January 20, 2008

My ears are ringing from a sonic overload. I just went to a concert. My brain feels like its on a bit of an overload too. When I was little, I knew these two guys, Tim and Peter. They were in a ska band called What About Jimbo. They used to cover old Supertones and Hippos songs. They were such a crappy band, and that only made them more awesome. We were in high school. I was really into Star Trek and Mystery Science Theater 3000. Peter and Tim's band broke up, and they formed another one. A rock band this time, and they called themselves Say No More. While that was happening, I decided I wanted to either make movies or be a youth pastor. Oh yeah, and I figured out that you could abbreviate Mystery Science Theater 3000 by calling it MST3K. My world was opening up. So, it's five years later, and I see Tim and Peter again. Their band got a record deal, and they were playing a show in Fullerton. We're a sight after five years, the three of us. Peter, Tim, John and Pete (The rest of the band) have these crazy haircuts with all kinds of angles and colors and stuff. Their website has all these professional pictures of them. They look like all of those other bands you see on the Internet and TV. I guess I never really thought about any of those people going to High School and having friends that are really into Star Trek like everyone else. Then there's me. I've changed too. My hair is cut short, and I lost a lot of weight, there's a circular piece of metal shoved through my lower lip, and I'm wearing my Compton shirt that I made from my summer at LAUP. I'm wearing a lot on the inside from LAUP too. My insides have changed a lot. I don't really care if these guys think I'm a dork anymore (that was something I worried about a lot in High School). Judging from how happy they were to see me, and the all embracing hugs I got from each of them, I guess that wasn't ever something worth about (if anything ever is). I'm not the same guy that I was when I knew them. I suppose I look the same, and talk the same, and make the same jokes (they used to be a shield, but now they're a weapon) but I'm surprised sometimes when people from high school recognize me. I hardly ever recognize myself. I like not recognizing myself. Five years can do so much. I'm so much happier now than I was in high school. It makes me smile to think what five more could do. But I do miss my friends. I wish they all could see what God did for me, instead of that self doubting, depressed, crying mess that I was when we knew each other well. There's this thing about Peter when he plays the guitar that gives me hope. Hope that maybe somehow, my friends know that I'm doing all right (better than, actually). Peter was twelve years old tonight. I mean when he was playing his guitar, there was this smile on his face that I remember from his twelfth birthday when he and his friend Joey got their first electric guitars. They were up in Joey's room, playing Five Iron Frenzy riffs and dreaming of being rock stars. I don't think Joey ever became a rock star, but that smile that was just exploding off of Peter's face was telling me something tonight. He was singing along with all the words to his songs, even though he wasn't supposed to sing. Seriously. I've heard him sing. He's the only one in the band who doesn't sing. So happy. This is what he dreamed about in Joey's room when we were twelve. Of course some dreams die (Joey's real name is Frank, and I think he's doing some sort of office work now) but there's still that stupid, frustrating hope that the thing that you want most in the world can happen for you. All my dreams in High school were nightmares. I wanted to kill myself in high school. Why? The world is so beautiful, even with all the pain and suffering. I didn't really want to make films until college. I remember my dream from high school. I'd go to my room, put on my music, and cry because I felt so alone, and unfulfilled. The entire world scared me, angered me, and brought me further into the depths of depression, so deep that I often forgot how I got there. I just wanted to be happy. That was my dream. I realized something last night. My life has gotten harder since high school. I have more tough decisions, bigger responsibilities, and some pretty crazy worries and fears, but I'm happy. I'm happy. The dream, like the smile on my friend's face, brought back like ska riffs in a sweaty church youth room on a Saturday night. It's familiar. This isn't even the first time anymore. I'm happy. I don't really get to see my friends anymore, and that doesn't make me very happy, but I'm glad that they get to be together all the time. I know that they take care of each other, and that will have to do for now. I just want the world to see Peter smiling on the stage, and know that sometimes we don't have to let go of our dreams. And I want my friends to know that I'm all right. All right is an understatement. I'm all right and Peter sort of likes playing guitar in a rock band.