Birds On The Brain

Last night I went to an open mic night.

Not my open mic night. Someone else's.

See, I met this guy two weeks ago who said he could hook me up with a venue in Santa Ana so that I could have a fundraiser for my movie that I have to make this year to prove that I'm not a failure. I can't remember who I am trying to prove this to, but it's important nonetheless.

This guy said he was going to the open mic night at The Gypsy Den in Santa Ana. I'm decide that I'll go too, since I want to network with him and the circle of artists he knows along with the ones I know... I'm not really sure if that's something I care about or if it's something I know I'm supposed to care about so I fake it when I'm around people who do.

Doesn't matter. I'm here.

And he's...

...not.

I don't think there's such a thing as wasting your time (with the exception of most things you can do on the internet). I think that if you're paying attention, something cool can always happen. God does stuff like that. Plus, the guy that runs the event says that if he can get through 25 people on the list, he'll let me read. Alright, I'm staying.

I'm working on a collection of children's poems, in the only way I know how to work on a collection of children's poems: By NOT working on a collection of children's poems. Although, if you were to ask me what I was doing, I would say that I was working on a collection of children's poems. In fact, that's what the girl sitting next to me asked, and that's what I told her.

I was doodling.

I feel like I might have met someone like her before. She reminds me of one of my sisters. Not any one in particular, just that she had a look, a manner of speaking and dressing herself that reminded me of the four intelligent, capable women that I have come to spend most of my time thinking about and interacting with. That's probably why we ended up talking so candidly. She came by herself, and so did I, and since the place was crowded, we elected to sit together.

The funny thing is, she had almost no interest in my poems. She kept staring at the picture I was drawing. I was drawing a lot of birds. Don't know why. A few of my good friends are afraid of birds. I think that makes birds even more interesting. It's not like they mean to frighten anyone...

We ended up talking about a lot of things, like why one should use a music stand, the existence of God, stage fright, and weather or not there was a long line in the bathroom. About 3/4 of the way though the set, she gets up, and begins one of the weirdest interactions I have had with a stranger in a long time.

"I have to go. But I think you should draw pictures for people."

"What?"

"I think you should draw pictures for people. I really do."

"Um... okay, I'll think about it."

"I'm serious."

"Yeah, okay."

"No, I'm really serious."

"Okay."

"I'm serious."

Then she walked away. This easily qualifies as my WTF moment of the month. If anything stranger than that happens in the next two weeks, I will let you know.

Does anybody have any idea what that could mean?

Tornadoes and Chicken Stock

Question: What happens when a poor post-college student who has survived for the past year on canned pinto beans and macaroni finally makes enough money at his job(s) to afford groceries?

Answer:

Be nice to me, my loyal reader(s). I have leftovers.

And perhaps jump to my defense against Sean, HyounJun, Jon, Jairus, and Peter, because it's 2:30 in the morning, and I'm totally not cleaning up the mess I made in the kitchen until tomorrow.

It's still raining down here. It hails sometimes, and it rains a lot. Everywhere I go in Orange county today, I see something flooding.

Sean said that this could be the beginning of Armageddon. I think that when Armageddon really does come, it won't take more than a couple of days of rain to wipe out the OC. We're pretty spoiled down here, so I figure... why waste the fire power?

It was funny to go to work during the tornado warning. Every adult in the school had this pale, dead look on their faces. Probably because they are responsible for the lives of so many little children. Not that they had to work so very hard to keep the children from worrying...

I remember Yessica. Six years old with a smile that pushed the boundaries of her ears. She was spinning around, dancing in the rain. She twirled in small circles with her fingers up in the air as the weather could not even hold its sour expression for long after meeting her. The rain began to cease. The sun began to shine.

"Everyone today is scared, but I wasn't scared."

"That's good, to not be scared."

"Mr. Stephen, do you know who Dios is? God?"

"Yes I do."

"I told him to stop the rain, so that no one would be scared anymore."

I guess all you have to do is ask.

She smiles and the sun shines. She talks to Dios, and He sweeps the storm clouds out of her way. Now I understand Why Jesus said that we had to be like children. Not because we need to think more simply, but because they understand something that we forget when we grow up. It is not easy to remain that way.

But it is possible to learn.

We were walking to the back of the school to wait for parents after tutoring let out for the day. She was walking far ahead. I moved quickly to catch up, the others trailing along beside me. She looked back, and quickened her pace, smiling. I moved faster as well. Those behind me followed suit.

Does anyone out there remember what it feels like to run as far as you can, as fast as you can, just because you can? I forgot what that was like. I got to remember, as we raced to the back fence, laughing and doing our best not to slip on the wet blacktop. Diego and Marian finally passed me up, right as we saw the fence, their faces red with the type of laughter that just barely escapes your cheeks when you breathe. They don't really speak English yet, those two. I think I will learn a lot from them this year. It makes sense. I've learned so much already.

Curl up with a hot bowl of soup this week, and think about what six years old feels like. Is it just me, or does being an adult sound like some sort of punishment we endure for doubting the source of the rain?

The Smell of Raindrops on Rooftops, Black Tops, High Tops

There's something about the smell of fresh bread baking in your oven while it's raining outside that makes it extremely satisfying to be alive.

It's raining in Orange County.

Real rain, like the kind that washed your car for you. Like the kind that makes your socks wet when you misjudge the depth of a puddle in front of the house.

My socks are wet.

It's raining.

I remember that I am now an adult, and that I am supposed to be very serious all the time, now that I can drive a car. I am supposed to watch television and movies to enjoy myself, because they provide a form of escape. I think I won't escape from today. I think that today I missed my cue to exit.

Happy Monday, world. You didn't get the best of me this time.

Intervention

I'm really supposed to be working on prepping my Sunday School lesson right now. I didn't remember that I was teaching until yesterday, and I couldn't pick up the materials from Sasha until this morning, and the first opportunity I have to be home is right now. 1:30 AM.

I've been working for the church for as long as I can remember. Not a bad working environment most of the time, but the hours are crazy and the pay is deferred. "your reward in Heaven is great", I believe it says on my contract.

Could I get just a little of it now?

They say that being an American with a college education gives you a lot of privilege these days, but I don't get why we should feel so privileged. We have all these things, but they don't make us happy.

They make us busy.

They make us forget God.

I don't really know what this post is about, and I really need to get back to work, but I also feel like I'm standing in my own way here. The thing that blocks me from Him

Is me.

How do I get out of my own way?

Primary, Secondary, Tertiary, Seminary

I've been waking up early lately.

I know it doesn't sound all that special, but I'm kind of proud of myself for it. In the past two years, I have had two jobs, neither of which has required me to be awake before 10:00 AM. My pattern has been, stay up until 2, wake up at 10. I guess I'm just not a morning person.

That's a weird phrase.

Morning Person.

Like you have to be a particular type of person to participate in a particular section of the day.

It's weird for me, too. To be up at this particular time in the morning, when I have nowhere to be for a good 3-4 hours.

I wonder how long I'll keep doing this. I mean, I hate to cut into my dream time. My dreams are pretty cool.

It's strange to see the world with so many different color schemes. I'm usually only paying attention at night. Nights are blue, and sometimes grey, and sometimes purple. Daytime is sometimes green , and sometimes white, and sometimes red. Mornings are yellow.

Kind of reminds me of Coldplay, even though I'm only a casual listener.

I'm becoming a casual morning person. Mornings are yellow. I am seeing the world in new colors.

I wonder if God exists in colors I have yet to see...

2938 Barrington Ct.

I'm moving again.

It's my birthday again.

I'm flat broke again.

I'm starting to become a person of tradition, I guess. A revolving door of activities from one year to the next. I'm packing up my things once more, with the hope that this time, this place, these people...

... Somehow life changes you, right?

Is all this stuff really mine? How did I keep all of this?

I think my parents were part squirrel. I think they raised me to store my nuts in the holes around all of the trees I've called home. It's a bigger tree this time, but it's still me that lives in it, and nothing will change me so very much. It's a slow progression, and despite what I would like to think, these last 25 years were not wasted on turning me into something that I will never become. I am, undoubtedly, going to be what I was always becoming. Who I was made to be.

I seriously need to have a garage sale.

The worst part of my identity is how elusive it has been. I think that's why I collect so many things that I don't really need. Or, maybe I do need them. Do I? I don't really know.

I've been collecting things over the last 5 years that I've lived on my own. "Just in case." Just in case I need them just in case I don't know anyone in the future that I can borrow one from, should the need arise, just in case I suddenly decide that my entire life is going to be about something that up until now I only did every once in a while. It's like I can't get rid of anything until I know my entire life story.

This year.

I'm going to figure you out, Stephen. I'm going to search for God, and find you in the process. This year marks the end of me floating by on top of a mess of decisions I never made, "just in case." This is the beginning of becoming.

Welcome 2010. I'm ready for you.

A Moment That Time Skipped By

It’s almost over.

11:00 December 25, 2009.

All of the secrets are unwrapped, and displayed on the inside of the house. I am outside, wondering what has happened to time.

It seems like this year went by so fast. I remember how it started. It was my birthday, as it often is. We were packing boxes up and pretending not to be sad about losing each other. I got a call from someone I thought I was in love with. It is now nearly a year from that day.

I’m not.

And Christmas has come and is nearly gone again. Time does not march.

It races.

All my energy has been spent trying to catch up with it, and now I realize that things must change. Here I am outside the house where I grew up. Outside in the cold. I hope, if it is cold enough, time will stop, and let me catch my breath. Catch it, and watch it pass from me like a vapor. In this small stretch of time we have, I hope that I am seen any bit as clearly. That is all we dare hope for. I couldn't ask for anything better than that.

But it’s Christmas, and I think I have had plenty of time to ask for things for myself.

My God, the stars.

I know it makes no difference to think, but I wonder what they looked like on the night He was born. I wonder how black the sky, how dark the clouds. Was there a moon?

Of course, there’s always a moon. Even if you can't see it, it's there.

I wonder what those two eyes, so close, and yet so far removed from humanity looked at that night. Did the sky acknowledge him, and welcome, or was he human in that strange way that we all are, where despite being under a canopy of stars, knit together by love, we can see nothing in them but ourselves?

I don’t know, and I think it’s beautiful that I don’t know.

You’re still out there.

You’re holding needle and yarn to this great canopy, and I can only see myself. What parts of me I can find, that is. Just this time, just this once, before you go, before time passes through me at that speed I’ve become so accustomed to, I want to ask you one thing.

Don’t go. I can almost see you.

I know it’s not really the right day, but happy birthday.