I'd rather be working for a pay check than waiting to win the lottery.

Well, maybe I could think of more fun things to do or that I would want to do, but I would still rather work than wait to get lucky.

Reason #1: It allows me to feel useful apart from what other people say or feel about me. I don't have to have as much affirmation from relationships with my fellow humans to make me feel fulfilled.

Reason #2: I get paid now rather than later. There's more stability with a salaried job.

Reason #3: I don't go crazy. I have a bit more purpose in life.

Reason #4: It opens me to new experiences and people. Like the collection of people I met at the harvest for the winery. I might do that again next year just because it was a good time.

That's all the reasons I can think of right now I think...

Reason #5: It forces me to bend to other's will. To be humble. To wake up at 6:30 AM and work 'till dark. To do things I never wanted to do ever in my life.

Wow, I am spoiled rotten.

We Are Tomorrow

Encouragement is affirming what one does right,

Not affirming what one should have done right.

Sports parents get to me sometimes.

Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

A couple of things:

Girls can be legitimately called "Shorty". What is that?

Why is that?

Am I old at heart and this is just something I need to adapt to?

I hope so cause as much as I want to be the grumpy old man sitting on my porch cheerfully grumbling about "this generation", I'm not old yet. I'm not allowed to be like that yet.

I suppose as long as girls aren't losing any respect by such changes, it's ok with me. Though I doubt I'll be saying it much.

It strikes me that even if it sounds empowering to have girls and women who are the epitome of men's fantasies, it's the same attitude that kept women in the kitchen for so long.

And speaking of language.

It appears that dropping the F-bomb is taboo among the followers of Christ. Or s--t, d--m, c--p, b---h, and several other euphemisms.

It's alright if you don't swear.

But as far as I know, Christians can't take God's name in vain or let unwholesome talk come out of their mouths.

The first one seems straight forward. Don't say "Oh my God" unless this is something you actually want to discuss with your creator.

The second is where it gets tricky 'cause language is sometimes a very awkward thing to use and English is most likely the worst at proper expression of one's self. How much of what we say is actually wrong and what is actually proper? Right and proper are two different things.

I'd say that what is proper is dictated by society and culture and what is right is dictated by something higher than society and culture.

All I mean by that last bit is there are certain situations where you need to watch what you say. Don't swear when talking to the Queen of England or around your mom. That seems to fall under proper.

But what if there are no right or wrong words? No "Deplorable Word" so to speak? If so, then it seems to me that what important is the attitude and meaning behind what you say.

This may possibly be irrelevant, but in human communication, body language "speaks" most and actual words "speak" least. Something like 7% of communication is words.

People should mean what they say and care more about what the person is feeling instead of the words that come out of their mouths if you ask me. Not that anyone did to warrant that disclaimer.

Taking on seven years

"Please Hear What I'm Not Saying

Don't be fooled by me.

Don't be fooled by the face I wear

for I wear a mask, a thousand masks,

masks that I'm afraid to take off,

and none of them is me.

Pretending is an art that's second nature with me,

but don't be fooled,

for God's sake don't be fooled.

I give you the impression that I'm secure,

that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well

as without,

that confidence is my name and coolness my game,

that the water's calm and I'm in command

and that I need no one,

but don't believe me.

My surface may seem smooth but my surface is my mask,

ever-varying and ever-concealing.

Beneath lies no complacence.

Beneath lies confusion, and fear, and aloneness.

But I hide this. I don't want anybody to know it.

I panic at the thought of my weakness exposed.

That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,

a nonchalant sophisticated facade,

to help me pretend,

to shield me from the glance that knows.

But such a glance is precisely my salvation, my only hope,

and I know it.

That is, if it's followed by acceptance,

if it's followed by love.

It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself,

from my own self-built prison walls,

from the barriers I so painstakingly erect.

It's the only thing that will assure me

of what I can't assure myself,

that I'm really worth something.

But I don't tell you this. I don't dare to, I'm afraid to.

I'm afraid your glance will not be followed by acceptance,

will not be followed by love.

I'm afraid you'll think less of me,

that you'll laugh, and your laugh would kill me.

I'm afraid that deep-down I'm nothing

and that you will see this and reject me.

So I play my game, my desperate pretending game,

with a facade of assurance without

and a trembling child within.

So begins the glittering but empty parade of masks,

and my life becomes a front.

I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of surface talk.

I tell you everything that's really nothing,

and nothing of what's everything,

of what's crying within me.

So when I'm going through my routine

do not be fooled by what I'm saying.

Please listen carefully and try to hear what I'm not saying,

what I'd like to be able to say,

what for survival I need to say,

but what I can't say.

I don't like hiding.

I don't like playing superficial phony games.

I want to stop playing them.

I want to be genuine and spontaneous and me

but you've got to help me.

You've got to hold out your hand

even when that's the last thing I seem to want.

Only you can wipe away from my eyes

the blank stare of the breathing dead.

Only you can call me into aliveness.

Each time you're kind, and gentle, and encouraging,

each time you try to understand because you really care,

my heart begins to grow wings--

very small wings,

very feeble wings,

but wings!

With your power to touch me into feeling

you can breathe life into me.

I want you to know that.

I want you to know how important you are to me,

how you can be a creator--an honest-to-God creator--

of the person that is me

if you choose to.

You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble,

you alone can remove my mask,

you alone can release me from my shadow-world of panic,

from my lonely prison,

if you choose to.

Please choose to.

Do not pass me by.

It will not be easy for you.

A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.

The nearer you approach to me

the blinder I may strike back.

It's irrational, but despite what the books say about man

often I am irrational.

I fight against the very thing I cry out for.

But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls

and in this lies my hope.

Please try to beat down those walls

with firm hands but with gentle hands

for a child is very sensitive.

Who am I, you may wonder?

I am someone you know very well.

For I am every man you meet

and I am every woman you meet.

Charles C. Finn

September 1966"

This Internet Fad...

I wonder what's appropriate to put on a blog. As far as I know, unless you threaten someone or something like a nation, you're free to do and say whatever you wish.

How much of this is beneficial though? I could spill a thousand secrets right here and now which I think may make me feel better, free from the burden of past lies, but there are things I never want to tell anyone.

What if secrets are nothing but lies? At the heart of it, to keep a secret is to deny the truth.

I've heard it said that confession is good for the soul. I've experienced the power of confession and let me assure you, there is nothing as frightening and liberating as revealing something that you have kept inside. Even if it is only to a piece of paper that will never be read.

I sometimes imagine what would happen if everyone on earth had a blog like this, and what would happen if every single person told their single biggest secret that they ever had.

What would happen? I like to hope that it would usher in a world more united. But more like, it would usher in a world that has concrete reason to hate each other more.

That's incredibly pessimistic and cynical. I know because it's not what I want to hear. Every time I talk about world change I make it sound as thought the world is a wounded animal that will continue limping for the rest of time as problem after problem pops up.

But I digress...

As for honesty on the web, thank God for existences like Post Secret. I'm pretty sure they're saving lives.

Truth. Honesty. Accountability. I think these are good things for people to share. But I still don't know the line between what is acceptable to be broadly cast and what is not. Where and when.

And right now the truth is that I'm late for work.

Inventory: Music

I am 20 years old.

My dream is to the lead singer/songwriter in a band that is Anberlin, Our Lady Peace, Death Cab for Cutie, Circa Survive, Andy Mckee, Explosions in the Sky, Metric, Underoath, Damien Rice, Brand New, The Beatles and the Ataris all mashed into one brilliant, glorious sound.

I have only written 9 complete songs in those twenty years.

I have about two and a half books of ideas as well a mound of loose papers that I fancy someone like Beethoven would carry around.

I currently composing a rock opera/concept album, mostly in my head.

I've fallen asleep with my guitar more than once.

I've played my acoustic all over the house, including the roof.

In highschool, there was a time when I never left for home without 2 or 3 song tabs printed off from the library.

My musician's fantasy is that I'll be playing alone in a corner or room and right after playing a magnificent and impassioned piece that was improvised on the spot, I discover that my soon-to-be new best friend and/or a very attractive girl and/or a talent scout is listening and has fallen deeply in love with my talent and skill.

We then go on an adventure to secure the security video tape that recorded the improvised glory and use it as a ticket to a record deal in which the label doesn't interfere at all with my art because it is more important than making profits.

That last sentence is very recent to my fantasy.

It's easy for me to write music.

It's easy for me to write lyrics.

I don't want to attempt to put the two together for fear of not getting it right on the first try. Or losing a great idea by pairing the wrong lyric with the wrong melody or wrong chords.

I failed my last two music courses.

The last time I had guitar lessons, I stop going halfway through because I was afraid of my teacher's reaction when I didn't practice.

I have a channel on Youtube where I post acoustic covers. So far I have two: Face Down by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus and From Yesterday by 30 Seconds To Mars. There's a Damien Rice cover waiting on my mac.

I bought a mac for use of GarageBand and I hardly ever use it.

I have played in praise teams for my church, youth group and school.

I have been in jazz ensemble and choir.

I have been in three bands: Limp Triskit, Flaccid Steel and Wandering Home.

The first's only purpose was for a group presentation at guitar recital.

The second was the name of our "band" in a highschool project video.

The third enjoyed a brief explosion of success and was one of the highlights of my life. We played only three shows.

I sent a demo to a scholarship committee and even though I didn't win, I still have their response and my demo.

I have played in El Salvador and the UK, and toured in Hong Kong with CTI.

I have played three solo shows in my life.

I want to sign to Woodwater Records in Florida. For obvious reasons.

I want to meet/tour with Stephen Christian, Anthony Green, Raine Maida, Conor Oberst, Ben Gibbard and Dallas Green.

And if I could go back in time... John Lennon, Jeff Buckley and Freddie Mercury.

The Fox Hunt

Why is marriage a scary word? It’s the old Ball ‘N Chain some will say.
A great majority of romantic drama and comedy seem to focus on the dating or the prelude to marriage, the getting-to-know each other period. That’s where all the action and fun is.
I would say it’s a symptom of a cultural idea that marriage is when the fun in a relationship is over. Which kinda blows if that’s true.
So when I thought these thoughts I wondered, why? Maybe marriage can symbolize a loss of freedom, but if you ask me, when you’re spending the rest of your life with your best friend, that doesn’t strike me as a loss so much as a gain.

I’m not really interested in the idea of commitment right now so much as something else.

I personally like to imagine that a great majority of us see marriage as the end of the chase. The chase being the pursuit of someone extremely desirable. As near as I can tell, every human likes to chase or be chased. Maybe they, like myself, want both.

An old saying says something like, “The joy is in the journey, not the destination.”

Now a person is different from a thing. They’re not like a remote control plane that you want for Christmas and that you’ve been asking for ever since July. And when you finally unwrap your dream present, it’s not glorious moment you were expecting.
People aren’t remote control planes. Your significant other may not be a “perfect dream come true”, but it’s a lot harder to get bored of them.

So maybe I just need a change of perspective. So I’m trying this: The chase doesn’t end at marriage, it keeps going. Forever. I should always be trying to attract my crush, my girlfriend, my fiancee, my wife. I’ll be constantly changing and working on my character to catch the eye of the one who’s already caught mine. Even if the relationship is signed and sealed with a ring to match, I want to continue to compete with other males to prove that I am worth her time.
So there’s no end to it. That’s comforting to me. I always liked the idea of a never-ending story better than the happily-ever-after ones.

Superman

Does Superman feel homesick when he touches Kryptonite?

I mean, it's a piece of his planet after all and if it makes him loses his physical powers, what else does it make him feel? On another level, does it feel good to have this concrete connection to his past and birthplace?

Something new to think about.