mystic named merton

i read a book by a mystic named merton

he wrote of Spirit and Truth

and told tales of adam

the Way it once was

in the beginning

and how it could be

would be

will be

is

er-spri

Michigan's fifth-season of 'Er-spri' is the mystical, glorious, terrible, beautiful, ugly, simultaneous end of winter and beginning of spring.

'Er-spri' is a frustrating time.

While the bitter sting of 'Wint' is long-gone, the melancholy final gasps of 'Er' haunt us on days like these, when we awake for our morning coffee and discover snow on the lawn.

Last week, the heat was off, I was breathing heavy on a mountain bike in the woods, enjoying the mild 70 degree days, wearing shorts and eating dinner on the back porch with friends.

Yesterday, the morning showered us with a fury of a storm, freeze-wrapping our houses and forcing us to turn the heat back on. Then, magically, the temperature escalated to a welcomed 68 degree afternoon, before turning around to hammer us with a thunderstorm night cap and snowy morning surprise.

But, I digress. The weather could always be worse.

I saw snowbanks in June here.

a night at the sufjan

An elaborate story of burning garbage outside a trailer. Seven Swans. A lengthy road trip. Jacksonville. Flying Superman blow-up dolls morphed into beach balls and party favors. Psychedelic filmstrips and people running forwards and backwards. Chicago.

I witnessed Sufjan Stevens and his nine friends perform this evening (well, technically, since its past midnight, it was last night).

As I sat in my seat, I thought, “How can you share words about that which leaves you speechless?” For much of the concert, I had little to say, nothing to add, only the occasional “Wow” and clapping of hands. All I was left with was the realization that I wouldn’t be able to hack it as a member of Sufjan’s blessed-musical-OCD-wonderland, but I’m glad Sufjan and the other nine can.

Wise men tell us that there is nothing new under the sun, but Sufjan has discovered how to tell old stories in new ways. The music is unmethodically tight and complex. The storytelling is unusual and entertaining. The video is a welcome additive. The costumes are wildly eccentric. Sufjan is an experience.

However, what I love most about Sufjan is how he’s created a place where those who may have once been social outcasts—the band geeks*, the eccentric guitar player, the kid who was once afraid of everything—can be rock stars.

C’mon, feel the noise.

Sufjan = magician.

Amen.

*(Band geeks, please relax, I’m a marching band veteran: cornet class of 2000.)

on waiting

"I must be getting old, because I can actually take it easy."

-Dan, on waiting for me to catch up on the first mountain bike ride of the season

introvert @ unsuccessful smoozing function

dressed in black like johnny cash
i walk the line and know who i am

they don’t know me
i don’t know them

so-i

pass the wine girl
no time for a buzz

mosey the room
while city photos
melt in my mind

dance, puppet, act!!: interested, sophisticated, cultured, not scared

lonely business cards
trapped in my pocket

soon you realize
they don’t care
not about you
or what you do

they’re ridin’ high-society
beamers, porsche’s, humvee’s

while you pray your old v-dub: rusted, rugged, stalling, stalled

will make it back home
where you are safe

and they leave you alone

violence; cross

siren; screams
violence; streets
silent; prayers

innocent blood
shed or spared?

age to age

the Innocent pay
the earth shakes
the temple breaks

rebuilt; rejected stone

cornered with Love
upside-down justice

die; live
fall; rise
give; take
turn; cheek

compassion; repentance

Love itself has
captured us
rescued us
restored us

to innocence

a weekend at a women's expo

My Father has an arsenal of proverbial sayings that could house its own library.

One of said sayings is, “All education costs something.” After spending 25 hours and an entire weekend exhibiting at the “Women’s Expo/Bridal Show,” I could pen a few chapters to add to my own library.

The ability to witness thousands of women scamper around a giant bio-dome-like warehouse shopping for everything from wedding videos (which is why we were exhibiting) to herbal medicine to Social Security booths….was…priceless.

Top 5 Lessons for Man at a Women’s Expo

#1: The striking resemblance of a Women’s Expo to a carnival, except filled with beautiful women instead of a Gravitron and stuffed animals.

As a teen, I always loved going to carnivals to mess with the vendors, including the time my friend grabbed me by the throat and pointed his giant-ping-pong gun at my skull, to which the attendee responded with the righteous anger of many storms, yelling something unspeakably explicit that mentioned Vietnam.

We scattered, quickly.

Unfortunately, we created no precious memories like that for any attendees this weekend, but as vendors, we experienced the same type of camaraderie with our fellow booth-dwellers as carni-folk experience year-round—without resorting to Marlboro Reds and Elephant Ears. I discovered many lessons in community.

#2: There is something fishy in Dead Sea salt

After 18 hours of standing across the aisle from a women’s spa exhibit, I finally caved and tried the “hand treatment” the ladies had been pimping, after Tingley told me he did it while I was away in the throne-room.

I walked across the aisle to smiling ladies and asked them what I was about to partake in. “This has salt from the Dead Sea in it,” they told me, as they glopped the orangish-cement-like mixture into my outstretched hands and told me to rub.

I remembered a documentary on the Dead Sea; people nearly float nearly on top of it due to the salt concentration and plaster their bodies with its mud. The Holy Land is one of the places I’d like to visit someday. I’ll admit—the spa ladies made me a believer in their mystical goo—it was strange, but somehow pleasant.

#3: Women love shopping

There is no earth-shaking revelation needed to confirm that women love shopping—my mother demonstrated this on Black Friday when she would scurry out of the house at ungodly early hours to catch clearance sales of sweaters and bread-makers. I don’t think it’s so much the stuff, shopping is a bonding experience for women.

In fact, this weekend, women even had to pay a fee to enter a warehouse to shop for stuff, and the line was enormous—the masses could’ve easily destroyed the Berlin Wall. Not since I made the error of entering a mall days before Christmas have I witnessed this intense passion for shopping.

I would take breaks and walk through the aisles attentively, watching all the action and commotion around us. It was fascinating. I wished I had taken a camera and filmed a documentary instead of slanging wedding videos.

#4: You are not selling what you think you’re selling.

Bobby Cheeks, our #1 extroverted sales associate, came down on Saturday afternoon to help spice things up. When our video pitch grew stale, he began to ask women if they wanted to purchase “Time Capsules.” Brilliant!

If we were selling to men, they would certainly want to know what type of video equipment and technology we were using, but Cheeks reminded us that we were selling memories. Thankfully, my partner’s wife joined us today to add the much-needed feminine touch to our wall of testosterone.

We were also stationed next to a DJ, so Bobby Cheeks put on the dancing shoes in our booth, even busting out the moonwalk for the ladies—a nice addition.

#5: Man law still holds firm in a warehouse full of shopping women

Perhaps Miller Lite should consider creating a Man Law stating that is okay to attend a Women’s/Bridal Expo as long as 1) you are an exhibitor, or 2) attending for the benefit of a loved one (wife, girlfriend, daughter, friend, etc).

We met and talked to many fathers of the brides, fiancés and husbands who were brought along to the show. There seemed to be an unspoken understanding between the men at the Expo that although we were fiercely outnumbered, we were learning a lot, taking a lot of mental notes, and holding strong in the heat of battle.

While most of the men attended out of love for their women, it is safe to say that most of them were relieved to exit the show—the intangible life lessons are worth their weight in, ah, Dead Sea salt.

whitewash

It Was a Bad Apple

Today's post from my business blog:

Today we celebrated Christmas in March at Creo Productions.

The postal stork delivered our latest tech-baby, a 17-inch Apple MacBook Pro, fully-equipped with the Intel Core Duo 2 processor—in slightly-less nerdy terms, we landed the best laptop for our industry.

The MacBook Pro is powerful enough to run Final Cut Studio on the fly, giving us the freedom to import and edit footage on the road, airborne, sailing at sea, or stationed at our favorite caffeine saloons.

We have big plans for our extra editing mobility...among other benefits, the 24 hour film festival is coming. However, when we opened the package, we discovered the computer was damaged. We called Apple like it was 911, and they quickly responded to our cry: A new laptop will be here by the end of the week.

sunday coffee with solomon

The morning of the Sabbath, hot coffee, no agenda, mind and heart set like a sponge. Stamped inside a life-giving book rests a book about life, death, and the tension therein.

The Sabbath is reserved for matters other than business, but Jesus healed then, too, and today he chooses word and Spirit.

At first glance, the word is riddled with contradictions, but the great magician slowly reveals his secrets. The audience of one applauds, stands in awe, then falls prostrate in fear, as properly instructed by the king. And he senses great meaning behind the meaningless.

chase all your romances,
while you can,
soon, we’ll be old,
going alone,
locked in our minds of regret,
how could I ever forget?

listen my friends,
listen my friends,
before you go on chasing,
these futile things,
diamonds and rings,
leave you restless, wishing,

you worked a bit less,
loved a bit more,
spent your time where life is,
the moth and the rust,
are bent to destroy,
all you worked for,

leave you,
empty,
wishing,
waiting,
gone.

booked

24 was the year I went from publicist to book critic and reviewed a book I'd previously promoted. It was the year I read a book about cynicism but remained (optimistically) cynical. It was the year I struggled with prayer and read a book called Prayer but still fell short, then realized I only needed to fall to my knees.

let us play

There is a game you should try:

1. Gather 4+ friends.

2. Slice up a ton of little sheets of paper (recommend size: 3 x 3).

3. Distribute paper: Each player receives the number of sheets equal to the number of players.

4. Every player writes a goofy phrase, such as, "Scientists prove halitosis can melt Nalgene bottles," or "Three-legged dog signs treaty with three blind mice." It can be a noun, a short story, a cliche, a fortune cookie proverb—rules are non-existent.

5. Every player passes his or her sentence to his or her neighbor to the right.

6. The neighbor must now draw a picture of the sentence he or she received.

7. The neighbor places the sentence face down, and the picture on top, and passes the stack to the right.

8. The neighbor then writes a sentence describing the picture they received.

9. The cycle continues all the way through (picture, sentence, etc).

10. After the last round round, players pass his or her stack to the right, back to the original owner.

11. The owner then takes the group through the evolution of the project in order.

12. Laugh heartily at the results. It is breathtaking. Repeat as necessary.