Friday, November 14, 2008
Thursday, November 13, 2008
support zim tonight
Tonight from 7 to 9 p.m., Vital Connections is hosting a Celebration and Silent Auction to raise awareness and support for Zimbabwe. It'll also be the official launch of the Zim Worship Project, the 16-track CD we recorded in April.
Zim Worship Project: Official Trailer from Vital Connections on Vimeo.
All proceeds from CD sales will go directly to orphans in Zim.
Tickets are $20.
There's stuff up for auction.
Mosiac Space
25 South Division Ave #225
Grand Rapids, MI 49503
See you tonight!
Visit www.helpzimnow.com for more information on VC.
Zim Worship Project: Official Trailer from Vital Connections on Vimeo.
All proceeds from CD sales will go directly to orphans in Zim.
Tickets are $20.
There's stuff up for auction.
Mosiac Space
25 South Division Ave #225
Grand Rapids, MI 49503
See you tonight!
Visit www.helpzimnow.com for more information on VC.
Friday, November 07, 2008
november ride
I'd heard about Lake Michigan surfers before. Then I met electric Emily, who spent five years surfing in California before coming back to the people under the bridge.
This afternoon, she heard waves were out at Holland State park, so we headed west, surfboard strapped to the roof of her Lumina. Trees barren or bursting with color. It was 50 degrees out. Surfing in Michigan? In November? Really?
"This is my first documentary," she says, as I'm rolling video. Can't miss this.
We arrived and crammed into the wetsuits under towels (not as fluid as it sounds) in the parking lot with her other surfer friend, who thankfully let me borrow his extra wet suit hat. Emily had never surfed Lake Michigan, so I stayed back on the beach to absorb her wisdom and roll footage.
She rocked it. It was like riding a bike for her. She gracefully rode three long waves right away, flashing the peace sign before coming back in to fetch me. "I've never taught anyone who hasn't stood up," she says.
California girls. Did I mention she's battling a cold?
Talk about pressure. Your sick girlfriend just dominated Lake Michigan and you don't know what you're doing, only that you're wearing her extra wetsuit, and it's really tight. Really tight.
Emily tells me to stand with my legs at shoulder width, pushes me, calls me "goofy" (footed) and gives me a quick surfing lesson on the beach. We wade out in the great lake, dodging waves, my ankle strapped to the board, not knowing what to expect.
She tells me to get on the board, with my "chin by the marker" and points me in the right direction, her hand holding onto the tail. The waves start crashing.
Then she shoves me off and yells at me to start paddling when the right wave comes.
First try. Failure. Bail. Felt good though.
Second wave. We're moving. I try to stand up. Semi-success.
What!?
I'm in shock. I'm standing on a surf board, actually riding a wave without falling.
When I look back, her hands are in the air. I return the gesture. Air pumps.
Then I fall and it's over. But it felt amazing. Makes you want more.
"Second time," she says, smiling. Great teacher. Lucky student.
Third wave. Disaster.
I'm satisfied and quit before something breaks. I give her the gloves back, she grabs the key from the back of my (her) wetsuit and tells me to run to the car to change, while she wades out into the lake for another round.
We celebrated her first Great Lakes ride and my first ever surf by eating too much Mexican food at Tres Lobos.
It was delicious; and all is well.
This afternoon, she heard waves were out at Holland State park, so we headed west, surfboard strapped to the roof of her Lumina. Trees barren or bursting with color. It was 50 degrees out. Surfing in Michigan? In November? Really?
"This is my first documentary," she says, as I'm rolling video. Can't miss this.
We arrived and crammed into the wetsuits under towels (not as fluid as it sounds) in the parking lot with her other surfer friend, who thankfully let me borrow his extra wet suit hat. Emily had never surfed Lake Michigan, so I stayed back on the beach to absorb her wisdom and roll footage.
She rocked it. It was like riding a bike for her. She gracefully rode three long waves right away, flashing the peace sign before coming back in to fetch me. "I've never taught anyone who hasn't stood up," she says.
California girls. Did I mention she's battling a cold?
Talk about pressure. Your sick girlfriend just dominated Lake Michigan and you don't know what you're doing, only that you're wearing her extra wetsuit, and it's really tight. Really tight.
Emily tells me to stand with my legs at shoulder width, pushes me, calls me "goofy" (footed) and gives me a quick surfing lesson on the beach. We wade out in the great lake, dodging waves, my ankle strapped to the board, not knowing what to expect.
She tells me to get on the board, with my "chin by the marker" and points me in the right direction, her hand holding onto the tail. The waves start crashing.
Then she shoves me off and yells at me to start paddling when the right wave comes.
First try. Failure. Bail. Felt good though.
Second wave. We're moving. I try to stand up. Semi-success.
What!?
I'm in shock. I'm standing on a surf board, actually riding a wave without falling.
When I look back, her hands are in the air. I return the gesture. Air pumps.
Then I fall and it's over. But it felt amazing. Makes you want more.
"Second time," she says, smiling. Great teacher. Lucky student.
Third wave. Disaster.
I'm satisfied and quit before something breaks. I give her the gloves back, she grabs the key from the back of my (her) wetsuit and tells me to run to the car to change, while she wades out into the lake for another round.
We celebrated her first Great Lakes ride and my first ever surf by eating too much Mexican food at Tres Lobos.
It was delicious; and all is well.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
viva la vida
Every 13 years or so, someone does something that flattens me. Last night, electric Emily picks me up at "4:30 sharp" for an engagement party in Ann Arbor. "I don't even know how to get to Ann Arbor," I tell her as we're nearing the freeway, still a bit frustrated from the day.
She's driving and looking at directions; I ask if she needs help.
She declines. "I got it."
As we're about to get onto the freeway, she hands me two tickets.
They say "Coldplay."
"Who went?" I ask, confused, curious.
"Nobody yet," she says, HUGE smile.
I look again:
November 3.
7:30 p.m.
The Palace of Auburn Hills.
At some point in the next 30 seconds, I begin to realize she punked me in the best way possible.
"No. You're not serious," I say, followed by a series of shock and awe stutters.
(She has this habit of stealing fluid language from my mouth.)
"Yes. I'm serious," she says. A surprise trip to Coldplay in Detroit for the Viva la Vida tour?
"You're crazy," I say. Wow. She was serious. This serious:
Serious enough to fabricate a story about her friend's fake fiance and ask me before if I like avocados and hummus for the amazing sandwiches and snacks neatly stored in the back seat.
Well into the morning after, I'm still in this "I-can't-believe-you-did-it-stage," but I realized during the show there's no reason, no earning, no scales, no paybacks; she did it because it's her nature to be giving and generous. It's an experience I'm grateful for.
The show was the best either of us has seen.
If the Palace wasn't sold out, it was about ten seats shy.
As she would say, "It was bomb."
The boys from Britain opened the concert as they open their album, plus explosions, laser beams, video, a tight stage and 15,000 people. They played almost the entire Viva la Vida album, including favorites "Lovers in Japan," "Strawberry Swing," "Lost" and "Viva la Vida" (Emily almost lost it here):
I also experienced a spiritual moment that's locked away in "Death and All His Friends," as confetti fell from the rafters.
At one point, they ran into the stands, where two acoustics, a mandolin and harmonica were waiting, and they serenaded us with "The Scientist." A quick shout out for rocking the mandolin, making Courier appear way hipper. (Here's a video from someone at the show):
My respect level for them as musicians and performers rose dramatically. They were spot on. At one point, Chris Martin messed up, laughed and moved on, proving they're only human.
They also played "Fix You," a personal favorite, and a fast-paced "Yellow" for the encore.
In the end, electric Emily got me good. Thank you. I don't know what else to say.
She's driving and looking at directions; I ask if she needs help.
She declines. "I got it."
As we're about to get onto the freeway, she hands me two tickets.
They say "Coldplay."
"Who went?" I ask, confused, curious.
"Nobody yet," she says, HUGE smile.
I look again:
November 3.
7:30 p.m.
The Palace of Auburn Hills.
At some point in the next 30 seconds, I begin to realize she punked me in the best way possible.
"No. You're not serious," I say, followed by a series of shock and awe stutters.
(She has this habit of stealing fluid language from my mouth.)
"Yes. I'm serious," she says. A surprise trip to Coldplay in Detroit for the Viva la Vida tour?
"You're crazy," I say. Wow. She was serious. This serious:
Serious enough to fabricate a story about her friend's fake fiance and ask me before if I like avocados and hummus for the amazing sandwiches and snacks neatly stored in the back seat.Well into the morning after, I'm still in this "I-can't-believe-you-did-it-stage," but I realized during the show there's no reason, no earning, no scales, no paybacks; she did it because it's her nature to be giving and generous. It's an experience I'm grateful for.
The show was the best either of us has seen.
If the Palace wasn't sold out, it was about ten seats shy.
As she would say, "It was bomb."
The boys from Britain opened the concert as they open their album, plus explosions, laser beams, video, a tight stage and 15,000 people. They played almost the entire Viva la Vida album, including favorites "Lovers in Japan," "Strawberry Swing," "Lost" and "Viva la Vida" (Emily almost lost it here):I also experienced a spiritual moment that's locked away in "Death and All His Friends," as confetti fell from the rafters.
At one point, they ran into the stands, where two acoustics, a mandolin and harmonica were waiting, and they serenaded us with "The Scientist." A quick shout out for rocking the mandolin, making Courier appear way hipper. (Here's a video from someone at the show):My respect level for them as musicians and performers rose dramatically. They were spot on. At one point, Chris Martin messed up, laughed and moved on, proving they're only human.
They also played "Fix You," a personal favorite, and a fast-paced "Yellow" for the encore.
In the end, electric Emily got me good. Thank you. I don't know what else to say.
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