Taking My Own Advice

I've long said that there is no such thing as writer's block. That it's just a block you put on your own creative flow when you're just being stubborn. You're unwilling to write something that isn't good, so you write nothing at all. But the good is buried under a layer or two of bad and only way through is to just write it out.

Writing is rewriting as they say. And blogging isn't writing, as many bloggers on the interwebs are all too happy to prove. So I'm gonna ride this impulse to write right on through this wall I have in my mind (or is it in my fingers?). I apologize in advance to anyone that happens to stumble upon this blog. Maybe I should start making that my standard sign off actually...

I've been in a real funk lately. I've been eating poorly, not exercising, watching a lot of TV (even by my standard) and doing little else. I've gained back a bunch of the weight I lost in the fall. Now I could blame it on my emotional state, or my social life. I could blame it on my never ending search for gainful employ. The truth is, I don't really know what it is. But I know when it started and that's my best clue to all of this. It's been a slow progression into melancholy since January. This malaise started there. Time for some honesty I guess.

I had a friendship with a girl in the fall that slowly turned into more, at least on my end. But I could not allow myself to take the next step because this girl is not a Christian. As my friend Graham described it, "It's the only thing that's a problem and it's the most important thing."

I couldn't even allow myself to find out if she felt the same way at that point (in hindsight now, I suspect she very well may have), because I was pretty infatuated. My emotions were torn enough already, I couldn't risk finding out a relationship was actually possible. I'm fairly certain I wouldn't have been able to resist.

It all would have been great if I could have asked her out, gotten shot down and moved on. But I had reached the point where I no longer wanted to ask her out because I couldn't risk her saying yes. So after agonizing over this for much longer than I should have, I did the only sensible thing I had left at my disposal; I ran away. (and yes, I know sensible may be generous; I've had a lot more time to think about this than you have).

One day I just stopped contacting her. I stopped going to events or places I might run into her. I had made my decision and I needed to stay firm, but I could not stand to be around her in the state I was in. It was too painful and I feared my twitterpation would betray me.

The unfortunate side effect of this was that I simultaneously cut out an entire social circle that we shared. And for the better part of the last four months, I have only seen a handful of those friends, a handful of times. These were people that I was mostly seeing on a near weekly basis for the prior six months or so.

So I cut that hole out of my life and I started to sink. Whether that was the cause or just a contributing factor or even the last straw on a paraplegic camel, they are most definitely related. Now I don't know if this will make any difference or not as far as my somber demeanor of late, but I felt like I've been internalizing this for too long and I'm striving to be more vulnerable on this blog. So there you go. If you're the praying sort, I could use some prayer for this lack of motivation. I need to get some kind of motor running again.

Insignificant Ramblings

Every once in a while, I find my sleeping schedule sliding, seemingly of its own accord. For instance, back in the fall there was a period where I physically could not sleep past nine a.m., no matter when I went to sleep. At the moment, I'm in a restless nights period where I lay in bed for hours before I can fall asleep. I think perhaps my sleep time has shifted later into the night without consulting me. Terribly inconsiderate of it really. But hey, at least I don't have anything going on right now. And who decides what the normal time to sleep is anyways? Obviously society runs on an average of sorts, but few and far between is the soul that is average, seemingly defying the term itself.

But what better way to stay up late than to pour out my thoughts onto a page, digital though it may be? I've been neglecting this exercise (and all exercise if I'm honest) these past months and I have a growing yearning in my spirit over it. When I don't write I begin to feel that I have nothing relevant to say. That my writing is invalid. That it doesn't matter. I'll never be as good as ____, so what's the point? I might as well pack up and go home. Find in a cabin in the heart of the Minnesota wilderness. Live off the land. Fish, hunt, plant, grow.

Then what? I'd want to write about it. I'd have to. Like so many great American novelists before me, I'd write about a man that escaped from the rigors of a world that's technologically advanced, yet socially and emotionally stunted. Broken even. We slowly lose our interaction to the irresistible draw of interconnectivity.

And so I'd write. I'd reminisce of a time I never knew. A bygone era of Twain, or Fitzgerald. Always to the past, always to the wilderness. It's the American ideal. The rugged cowboy. The stubborn pilgrim. The durable farmer. This is the stock we come from. We were never meant for this world of reality stars and celebrity marriages.

We melt away our brains on the trivial while the world burns around us. Untold millions suffer in silence while the western world debates the celebrity of the minute's style choices. #Dehumanized

But I will stand and fight. Turn the machines against themselves. That's American too. Maybe I won't start a ranch but there's still work to be done here. My fingers hold the key.

Writing is an inherently arrogant tool. The writer says "My thoughts are worth sharing! Everyone should know the things that come from my mind." And perhaps they are right. If you disagree and write your own thoughts, are you not guilty of the same thing? Any exchange of ideas carries this problem of course, but words are never more permanent than when put onto a page. Words in the air are just ripples in the air. They vanish, often without having touched an ear to perceive them. But written words can endure the centuries; persist unaltered through the millenia. Who's to say who will read these words, these idle thoughts of mine, in the distant future, unimagined in my own time?

But my thoughts have run their course for now and I will stop the flow here. This is raw, unfettered writing. No structure to constrain and no story to tell. These are just the thoughts that float down the river of my mind at three a.m. on a insignificant Friday morning...

Learning to Trust

Don't you worry, don't you worry Drewb. This Lukey's got a blog for you.

Wow, things can turn on a body fast. Remember that job I had lined up for two months of work? Well it's been 2 weeks since I worked for them and they haven't got me scheduled for next week either. In short, I have worked two days for them with no sign of when the third day will be. Or if it will come at all.

But wait, there's more. I got a stop sign ticket driving home from work on the second day so now I need to appear in court, because apparently that's how California does things for some reason. So my "bail" for the ticket is $238. Which is more than I made in those two days. So that's a negative job to add to the ole resume.

And on top of all that, I found out on Thursday that I am being kicked out of my apartment May 31st. Without cause. The roommate that rents the other room has decided that he no longer wants to have two tenants in our bedroom. So naturally, rather than talk to us about it and ask if either of us would be willing to pick up the whole tab for the room so only one of us had to move out, he went and found a separate person and is kicking us both out. No warning, no discussion. Despite what he claims, it clearly is at least a little personal, or he wouldn't have gone behind our backs about it. He just doesn't want either of us as roommates anymore.

And you know what? God is good. I feel great and I'm trusting all of this in God's capable (insulting understatement?) hands. I can't tell you how happy I am with how I'm handling all of this news right now. Just a few months ago (or earlier this week?) this would have sent me into a tailspin of laying on the floor and wishing for my mommy.

But I am growing. All of this struggle and trial over the last three and a half plus years has not been for nothing and I'm learning to trust God more fully. And already these storms seem to be subsiding somewhat.

While work has been nonexistent with these punks at A.U.D.C., I've continued to get sporadic work and referrals from my friend Mark. And while this ticket was wildly frustrating, and bordering on unfair (they set up a trap in a dark park and hid on a freeway entrance ramp with their lights off), the bail was not as high as I initially feared and there is hope of getting it reduced for financial hardship. And while I'm gonna miss this apartment and will loathe having to move out while I'm supposed to be getting ready to fly home at the end of May, God has always been miraculously faithful in providing me with shelter. He led me to this apartment and he will lead me to wherever my next residence will be. I can take comfort in that while I begin my search.

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
John 16:33

Is this thing on?

This is for all the lonely Andrews
thinking my blog has past him by
don't give up until you
see that my blog is up
you never know until you look

Not everyone has a great gift for rhyme, ok. We can't all be Fezzik.

This will be an abbreviated entry just to get something up and break out of my slump. For those that use this blog as mostly a news service for all things Luke, this post is for you.

Things have really picked up around here lately. I've been getting called in for lots of Production Assistant work lately, thanks in no small part to my friend Mark McCune. It's been a massive relief to actually make some progress with this work thing and I am extremely grateful to Mark, and more to God for the blessing of work.

Otherwise not a lot of news. Just keep living and loving life. Growing in my faith. Super Apartment Bros. finale is coming along, but very slowly still. I've secretly set July 16th as the deadline for finishing it/flying to Eric and smacking him. But seriously, one year seems like a solid last resort deadline. Hopefully it's out a long time before that.

Anywho. That's all for now. Gonna go bowl and enjoy the lack of snow outside my apartment. Hopefully I'll have time for a more thoughtful post later today or tomorrow.

The Past Today

There's something I find inherently fascinating about movies based on old films/novels that were originally just contemporary stories and have now aged into period pieces. Especially when the new film becomes an amalgamation of two separate time periods and sensibilities. It ends up serving as a window into, not only our time, but also gives future generations a glimpse of our psyche; how we viewed another time period.

One of the films I am most excited for in 2013 is Baz Luhrmann's "The Great Gatsby". Widely considered to be F. Scott Fitzgerald's greatest novel, and one of the greatest American Novels ever written, "The Great Gatsby" was written and set in 1922, at the height of the Roaring Twenties. In many ways, the time wasn't that different from the indulgent age we live in now, which makes the timing of this adaptation so interesting.

Of course, the book was made into a film back in 1974 starring Robert Redford and Mia Farrow, but the film flopped with critics as it lacked excitement and depth. In fact, this was the third adaptation of the novel at the time following a silent film outing in 1926 and another adaptation in 1949 after the 1926 version negatives were lost (it no longer exists anywhere). There was also a made for TV adaptation in 2000 that aired on the A&E cable network. But none of the adaptations have gone down as classic (or even good) films in their own right. And perhaps this one will finally get it right.

Let me qualify this post by stating that I have never actually read the book. For whatever reason, it was never required reading for me in high school (though how I got stuck reading "The Grass Dancer" instead of this classic, I'll never know, nor will I forgive that curriculum decision anytime soon). Now with the film on the horizon, and with Baz Luhrmann (Moulin Rouge, Romeo+Juliet) bringing his usual breed of panache to the story, I've decided to wait and read it after the film. Criticize me all you want book worms but I hate watching a movie when I know the story or how it ends before I go in. I'll get to the book eventually, the film is only a few more months away.

But anyways, back to the original idea behind this post. The trailer for "The Great Gatsby" is what got me inspired to write this post. The trailer shows a New York that has a decidedly 21st Century aesthetic to it. Lots of lights, flashy costuming and decor. 1922 was quite a time period for such things and it's little wonder that the 1974 version still managed to win the Oscar that year for costume design. But what really sets the tone in this trailer is the music. Luhrmann's history of using modern songs in period pieces is well-documented, but this seems even more appropriate (One thing I want to add, since he is often criticized for his choices in music, is that even Shakespeare was known to incorporate modern popular music into his plays to broaden their appeal).

The trailer opens with the Jay-Z/Kanye West anthem "No Church in the Wild". With the beats and R&B feel that is distinctly 21st century, this immediately draws the mind to connect today with 1922. The similarities are even laid out in the opening minute of the trailer, in case you somehow couldn't make that connection yourself. The party being shown looks like something you might see in Hollywood today (granted if there was a twenties theme to the party). Flash, spectacle and booze with an undercurrent of sensuality. Then the hauntingly beautiful U2 song "Love is Blindness" (though this version is performed by Jack White of The White Stripes) rolls in after the introduction of the love interest. The song closes it out and really gives away more about the story than any of the images in the trailer. Leo's performance looks like it's at his usual high standard.

Any truly great piece of art will always be interpreted differently by different audiences. There are timeless messages buried within them that even the artist may have missed. Fitzgerald's story is such a work of art and I am excited to see what Baz decides to focus on in his adaptation.

In closing, seeing things like this also makes me wonder what books or movies being made today will be made into period piece films in the next 50-70 years. Or will we be too busy remaking The Great Gatsby again?

Fear of Vulnerability

I want you to see me how I wish I was, not how I really am. Because who I am is scared and weak and not in control. He stumbles on his words and is wrong a lot and makes mistakes all the time. And revealing that makes me feel vulnerable. But if you don't get to know that person, your relationship isn't with me at all.


Humans are like snails. We're soft and weak and vulnerable (and even a little gross?) on the inside. When something scares us, we hide behind our shell, the image people have of us. And we feel safer that way because the shell is stronger and polished. It's prettier to look at. We may even have several different shells for different occasions. But that's not us. It's not real. And those relationships leave us unfulfilled because they aren't real.

We all want to believe the image we project. Maybe if we play pretend and believe it hard enough, we'll magically change into what we want to be. Or perhaps more accurately, if we can get others to believe it. Perhaps that's why we put so much value on the perspective of others. We're seeking that validation. But on a more devious level, we want to know if the illusion is working.

But when we're alone, the shell doesn't exist. We can try to put it up, but it needs an audience to materialize. We can't fool ourselves. That's why so many people are afraid to be alone. They feel naked and exposed because they can't fool themselves anymore.

Until we learn to overcome this fear of being vulnerable, we can never have a real relationship with anyone. It's scary, but it's worth the risk. Because the alternative is feeling alone for the rest of your life.

p.s. Don't get me wrong. Shells/images of us can be very useful in social settings and professional relationships. But for intimate relationships like friendships and romantic connections, this approach will only hamstring you.

A Failtacular Adventure

So tonight was an eventful night where nothing happened. I know, it sounds confusing. And it was. But it will make sense in a minute.

My dad is coming to visit me this month. The plan was for me to get a ride down to the airport and meet him there so we could ride back to my place together and he wouldn't have to face the horrors of LA rush hour traffic alone. Plus, I don't get a ton of visitors out here so maximizing my time with my father was a nice incentive too.

I managed to bum a ride off my friend Zech who works in Venice and rode down with him when he went to work at 3pm. We hit good traffic and made it to Venice by about 3:50. And my dad wasn't getting in until 7-7:30. So I went to a coffee shop for a while to see if another friend of mine was working. He was not. Then I had a decision to make. My dad wasn't getting in for 3 hours and I was 6 miles away from the airport. I could sit there and watch the Avengers and still have a couple hours to kill when it was all said and done. Or, I could walk to the airport and meet my dad at the gate.

I went with the latter because, why the hell not? I'm young. I have the time and good health to make such a trek. I won't always have either of those things. And a day will come when I'd be willing to walk 1,000 miles to see my father and won't be able to, so I'm living for the now. Besides, I had just completed a 9+ mile hike up and down a 3,000 foot elevation change a few weeks ago. This would be a cakewalk.

Off I went, walking through Venice Beach and Marina Del Rey, the sun setting behind me. I walked in silence, I commented on my surroundings. I talked to God. I sang and whistled. I watched the final 20 minutes of "Star Wars: A New Hope" in my head, complete with a full John Williams score, which I whistled and hummed (yes, apparently I can do that now). And before I knew it... I was half way there.


Now, it's important for the rest of the story to note that my phone was running dangerously low at this point. I had, in fact, turned it off for the entire second half of my journey as the battery had dropped below 10%. Keep this in mind.

The walk was quite an experience. It felt good since I've been struggling with a stuffy nose all week. Being able to exercise with no symptoms was a nice reprieve. It was a beautiful evening, as most are in Southern California. The big regret I have was not having a travel companion on this trek. Because memories are always better shared. But alas.

I finally arrived at the airport right on schedule. LAX is really not designed for pedestrians. That place is so huge. And Delta is all the way over at Terminal 5. I guess that's still better than if it had been all the way at the end, but my hips weren't too into being grateful for small mercies at that point. Besides, my plan hinged on me actually running into my dad, since my phone had only a few precious moments of talk time left, so timing was important.

I found the terminal where the plane was set to arrive and I settled in to wait. And wait. And wait some more. I took out my phone and turned it back on. No messages. I called my dad. No answer. What was going on? I didn't have much time to find out, my battery was getting lower by the second.

I called my mom to make sure I didn't have the wrong airline. "Hey, Dad's flying on Delta right?", I said. "Yea, I think so," she replied, somewhat incredulously. "Ok good, because I've been waiting here for like 45 minutes and he still hasn't come down--," I shot back before she interrupted. "Oh no! He's coming next Thursday! Did you think he was coming today?", she asked, and continued before I could respond, "He thought you were coming today!" She's talking to him. He's right next to her. Well done Luke.
 
It's rather disappointing to expect your father to be visiting you for the next several days and then find out that he's not coming. I mean, at least he's coming next week, but it's still a bit of a letdown for me. Through a series of miscommunications, and probably a small amount of wishful thinking on my part, I had indeed managed to convince myself that my dad was coming a week before he actually was. Just one of those many small mistakes one makes in one's lifetime. But this one is gonna stick with me for a while.

I quickly wrapped up the conversation, with just about 1% battery life, then removed the battery to preserve that percentage point as much as possible. I was gonna need that last drop of juice before this night was over. And my night was far from over. I was on my own now.

Some of you more forward (or backward?) thinking people may have recalled that I had been planning to return to my home in Burbank (a mere 30 miles away) via by dad's rental car. Stranded and alone, many miles from home, I had to move on to Plan B. I made for the Metro station.

Now this part of the journey was, thankfully, fairly uneventful. I mean, I was quite tired from my hike and had not been planning to walk much more the rest of the night. But riding on the Metro isn't terribly news worthy for most people, and is downright commonplace for millions. For me, this was the farthest distance I had ever had to cover on public transit, by a fair margin, so it was somewhat noteworthy in that regard.

From the Green line, to the Blue line to the Red line, I made the switches and sat in silence. The approximately hour and a half long ride gave me lots of time to reflect and think about things. Unfortunately, I had already used up a lot of my thoughts on the long walk preceding this, so I wasn't left with much. I did spend a fair amount of time thinking about what I would do when I arrived at my destination though.

As you may recall from just a few paragraphs ago, my phone was on it's last leg. And I had shortsightedly given my last bits of change to a homeless man along the way, meaning payphones weren't a viable option either. So I had one shot, maybe less, to get a call to a friend and get them to pick me up at the station or I'd be potentially facing another 4.5 miles of walking to get home. I had to call someone that wouldn't be busy, but who was also someone that would be willing to help me out. Someone close would be best. And I had to talk fast.

After much consideration, I called my buddy Graham Richardson. And praise Jesus, he was available and willing to come pick me up without much explanation for why I needed to be picked up at a Metro station in the first place. Seconds after I hung up the phone, it died. Awesome, pulled it off.

Crap, I didn't tell him my phone was gonna die.

Long story short, I eventually tracked Graham down in the parking lot, about 5-10 minutes after he had arrived. We were on opposite ends of the parking lot and neither of us wanted to move for fear of missing the other.

There you have it. All told, this adventure took me about 8 1/2 hours. As I said before, quite an eventful day that ultimately led nowhere. But boy would it have been better with a partner...

Sorry for the traveling break

We're back. Let the great experiment recommence!

I pounded frantically at Derek's door. Even now I remember not knowing what I was going to say when I saw my friend. How could I explain what I was running from? If I told him I was terrified of a spooky feeling I had encountered in the woods, I'd never hear the end of it. What was I going to tell him?

The door opened before I could come up with something. "Mitchell? What's wrong?", he asked. "Ghosts!", I blurted out. Maybe I should have just gone with the truth after all. "In the woods," I added hasitly in anticipation of his next question. "Don't stupid. There's no such thing as ghosts," he shot back as I pushed past him and into, what I believed to be, the relative safety of his house.

After I had a chance to calm down, I was able to shake it off and we played inside throughout the rest of the day. Of course, Derek made sure all of our games involved ghosts somehow, but I was able to keep a straight face about it. I knew it would only get worse if he knew how much it bothered me. I was almost able to convince myself that it didn't bother me even. Almost.

But as I lay in my sleeping bag that night, in the basement of Derek's house, my thoughts strayed once again to that fateful encounter in the woods. The memory almost seemed to feed off of the fear deep within me. I knew I wouldn't be free of it until I faced it again. I had to know, for better or for worse, what could cause such a thing.

I'm pretty brave, I thought. I'll bet Derek wouldn't want to face something like that. He'd be too scared for sure. I comforted myself with these reassurances as my eyes became heavier and heavier. He's not worthy, I added, before going on to think that it was a strange thought to have just as I drifted in unconsciousness and both thoughts escaped from my waking mind.