School, school, school, school, school!!!!!

I think there are few things in life less efficient than elementary school training sessions. Not that I expect too many of my friends to be able to empathize with having to sit through seven hours of school staff-meetings, though I imagine there are quite a few equivalents in this world of commerce in which we live. So here's how a meeting goes. First, the topic is announced, which may or may not be followed by a variety of disclaimers, last-minute additions to the previous topic, and/or ironically child-like chatter as we all give our under-the-breath opinion on the impending topic. Then the topic, playground safety for example, is presented by a staff member, who mistakenly says the list of rules is still a draft and subject to change. There's nothing wrong with people knowing a list is subject to change, but when announced to a group of "I'm looking out for number 1" (or any other grade from 1-8 at our school) kind of people, announcing it's subject to change means it is immediately subject to change. So rather than first having the list read aloud in its entirety, or even having people read it to themselves and then submit suggestions/caveats in writing, a five minute subject is now a sixty minute subject. Everyone, and somewhat rightly so, feels entitled to let everyone else know how each and every rule and decision will affect their grade or class differently than every other grade. One group of kids should be allowed to play in a clump of trees, while another group is forbidden. Should we allow dodgeball if it is contained to a specific area of the field? How are transitions between different grades' lunches going to be done, and why can't we do it a different way? Should older kids be allowed to use the playground equipment? Should each class have their own bin of balls and jumpropes, or should we have one large community bin, and why? Can God create an object that is to heavy for him to lift, and if he fell while picking up such an object and nobody was around, would he make a noise? If He did make a noise, what would it sound like, and how could we ever know for sure? What is our exit strategy for Iraq? If a woodchuck were able, hypothetically speaking, to chuck wood, how much wood could he chuck? Etcetera, etcetera, ad nauseam. Good grief. If I were running these meetings, man we would get SO much done! Well, I'd like to think so. Some of you know that I really enjoy efficiency of all sorts (yes, I realize that this is not entirely applicable to everything I do, and I'm in partial hypocrisy already, but better partial hypocrisy than total, I sometimes say) Energy efficiency, fuel efficiency, efficiency of speech (though I do enjoy using lots of words to say very little, hence the blogs I write, but in everyday application out in the world I'd rather get through interactions with a lot of people than dwell in them. Coldhearted? Yes. Realistic? Also yes.), efficiency of movement. So these meetings can be absolute torture. But I guess we don't have that many of them, so I'll only be a little irritated now and again, rather than all the time, unless you're one of the above-mentioned not-dwelling-in-the-interaction kind of people.

Since I am talking about jobs, I should explain how I got my current one. So at the end of last school year, I told everyone I wouldn't be coming back, and that I'd moving forward to things I'd rather do. And I still want to, but to live one needs a job. One thing I forgot to do, however, was submit a resignation form. So in spirit I had resigned, but in reality I had not. So a couple weeks ago I got a call from Portland Public Schools offering me a position at the school I was at last year. I wasn't interested, so I told the person on the phone that I had no intention of working for the district, whereupon the person on the phone told me I needed to submit the proper paperwork. So I looked all over the website and called people in human resources, but got no answers. All the while I had been looking for work and not having much luck. It really takes either connections, or experience, and I pretty much only have either of those with both the Anchorage and Portland school districts. I had submitted an application for a new REI going in four or five miles from my house, which sounded great, but I didn't hear back from them. Anyway, after a couple weeks of stressing about work (the twitching I get from heavy stress was just beginning to kick in) I had a revelation. I had been offered a job, and yet I was stressing out over getting a job. "What is my deal?" I began to think. So I decided that since I already have a job, I should probably take it, especially one that pays decently, the benefits are already active, and I sort of know what I'm doing. So today I went to the school I was told to show up at, thinking maybe the job I had been offered was still mine for the taking. I don't think it actually was still mine, mostly because nobody had any idea I was coming, and nobody could figure out where I was supposed to be. So while I was sitting through the aforementioned meetings, one of the school secretaries was on the phone helping figure out what I was to do. A couple days ago, one of the Para Educators (that's what they call people who do my job) had to step down, and a replacement had been arranged, though the school hadn't been informed as to who the replacement was. So, they had been assuming it was me, since they didn't have any idea who the replacement was. I knew deep down that it couldn't have been me because I had been called weeks before. Anyway, by the time school was out, I was officially the new Para in a life-skills class at the school, and the other person who should've had my job was reassigned. Or at least I hope they were. Anyway, all this to say, God was pretty danged faithful to me, allowing me to have a job that probably wasn't mine in the first place. And, as icing on the proverbial cake, the class sounds like a lot of fun, and the teacher is young and has a reputation as a great teacher. I didn't think I'd be happy to be working at a school yet again, but I was. You know when the Psalmist pleads all those times for God not to forsake him? I've been trying so hard in recent days to not be like that, but there has always been a tiny seed of doubt, a little seed that says I will be forsaken. And the funny thing is, much of the time I don't know what I need. Maybe working at the school was exactly what I needed. I'm actually looking forward to working in this position, and that's an exciting thing. (Oh, and REI DID call back after I'd decided to take the school position. I could've been hired there... for $8.50/hr, part-time, and would have had to wait for my benefits to kick in if I ever went full-time. So what I thought would be a much better job wound up not being good at all. God's awful good to me.)

Be Still My Soul

And now for an unprecedented second blog in one day.

At the end of the century, Finland was enjoying the works of its greatest composer, Jean Sibelius (1865-1957). It was also trying to survive its Russian occupation, its people in great oppression. In this time of turmoil, Sibelius composed what was to become his most recognizable work: Finlandia. This was a poem to the country he loved. On July 2, 1900 it debuted, and became the voice of the people desperately loving their beloved Finland and wanting to be free from the oppression of the Russian Czar. In times of political unrest, the people were forbidden to perform Finlandia, a testament to its power among the people.

The piece itself begins in great turmoil, begins to move, quiets down to one of the most beautiful melodies I've ever heard, and concludes with the same melody in great triumph. It became well known around the world, eventually prompting lyricists to take the gorgeous melody and add words. Finland has its own lyrics for the song, but the lyrics I always think of are those of the hymn Be Still My Soul. Right now I think it is my favorite hymn of all time because of its beauty of melody AND lyrics. Get a hold of Finlandia to hear it in its original glory. Here are the lyrics for Be Still My Soul.


Be still, my soul: the Lord is on thy side.
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain.
Leave to thy God to order and provide;
In every change, He faithful will remain.
Be still, my soul: thy best, thy heavenly Friend
Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

Be still, my soul: thy God doth undertake
To guide the future, as He has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul: the waves and winds still know
His voice Who ruled them while He dwelt below.

Be still, my soul: when dearest friends depart,
And all is darkened in the vale of tears,
Then shalt thou better know His love, His heart,
Who comes to soothe thy sorrow and thy fears.
Be still, my soul: thy Jesus can repay
From His own fullness all He takes away.

Be still, my soul: the hour is hastening on
When we shall be forever with the Lord.
When disappointment, grief and fear are gone,
Sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored.
Be still, my soul: when change and tears are past
All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.

Be still, my soul: begin the song of praise
On earth, believing, to Thy Lord on high;
Acknowledge Him in all thy words and ways,
So shall He view thee with a well pleased eye.
Be still, my soul: the Sun of life divine
Through passing clouds shall but more brightly shine.

Parenthetical journeys through Sufjan

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So I think I'm obsessed with Sufjan Stevens. Maybe it's the fact that when I open up iTunes, it's the only word that starts with "sufj," and therefore very easy to search for, eliminating SO many extra keystrokes. And as we all know, every single keystroke puts us all that much closer to carpal tunnel syndrome, forcing us all to buy those ugly tan or black wrist braces, a herd of Americans with the inability to give the world a proper wave of the hand. A sad sight, for sure. And now for a hop, skip, and a jump back off the rabbit trail, onto the unsteady ground of the path I've chosen for this particular piece of literary mastery. ONWARD TO SUFJAN!

I'll admit that the first I herad of Sufjan was a bit narrow, a cloistered collection of chords and choruses crammed into cramped quarters (be sure not to pronounce quarters like "kwarters" like so many old people love to do, so as to keep the alliterative nature of the last phrase alive and well. This time around be sure it's said "korters" like any uneducated American would say... "Ouch, two mild digs on Americans in one Blog," he said as he dreamed of Canada and their silly Mounties, a possible epithet for the Canadian people. Forget calling them Canadians, lets call them all Mounties. Man, now a dig on Canada. Is there no safe North American country? And SO many parenthetical statements...) Okay, so the first person who showed me Mr. Stevens, to get back to the path yet again, was Rachel Lautaret, who showed me the songs that she loved the most on his Michigan album. The funny thing was, because she showed me only a few songs, I had no idea what else he wrote, and had a very myopic view of his lyricism and musicality. And, to be honest, the times I had been shown the music were very low times for me, depressed times, and therefore that music instantly became associated with a depressed state. (A lot of my friends are probably thinking, "WHICH time you were depressed, you sorry sack of, uh, something?" and to that I say touche.) I've found that when I'm depressed, I'd rather not listen to things that encourage such a state. For instance, the soundtrack for Schindler's List has found very little play time for me, despite its haunting beauty and beautiful solos by Itzhak Perlman. Some people I know play themselves sad music when they're sad, which seems to make sense, except most times I'd rather not wallow in my sadness, and would rather crawl out of the dark cave into which I so willing and headlongly dove. SO, he said emphatically trying to get back on track, I didn't listen to much Sufjan after my first exposure to it, until one day in June I had a random craving for it.

So, before I left for a month in Alaska, I bought "Michigan" off of iTunes. Since I really hadn't heard much of his music, aside from a few select tracks, it was really like listening to an entirely new album. From what I understand, most people (most people I know, that is) tend to look for lyrical goodness in the groups they listen to, which is why Cash and Dylan enjoyed such amazing success. However, I grew up playing band and orchestral music, growing a deep appreciation for, and a deep obsession with musical greatness. In fact, I think the only music group I listened to that even had lyrics was Dave Matthews Band. (Not until later did I realize that a large proportion of his music is a selection of veiled hormonal lyrics. He's kind of a dirty man, but he makes it sound so cool... dang it.) It wasn't until three or four years after I graduated from high school that I began to appreciate great lyrics. Anyway, all that to say that my main focus in all music is the music itself. How do they use meter, keys, rhythm, creative chording, layering, dynamics, and a whole slough of other things. I've also found that many many people hate complexity or creativity in their music, which drives me mad. I suppose that's why pop music enjoys so much success. I understand that there's a pretty big following of Sufjan, and listening to the lyrics, I know why. They're positively dripping with color and shadows of meaning, well thought out, and filled to the brim with gooey depth. But the music is good too! "Can it be?!" I may have thought to myself. "Is it possible?" He plays all his own instruments, from what I understand, which I both greatly appreciate, and moderately dislike. The only dislike, really, comes with his trumpet playing. Most people won't notice anything wrong with his trumpeting, but being a trumpet player, it has, on occasion, mildly irritated me in its roughness and inaccuracy. However, with each album he's gotten better, so that's good. So I was thrilled with "Michigan," and upon returning from Alaska I bought his "Illinois" and "The Avalanche" albums, both of which are truly works of art.

That's another thing I've had a problem with in modern music. The album as a whole has potential to be greater than the sum of its parts. Some groups have tried operatic approaches, giving a true storyline, characters, and theatrical elements to their albums, which is an admirable idea, but comes across as too obvious. The truly great albums, to my mind, are the ones that play like one great work, are tied together, but in a much more subtle way. In music, it's subtlety that's so much harder to approach, which is why it's so hard to find. I imagine it's a cross-media artistic challenge, how to communicate depth of ideas without the kick to the groin approach which is so much easier. Life in general is much more subtle than a series of punctuated events. I know in an EKG chart of my life, the spikes certainly stand out, but they don't effect everyday life much at all. It's the more level ground that shows motion and change, undoubtedly affected by the spiked important events, but not radically changed right away. Anyway, I see Sufjan's music as a bit of a replica of that life EKG chart. Always moving forward, always changing, punctuated with real brilliance, but not afraid to come off the high and tie it all together with something mellow. To my mind, it's one of the more popular artists where I've said to myself, "I like this, so why do other people like this? What is it that makes this type of creativity so much less offensive to people's ears than what I normally listen to?"

So I hope I will soon come off my Sufjan high, not because it's not worthy of so many listenings, but because I so many other great artists to listen to. So check him out if you haven't already. And don't be scared that I like him. He's good to other people too.

1500

1500.

Just now I sat down and worked out a rough (give or take a hundred hours) estimate on the amount of time I've spent in the last year working on "Bible Camp," the documentary I'd been assembling since June of last year. 1500 hours. That number means a lot of things to me. First and foremost (I hate that phrase... overused [kind of like "..."]) it means that it took me way way way longer than it should have to finish. I guess a freshman effort should ultimately not be terribly efficient, but seriously, 1500 hours is a long time. I suppose most people who make documentaries have a crew that they work with instead of the few people I had help for small portions (thanks especially to Jessica Clark who has worked so hard on the DVD cover, and to Tony for helping me record the Bible Camp theme.) Perhaps this says something about the body of Christ. Were I to have worked in a body of filmmakers, or a body of people who work in specialized fields, the whole thing would have worked more smoothly, to my mind. I was trying to be the entire body, though to my credit, it was somewhat of a necessity because my budget only allowed for me to work on it (though I'm sure the right people would have worked for free and still loved it. I know I did.) But 1500 hours, wow, that's a bunch. Much more than I would have thought possible. When I was still just theorizing how the project would work out, I was thinking it would all be done by the end of the summer of 2006, but that was certainly naive and unrealistic. Could it have been done quicker, absolutely. Hindsight being a golden 20-20, I could've easily taken weeks, even months off the thing. Next time, eh?

Speaking of next time, I had a funny dream last night. Last night, before I dreamed, I saw an interview with Simon Cowell, the mean-spirited judge from American idol. On the show they said he makes something like $36million for a season of Idol, about the same for a season of the British version of the show, and just signed a contract with Sony/BMG records as a consultant kind of guy for $100million. Those were extraordinary figures to me, and I think it carried on into my dream because I dreamed about Mr. Cowell a couple hours later. So in my dream, I think Simon lived in the same house as me, or at least nearby, and for some reason he was talking about ways to invest his money. I suggested that I wanted to make another film, and I can't remember how it came up, but I wanted to make a film about blind people who do visual art, not that I know anything about that. So I asked Simon if he'd be willing to invest in the film. He said, "Sure," like it wasn't a big deal, and then later made a deal with him that if I could get things arranged, he would give me a million dollars to make this film. The rest of the dream was a little less cohesive, something about chasing around a mentally-challenged friend of mine around this sort of classy food-court (contradiction in terms? Perhaps.) He needed tape to hang something up. Actually, maybe I was the mentally-challenged one. I can't remember. It was a little stressful. So when people say "In your dreams" to thoughts of million-dollar filmmaking budgets, it happens. Also, it's incredible I remembered a dream at all. Maybe happens once a month. Mostly because I am a soul-less monster.

My apologies for the somewhat scattered nature of this blog. I wrote it at two different times, months apart, and now I must move on. Hope it all finds you well. Well and good. Wood.

Oh, and check out the new Bible Camp trailer.