my study guide and Bible flat, and ward off bugs and spiders. Meanwhile, I couldn't help but notice that I was growing pretty hot and sweaty.

Suddenly, a large gust of wind picked up one end of the bag, lifting my drink from its station and pitching it all over my pants.

At this point, a stream of profanities left my lips.

Disgusted, I recovered some napkins and did a half-assed job of cleaning up my spill, only mildly appreciating the fact that the stream of liquid avoided my books and sandwhich. I trudged back inside wondering if there are other Bible study leaders out there who prepare last minute and then let out a string of curse words at innocent gusts of wind. Probably not.

COBB MOUNTAIN

I spent last week on Cobb Mountain, CA, with my sister, Alyssa. She leaves today, and though her summer was filled with a fair amount of drama and menial labor, I'm sure it'll be difficult for her to leave. It was her home for the summer. It was my home for one week, and it was sad for me to leave. Where is it? Well, if you drive to the very northern point of Wine Country in northern California, up through Napa and Sonoma Counties into Lake County, and then you keep on driving, past the bed & breakfast town of Calistoga, up, up, up into the mountains, past a couple little mountain villages and rustic resorts, until you are the furthest away from civilization that you could possibly get. Then you pull into Pine Grove Resort and Spa on Cobb Mountain, which is a very fancy name for a place that consists of a pool, some half-finished cabins and a pile of ecclectically decorated trailers.

Oh, there's also a "general store," a bingo hall and "The Grill," where you can get hamburgers, hot dogs and ice cream cones.

But despite its humble accomodations, it was the perfect place to get away for a week and spend some time journaling, laying out and conversing endlessly with my sister, who I miss very much. We cooked dinner in her dumpy cabin, we hiked around the camp, and we piled on my bed to watch Young Guns on a laptop computer. There were no cell phones, no TV, no housing developments, no chain restaurants or strip malls. Just clean, dry air and a sky full of one trazillion stars. The mountains in California are yellow because there is no rain in the summer, and they are covered with low bushes and thin trees with red bark. We hiked to a series of waterfalls that are where God must hang out when He takes a break from keeping everything together. I wish I had a digital camera so you could see my pictures. I sound like I'm romanticizing, but everything I saw really was a world away from everything I've known.

I also visited wineries - stone buildings, gardens, rows and rows of vines across mountain faces, fountains and the peppery flush of red wine (I now know how to properly taste it). I spent a night in Chico, CA, to see Pedro the Lion play and slept on the couch of a man by the legal name of DNA. I hoofed across San Francisco with my good friend Geoff and pretended to be a photographer. Yes, I did see the Bush Man.

My objectives for this vacation were to rest, to spend meaningful time with my sister and to have adventures. Check, check and check. Vacations are interesting; you go to somewhere totally foreign to get away from everything you know, and you're glad to be away, but you also miss the familiar. Being close to Alyssa, though, I really didn't feel too far from home. By the end of the week, I was ready to get back to (hurricane-stricken) Orlando (mostly to see my true love), but being back is tough. I miss not having expectations piled on my shoulders. I miss the total lack of to-do lists. I miss the sun and adequate sleep and time to write for as long as I want to. Speaking of which, my lunch hour is almost over, so I'd better wrap this up.

I did vow to bring more creativity and rest into my regular schedule. There's no reason for us to be killing ourselves every day trying to do it all. I'm convinced that happiness lies somewhere in the balance of hard work and time to rest and express ourselves with people we love.