This is a pre-emptive post.

Robin texted me this afternoon letting me know that Gabe (her husband) was having a 'guy's night out', and was I busy? "I'm thinking this would be a perfect opportunity for Twilight, wine and cheese."

I adore this girl.

I've been telling her for the past year that she needs to see "Twilight", and being an intelligent, grown woman (sorry, serious fans) she's resisted.

"You don't get it." I told her. "We're not watching it because it's good. We're watching it because it's ridiculous. It's a two-bottles-of-wine movie. You drink one together before  the movie starts, then sip on the second while you watch, and the movie becomes GLORIOUS in its ridiculousness."

So she's apparently finally given in. We're each supplying a bottle of wine, and then we will eat cheese and good things, and laugh our faces off.

If you want to see my earlier thoughts on the movie, click here. 

I mean, he compares her to heroin, you guys. That's not a love affair. That's a recipe for homelessness and death.

Sometime, when you don't have better things to do and have your imbibement of choice handy, watch "Twilight". Skip "New Moon", though. It's boring.

A Single Man (2009)

I just came from seeing "A Single Man", for which Colin Firth and Julianne Moore both got Oscar nods (neither won).

The plot is basically this: It's 1964, and Firth, an English professor at a small college, is grieving the passing of his partner of 16 years. Moore is the best friend, and the two of them have a history as well. But, basically, it's a movie about grief.

Actually, it can be said better than that: the movie is about many things (being gay in 1964, for example), but it is really about this man moving through his grief: how he does it well, and how he maybe doesn't do it as well as he should.

And of course, Firth is amazing. I mean, come on. The man's a stud.

One of his students in the film is played by Nicholas Hoult, who most of us probably remember from "About a Boy" (2002). And he does a fine job, but the really remarkable thing is that, in seven years, Nicholas Hoult went from this:

to this:   

Yep. There's our boy Nick. 

So, see "A Single Man". It's well-done, it's stylistic, it's totally gorgeous, it's sad, and you'll get to sit there now going, I can't believe this is the same kid who sang "Killing Me Softly" for his mom at the school talent show. 

"I would like to preemptively apologize for whatever comes next."

Today, I did many things.

I had a job interview.

I had dinner with a friend I hadn't seen in six months.

And then I saw Birdemic: Shock and Terror. And it was all over.

Birdemic is a film made by a James Nguyen from San Jose. His budget was $10,000. The story is simple: A bunch of maniacal crows and eagles suddenly attack Half Moon Bay, killing the patrons. Oh, the shock. Oh, the terror. Right?

This movie got attention because it is so absolutely, completely horrible. There isn't a thing done well. To be honest, my brain is still recovering. It feels like oatmeal.

The highlight of the film is the killer birds, who are entirely computer generated, and made with the kind of technology that was outdated years and years ago. The images, superimposed on the film and observed crookedly by the actors, flap in place and then burst in crayon red when shot.

The director apparently took himself to Sundance, and passed out flyers hoping someone would pick it up. Someone did, and now it's being hailed as the new best worst film ever made, and a cult classic.

It's also playing for one more night at the Clinton Street Theatre in Portland. Originally, my friend and I were the only ones in the theater, and we were hollering at the screen in glee. Eventually, about six other people came in. We more or less continued to holler. Apologies. But seriously, when a movie's this crazily bad... I don't blame my friend for shouting, "This movie made it to Sundance!" at the screen. Among other things.

If I haven't convinced you to see it, watch the trailer.



You're welcome.

This movie gave me way too much to say.

I just finished watching the movie "Julie & Julia", after about a hundred recommendations from friends and loved ones ("It'll make you want to write a book!" "It'll make you want to eat a stick of butter!" "It'll make you want to move in with Meryl Streep and copy everything she does!"), and it is indeed very good, and if you haven't seen it yet, you should, even if you're a movie snob like me who usually stays away from popular films that aren't focused on death or post-apocalyptic slow-moving doom.

We all know that sometimes we read into things. In every experience, be it a painting, a hike, a conversation, or anything, someone can take from it a lesson or a message that may never have been the creator's original intent. And as I watched this movie, I kept seeing how much of both of these women's lives were, in a sense, about starts and stops.

Julia Child married late, faced opposition and negativity when she first entered cooking school, and had her landmark cookbook delayed and delayed and then rejected. By the time it was published, she was nearly 50 years old.

Julie Powell, the movie's other protagonist, is about to turn 30 before she launches the blog, and though she is happily married, she has an unfulfilling job and a less-than-ideal apartment, and is constantly comparing herself to her ridiculously successful friends.

I don't have friends who are senior vice presidents, and none of my friends have personal assistants (although, if they're hiring...). But for the most part, my friends and I are all circling that dreaded 30... some of us closer in than others. And for the most part, I think they would all agree that the age of 30 is not what it was when our parents reached it. Whether it's the new 20 or not... that's another blog.

I do know that many of my friends, as they approach and surpass the 30 mark, feel an immense pressure from any number of sources. Lord knows we all can pressure ourselves enough as it is, minds racing with "what if"' scenarios until fear renders us virtually catatonic. We can give it any number of names or attachments (career, spouse, house, kids), but it's basically a pressure for successful stability. I have seen so many friends (and even myself at times) marching through each year as though there is a gun to their heads, so great is the pressure, and what could rob someone of more joy?

I don't mean to paint Julia Child as a saint (as the Julie of the movie does), but seeing her story, however fictionalized, it reminded me that there really is no point of no return. Jobs come and go or stay, relationships fade, explode or remain, and even the people we count on as our basic support systems will disappear or let us down.

But!

There is hope.

It sounds cliche' to use the "everything is an opportunity" bit for the millionth time, but really, it's true. There won't ever be a time in my life, regardless of how old I get, when every door is closed forever. Things will almost certainly not work out as I had envisioned them (they already haven't, on a small scale), but they will eventually work out. The right things will come at the right time, and who's to say when that time will be? People publish novels (or cookbooks) after years of waiting and strings of bizarre jobs. People find love at every point in life. People discover redemption in the most unlikely of places and at the most unlikely of times.

I know this is true for me, and I'm going to venture to say that it's true for you.

A friend of mine, who is just past thirty, single, and contemplating some new changes in her life, said recently (and this is a very loose quote, so be nice to me, and her), "You know, it's possible that I could be 40 and single, or that life won't play out as I would like, but I know that I can take today for what it is, and say, 'Today, I have what I need, and today I am loved'. And if you can say that every day, then no matter what, you're doing pretty well."

And so, we don't sit on our hands and lament. We wake in the morning, we pursue what we love in at least small ways, and then we do what's next, not knowing what exactly will come of it. But today, you and I have what we need, and you and I are loved. And believe it or not, that's a stable place to be.

Sorry, today's been quiet.

Here are the big discoveries of today:

I learned that I can STILL access my old Yahoo email account, and when I did that, it gave me access to this: http://inwalksgrace.livejournal.com/

I started using LiveJournal when I was in Ireland the first time, and used it off and on. As of today, I had not signed in for 95 weeks, though, so...

I've read through the oldest couple months of entries, and it's funny. Some things are different, and others... you just realize you are how you are.

For years, Robin has told me that the day we first met one another, we went to Shari's, and for years, I have claimed no memory of this. And then, I found this:

"Friday i went out with raina, mandee and robin to shari's. robin is a complete spaz--we're so alike, i don't know why we're not twins. we had fun, she spilled ice cream on herself, it was good times all around"

I love that girl. And I was her maid of honor. Amazing.

Tomorrow, Christina and I are watching this: http://www.hiddensecrets-themovie.com/ Netflix billed it as "A Christian version of 'The Big Chill'. I think there will be giggling.

Also, I stopped writing at midnight last night to get my NaNoWriMo count for the day, and then I wrote a little more. I have not touched it since. The count at this moment is 2,058, and yes, I will write tonight, and take another count at midnight. Only 47, 842 words to go!

"

"You save my life, I'll save your life."

WARNING ***VERY OLD SPOILERS INCLUDED*** WARNING

I went to see The Hangover with Jessie at the Laurelhurst tonight. If nothing else, the experience reminded me why I try to avoid the Laurelhurst on Saturday nights, and why I tend to avoid jam-packed movie theaters in general.

For the record, The Hangover is actually pretty funny. It won't change your life, but it will make you laugh, and it wasn't nearly as raunchy or as grossout-focused as I thought it would be. That being said, people of the Laurelhurst 9:35 show: It's not that funny. Seriously.

This audience, which was packed, laughed at every single thing. Every. Single. Thing. And here's the problem with laughing at every single thing: it's not how comedy works. Comedy is usually a string of funny things (often called "words" or "gestures") that together work up to something called a punch line. The string of funny things is, in fact, intended to prepare you for the punch line. By that token then, if you laugh uproariously when, say, someone waves their hand or says "Let's go", and then laugh again, equally uproariously when this person's friend waves back or says, "I agree", then you often actually end up missing the far funnier thing that person three has to say or do (Particularly in movies like The Hangover, where there are three principal characters, this is how the scenes are meant to play out. Person A is funny, Person B is normal, and Person C is hilarious, but you miss that because you're still laughing about A and B, who weren't funny, really, to begin with.).

And so, attendee at the 9:35 showing at the Laurelhurst, when you and 200+ of your loudest, drunkest, most every-single-frame-of-this-movie-is-pure-comedy-gold friends chortle and guffaw through two hours of mayhem, I get a bit annoyed, because I can't hear half the movie. Maybe I'm just old.

But like I said, the movie is funny, for the most part, it's not a complete creepfest like Wedding Crashers or a completely body-fluids-obsessed farce like every other hit comedy in recent memory. And Bradley Cooper's extremely cute, and the other two guys are plenty funny, but hopefully it won't shock anyone to learn that the movie is just a rehashing of funny scenes from other movies.

Case in point 1: "Oh no! There's a tiger in the beloved car and he's going to rip it to shreds! This is nothing like the scene in Tommy Boy where there was a deer in the beloved car and he ripped it to shreds!"

Case in point 2: "Oh, my, that wedding singer is creepy and innappropriate, and will not be seen again. But he's also nothing like the creepy and inappropriate rival wedding singer (in The Wedding Singer, in case you're lost) who pops up once and will not be seen again."

It's pretty sad, too, when something gets introduced and you know exactly how the next ten seconds will play out, ie; character in the backseat finds a used condom, tries to toss it away, inadvertently sticking it to the passenger's cheek. Passenger claws desperately to remove the condom, in turn inadvertently attaching it to the driver's neck, causing the driver to operate the car erratically, etc., ad nauseam.

Also, and after this I promise to be done, someone needs to stop putting Ken Jeong in movies. The man is not funny. He's over the top and ridiculous, which for sure has its place, but I'm tired of him already, and nobody knew he existed a year ago. And in The Hangover, it's almost like we're supposed to give this collective sigh of relief like, "Hooray, we can all be racist and laugh at the Overstated Asian Accent of Dubious Origin because he's Asian and he's the one doing it, see? It's hilarious.

Well, I disagree. In HeatherLand, Ken Jeong is fired for the next 18 months, and no theater is allowed to be more than half-full. Also, the popcorn and drinks are free, and if you like characters in a movie, you get to take them home and make them part of your celebrity family. HeatherLand is a lovely place, believe me. And you have to, because in HeatherLand, I'm always right.

"Giraffes are sneaky, and they will rob you blind."

I saw the movie 9 tonight.

I'm really tempted to just stop there.

For anybody who doesn't know, 9 follows a gang of mechanical rag-doll creations across a postapocalyptic landscape, where they fight off giant spidery machines and learn about friendship. Or something.

I really couldn't tell you for sure, because after sitting through the movie for the slowest 90 minutes of my life, I realized I had no idea what the point of the movie was.

Don't misunderstand me--I'm hardly one of those people who thinks that every single movie has to have some deep theme buried in its subtext. For example, the point of Anchorman is to make people laugh, and nothing else. And if you're me, it makes you laugh so hard you fall off the couch. It doesn't matter that Anchorman isn't about to be lauded for its revloutionary approach to the issue of apartheid or global climate change or how humans in general are lazy, stupid, greedy morons or whatever (Apologies for the mini-rant, but is it just me, or does it seem like easily half the movies out today are trying to tell us how we're ruining everything because we're stupid and insatiable?).

But my problem with this movie is that literally nothing happened. That's not entirely true. It could probably be better said that nothing I cared anything about happened. Here's what did happen. Some decidely weird and distinctly cute rag-dolls with spark plug-looking eyes ran around, ducked from some spidery, big, loud, kinda scary machines. Then the mechanical rag-dolls ran some more, talked a little bit (mostly things like, "Oh, no!" and "Run!"--I am pretty sure the entire cast recorded the whole movie in one day. No one seems to have more than 50 lines.), ran from some very big explosions, fell off of some stuff, talked some more, listened to Judy Garland (true story) and ran a bit more, just for the heck of it.

Snore. I will say that the animation is beautiful, but it's a beautiful snore. And Tim Burton is an executive producer, which is interesting, because I thought halfway through (when I was asking myself if it was over yet), "This movie is like what Tim Burton would do if he wanted to have no fun at all and be totally hopeless."

This is also not a movie for children. Not having a TV, I don't know if it's being marketed to them or not, but it is animated, so...

It is so bleak, and has so many frightening scenes (and not fun, pulling-a-head-out-of-a-box-Nightmare-Before-Christmas-frightening) that if I had seen it as a kid, I would have run screaming from the theater. As most kids are not as wimpy as I was, there's a good chance they'll just fall asleep.

It's a shame, because it does look lovely, if you can find good enough reason to keep your eyes open.

"'I'm too blessed to be stressed' and other lies."

The past couple of days have given me fantastic laughs, an abundance of things to think about, and little sleep. The best part is that I spent most of Tuesday in one place.

I met up with a handful of Emmaus girls at Anna Banana's in St. John's yesterday morning, and it was a great reminder to me of how much I love being a girl. And I love hanging out with other women and being silly and funny and giggly, and just getting to share life that way. It also gave me a chance to tell a couple of the girls what I have been telling everyone for months: that they need to see Twilight.

In the interest of being honest, let me make it clear that you should not see Twilight because it is particularly scary, particularly romantic or even particularly good. You need to see Twilight because it is easily the funniest movie made in the last few years. It's unrelentingly serious and overdramatic, and any movie about a vampire who a) refuses to eat people or suck their blood and b) does not die in the sunlight, but rather sparkles, as though his skin were covered in thousands of tiny diamonds (that are most likely not conflict-free) is a movie you should see.

The vampire also tells the girl-in-question that she's his "own personal brand of heroin", and he sneaks in her room and watches her sleep. And if that doesn't make you feel all romantic and fuzzy, then apparently nothing will. So, in closing, go see Twilight. Have a beer first.

When the party broke up, I stayed behind with my laptop, "determined" to get work done. And in the interest of my own determination, I immediately texted my friend Matt, who lived nearby, and invited him to come have a coffee, which he did. Every time I hang out with Matt, somewhere around ten minutes in, I regret being in whatever public setting we may find ourselves. This isn't because Matt is embarrassing to hang around or ugly or overly political; it's because he makes me laugh so much and so loudly that I feel I should apologize to everyone else that they cannot possibly be having as much fun as I am.

So we did this, the talking about whatever crossed our mind or our path (for example, upon seeing this blog, Matt informed me that Brian Williams has a crooked face, which he then proved by Googling "Brian Williams has a crooked face". Other people think so, so it must be true.) for a very, very long time. And then, without much warning, the conversation took a distinctly serious turn.

I won't divulge the details of the conversation, but suffice to say that the conversation hinged mostly on the ideas of identity and personal value, and how we find those things in this day-to-day life. It was a conversation that made me thankful that I was able to be in that coffeeshop on a Tuesday afternoon.

The rhythm and cadence of speech and conversation has always fascinated me, and I tend to be extremely sensitive to shifts in mood or tone. And while we were still having fun, and making a joke here or there, everything changed. The volume of both our voices dropped (his more than mine, I'm sure), there was a lot less eye contact, and a lot of sudden detached interest in the art on the walls, the positioning of my hands, whatever else.

But here's the amazing thing: Matt and I have disagreed strongly on some huge issues in the past, points where we've had to realize that there was going to be no meeting closer than partway to the middle. And so, as I got to talk about my life, I felt sure that there were going to be points where Matt told me that I was full of shit, delusional, confused, naive, or any number of other things. But I decided to just be honest, and to not try to fit my story into any mold I knew. I told him that while I was not particularly happy with life at the moment, but that in the face of the most uncertainty I have ever known, I had joy. I told him that I knew what my identity was, even as it changed and shifted continually, and I knew that my work status or position had no bearing on my value. I told him that in the face of that, I still wanted a good job, and I was running on hope more consistently than faith. And it was all true.

It's possible that Matt may have really wanted to tell me that I was full of shit, delusional, confused, naive, or any number of other things. But he didn't do it. What he did was help me see that our stories, disparate as they may have seemed, bore a lot of similarities. I don't know about anybody else, but I find the idea that everyone else is, to some degree, confused and constantly trying to know who they are incredibly encouraging. In the face of that, I have been given joy that I can freely share. And I have hope for the future, a hope that maintains even when my faith is weak.

I was at home this evening and one of my roommates had a photo album out on the table in the main room. She wasn't home, so I suppose I was snooping, but when I opened the photo album I found something incredibly beautiful inside. Every page had pictures of people who were important in her life before she moved to Portland, and on every page she had written a part of her story of the last ten years, and how God continually showed Himself faithful in her life in that time. I don't tend to have much of a weak spot for stories of miracles, but all throughout her book, she explained how God repeatedly asked her to trust (sometimes with things that seemed devastating), and when she did, He repeatedly was faithful to supply what she needed.

It made me wonder how much of that I am doing in my own life right now. I know that I have trusted God many times, and I know that He has always been faithful, but the conscious decision to trust has been a long time in coming. I don't know how to do this well; I want to rush to extremes. And yet, I know no one can live there. I cannot announce that I am trusting God for all my needs, lay down, and sleep until He makes my life ideal. Likewise, I cannot push myself and work myself to the end, exerting all my effort and never prayerfully considering rest, and claim that I am trusting God when really I am only trusting me. And trusting me is foolish, to say the least. I have seen who I can be on my own, and it was not a pretty picture.

I guess all of this is to say that I don't feel like I know how to trust in the way I need to (I hardly know where to start), but I am willing to try. Most of all, it's because I know that my identity will become clearer when I see more of who God is, and who He tells me that I am.

"It's your birthday? Well, happy f&%$!g birthday!"

People are actually reading this, and I think that's completely wild. You know who you are (mostly because you are here right now, reading as we speak), and I say hello, thanks for being here, and feel free to say hi.

You know, I keep having these phenomenal days, and I'm afraid they're going to spoil me. The first mild, uneventful day I have may send me climbing the walls, afraid I have somehow lost my capacity for good, interesting times forever. Check me tomorrow, will you?

Today started off with lunch with Robin and Gabe, which then led into our friend date time, started by a run through the Powell's on Hawthorne (Baby Powell's, as I affectionately call it). Robin was looking for a book to take with her on her honeymoon, and I was just trailing behind, happily awash in the glow of so many books I will never remember to read. Though I had just praised Nick Hornby's "How to be Good" to the sky for her, and told her to read some Zadie Smith at some point, I didn't feel that either of those were really honeymoon-appropriate books. As we wandered up and down the aisles, asking one another if we had read this or that (usually responding with "no"), I confessed that Powell's makes me extremely lustful. I want to wrap the entire place in my arms and take it home, and more often than not I just end up talking myself out of it. I remind myself of the large, full bookcase at home, and all those stories waiting to be read.

I usually will have more than one book going at a time, as what I want to read tends to change with my mood. I keep a mix of novels, short stories and non-fiction around most of the time. This is the same reason I have so many cds in my car. If what I'm doing doesn't fit the mood I'm in, it won't work, or at least it won't work as well.

I also like to pass books along, unless they are my favorite. I have been keeping more and more books lately, though. I don't know for sure, but it feels like, since I haven't read for pleasure in so long, my brain has decided it loves everything. Or maybe, if I want to give myself more credit, I've become such a discerning reader that I know what I will love before I read it.

Robin ended up with some Umberto Eco, some David Sedaris, and some book I had never heard of that she swore everyone else had been talking about. I felt a little ashamed that I had recommended the Sedaris and not the Eco, but that's always what happens. In the face of the literary, political and poetic, I will almost always go for the starkly comic and honest. I'm not sure why this makes me feel less cultured, as I believe humor is as much a talent and a gift as any other kind of art, but comedy as a whole has been so diluted by the cheap and the easy that it can often get written off as an entire form. Personally, I hope Robin reads David Sedaris on her honeymoon and leaves the others behind...

We continued the conversation at Sound Grounds, where I am happy to say we had the best service we've ever had. There's a stereotype about Portland restaurants and cafes, basically that the servers will treat you like they hate you, and like you have interrupted a deep meditation or a private party when you request service of any kind. I hadn't been to Sound Grounds in almost a year because they had seemed to fit the stereotype so perfectly... I had stood at the cash register and waited for the staff to finish their conversations or tickle fights or whatever too many times, and so I stayed away. This time, I am glad to report, the coffee, the service and the conversation were all delicious.

Robin asked some more about the blog, and I updated her, and told her about my early paranoia about writing at all. We talked about Beer & Blogs (she's set on attending when she comes back from the honeymoon), and we talked about the impulse to compare ourselves to the creativity of others (see yesterday's blog). I realized, after picking this blog and my language apart in my head, that what people most say they love about my stories is not their eloquence, their freshness or even their wit: they say they love the storytelling. And so then, I decided, I should just be faithful in telling the stories, the mundane and the glorious alike (and so often the same). The rest will take care of itself.

After I left Robin, I picked up my friend Ashley and her new roommate, whose name I do not know how to spell properly and so I will not butcher it here. We headed down to Fernhill Park for Emmaus' first ever free hip hop concert. In the interest of being honest, I have to say that I drove there with some trepidation. Brand-new things are always hard, and no matter how much you promote them, there's always the potential of plenty of things not working out. When we got there, things were running a little behind, and I thought, "Oh, my goodness, this is gonna be a mess." I was proven so wrong.

I had only ever heard two of the five performers (Ragen Fykes and Theory Hazit) in action, even though all five of them attend Emmaus. But every single one of them (Da'rel Jr., Propoganda and Odd Thomas were the other three) did an incredible job, and the crowd grew as the evening progressed. I was manning a table with chips and water for people, and it was so fun to watch people enjoy themselves. I don't know how many people were there; Courtney came out for it, and she thinks there were between 100 and 200 people. While I think those numbers seem high, the point remains: the turnout was incredible.

I have never been a big fan of hip hop, have never followed the culture or had reason to do so until now. But two things impressed me about today. Firstly, it was clear that this type of event does not happen often, and so it was special for the people involved, both the performers and the crowd. And secondly, I found myself with a new respect for these folks as artists. The music was good, the rhymes were smart, and I honestly enjoyed every moment of it.

Today was Christina's birthday, and she had told me that she wanted to go to this live-action Star Trek re-enactment at the Baghdad, and we had laughed and laughed. So, shortly after the concert ended, Courtney, Christina and I and some other friends found ourselves at the end of a very, very long line to get in. I grumbled inwardly and shuffled along, posting from my phone onto Twitter, asking how I got here and announcing that I felt very, very lame. And then guess what happened?

(Photo courtesy Courtney Durham)

I laughed my face off. I have never liked Star Trek, and somehow I have always had friends who were fans. But I had no idea the cultural significance of the episode we were witnessing, replayed in simple, post-high school senior play fashion. For any of you Star Trek dorks (and I use the term affectionately) out there, this was the episode where Spock needs a wife, and at some point he and Kirk (who is not only his o captain, my captain, but also his BFF) are in a fight to the death for some Vulcan girl in a gold dress.

Trust me, it was hilarious. The movie followed, and I have to admit, it was the second time I have seen it, and I really like it. J.J. Abrams somehow managed to make Star Trek sexy and fun, which I would have told you was a feat that was utterly impossible. Watching it with this crowd, however, was an experience. Every new character that appeared, every knowing wink to the original show, got hoots and hollers and such a dorktastic ruckus that I leaned over to Courtney and said, "What am I doing here?"

It reminded me of the time, in college, when the second Lord of the Rings movie came out, and my friend convinced me that we needed to go to the first showing on the first day that it opened. We ended up sitting in the very front row, directly in front of two guys who were dressed in full chain mail. As they clinked and clattered through every moment of the film, I leaned over to my friend and whispered, "Who ARE these people? Does the fact that we're here right now make us like them? We're not like these people, are we?"

The fact is that I am exactly like these people, which is why I found myself in a crowded theater laughing at a bunch of people being silly on stage. I'm like these people because while I may not embrace the culture as they do, and I may in fact be a total stranger there, we're all there for the same reason. We're there because we like the ridiculous, the fantastical, and maybe the oddly familiar. And who doesn't like laughing?

In a sense, I was in two unfamiliar territories today. The hip hop culture and the Trekkie culture may appear to have nothing in common (aside from me not being a massive fan of either), but today showed me that both will make space for whoever comes in, however they choose to do so, and for however long they plan to stay.

There's probably science fiction rap somewhere, right? I hope I never find it...

"They were just so salt-of-the-earth, what's falafel, you know?"

I've decided, at least for now, that the titles for these entries will be my favorite quote of the day behind me. They may be funny, or not, but they will not be explained or contextualized. I think this gives the blog an air of whimsy, which is more fun than an air of sophistication anyway.

Today was another strangely free-form, purely blessed day. I hung out with my friend Molly, who is one of the funniest women I have ever met, and who I hadn't seen in what felt like forever. Someone once told us they liked listening to our conversations because it was like a constant battle of wits, and it's true. It's never a competitive battle, but I love talking with her because she consistently matches me and makes me want to be more creative. We've both been in weddings in the last couple weeks, she as a bridesmaid for her cousin and me as maid of honor for my friend Robin, and post-wedding stories are always fun to swap.

Plus, where I am mainly creative with words, Molly is creative with everything, and she always has fun projects she's been doing that she can't wait to show me. Most recently, she's made a kind of shadowbox-y kind of homage to Portland, and has transformed a picture of her boyfriend into one of those magnet games where you drag the metal shavings around to give a face hair and a beard and stuff. Would I have ever thought to do that? Afraid not.

Molly's been telling me for months, if not longer, that I have to see the movie Quills. Where she is usually a treasure trove of unique, complex observations, she has always been honest about the simple reason to watch this film: Joaquin Phoenix makes a hot priest.

And I'll admit it, that was enough to draw me in (I even watched Ladder 49, for goodness sake. I have since forgiven myself and begun the long process of moving on.).

Anyone who knows me knows I love movies, and more specifically, I love really good movies. And of course, like every other snob on the planet, I think that my taste is the most refined around, and anyone who doesn't like what I do, or worse, who likes things I think are terrible, clearly needs a lesson in why they are wrong.

But I will say that I don't limit myself only to what I like, and while I try to remain discerning, if you can make your point of why you think I should see something, and make it well, I will probably give it a look. In this case, "Joaquin Phoenix makes a hot priest" is a flawless argument, and one that would cause me to willingly sit down to a movie about the Marquis de Sade (Geoffrey Rush!).

The film isn't great--besides the admittedly kind of squeamish material, the actors (apart from the leads) are all kind of kookily wooden, like they tried to do a decent acting job and then were told, "No, really, we're looking for something a little weirder, a little less like normal human beings." Plus Geoffrey Rush is naked for the last half hour and Joaquin Phoenix keeps his priestly vestments on throughout, which proves there is no justice in this world, cinematically speaking. But here's the thing that caught my attention.

A movie about, in part, a tenuous, semi-friendship between the Marquis de Sade and the priest who runs the asylum holding him is utterly stuffed with opportunities for things to go horribly, horribly wrong. And if you have watched any movies at all, or even watched any news at all in the last twenty years or more, you will probably have noticed that when priests come into the picture, something bad is going to happen, and the man of God is going to have a precipitous fall from grace, and more often than not, the viewers are supposed to cheer.

We never said it aloud, but Molly was also clearly aware of this stereotype, and so everytime Joaquin-the-priest appeared on screen and treated the Marquis de Sade (or anyone else) with grace, Molly would say, "See, he's a good man. He's so good!" And it was true.

I have no idea how true-to-life the movie is (I'm assuming it's highly fictionalized, though I know it's based off a play by the same name), but it got me thinking about the depiction of members of clergy, and people of faith in general, in film and in life. There has certainly been a backlash, though I hate calling it that at this point, especially against people in leadership of faith communities, and this is seen most clearly, and very often, in film.

There's no denying that many, many people have been deeply wounded, on multiple levels, by the leaders they were told to entrust with their spiritual health. I in no way mean to diminish the pain there. But I also think that now, especially in film, the desire to get those stories told, stories that have been pushed under the rug for years and years and years, has left us with a vacuum of positive portrayals of people of faith. Combine that with the real-life news of money scandals, sex scandals and any other kind of indiscretion you can imagine in all different kinds of churches, and it's not surprising that many people (especially in a city like Portland) view "The Church" (ie, at large) with a hypercautious eye.

The easy answer to this, and I've heard it before, is for Christians and other people of faith to simply create media that presents them in a positive light. Unfortunately, all too often, these attempts end up coming across as shallow, obvious, and simplistic, and can drive people away faster and more effectively than it draws them in.

I firmly believe that if people of faith want to change how they are viewed by the rest of the world, or even by their local communities, that change has to come from deep within the church itself. There is an open, sometimes vocal assumption that all people of faith are struggling with demons, and as a result, have plenty of skeletons in their closets. While the struggle is undoubtedly true, the skeletons don't have to be. If we, as the church, are willing to allow God to illuminate our darkness, if we are willing to show that there may have been skeletons, but they have been cleaned out by the piercing honesty of the gospel, then perhaps we can begin to move beyond the skepticism and mistrust that so often taints the view of faith in our city and our world.

In another opportunity to try to present the gospel for what it is and not what it is perceived to be, Emmaus is putting on a free hip hop concert tomorrow. I'm pretty excited about it, to be honest, and I hope the turnout is good. There are always free concerts in Portland in the summer, but there's hardly anything for the hip hop fans of the city. And I love that, since it's free, we're able to give something to people without asking for anything in return. Also, selfishly, I am excited because Courtney, my old roommate and one of my best friends, is coming up for it, which means she'll finally get to meet all these Emmaus people she's been hearing about for the last year and a half.

Tomorrow is also my standing weekly friend date with Robin, and that's always a good time. We call it a coffee date, but more often it's beer and fries or gelato. I have a deep love for the standing scheduled dates, where you meet up and hang out whether you have anything to talk about or not. I don't know if it's because of a love of routine, a total lack of spontenaity or what. Personally. I really love the idea that someone would want to see me not just when the mood struck them, but on a regular, committed basis. And I don't think Robin and I have ever actually had a day where we didn't have things to talk about.

Lastly, and here's your "Portland, you are so strange" moment, tomorrow is Christina's birthday, and she really wants to go see this live-action classic Star Trek episode re-enactment. Apparently, the episode we're going to see is something about Spock studying Vulcan mating rituals. Christina and Courtney are excited. I am wondering how I got dragged into this, with my staunch refusal to watch Star Trek, or to even allow myself to be associated with anything vaguely resembling science fiction.

But one thing's for sure: I know I will laugh.