Tastes Like The Real Thing

Terms Of Endangered Deer Meat

2011-08-25T14:06:00.000-07:00

A new family drama that deals with issues no one is really interested in.

Composed by a Very Sensitive "Mr. Universe" Candidate

2011-07-18T13:18:00.000-07:00

Words and tones may break my bones,
But sticks will only nick me.

A Crass Word To My Unassuming Ass

2011-05-18T14:52:00.001-07:00

Oh, contraire, mon derriere.

The way you leaned into Miss Latrine?

One might deem that quite obscene.

Will April Showers Bring May Flowers?

2011-05-01T11:32:00.000-07:00

Hamlet 2011

2011-04-25T13:26:00.000-07:00

Recently, I witnessed an updated modern version of The Tempest by William Shakespeare. I decided to do my own, taking all the cues that I noticed in The Tempest adaptation. I'm not sure that you can still call this Shakespeare, but that adapter had no problem doing so. So, why not?

William Shakespeare's Hamlet

Modern adaptation by Grant Withington – updated for 2011 audiences

Hamlet: Man, I am really sad right now. That’s my mom. She’s the queen. And she’s marrying my uncle, my dad’s brother. My dad was the king. He was married to my mom, but he just died. And now his brother, who’s my uncle, is the new king. And he’s going to be my step-dad because he’s marrying my mom, who’s the queen. I’m the Prince of Denmark because that’s where we all live……Denmark.

Queen Gertrude: Hamlet, come to momma. I know it seems a little sad right now, but everything will be ok.

Hamlet: I don’t know nothing about no seems, ma.

King: Come on, Hamlet. Listen to your mother.

Hamlet: Whatever.

Queen Gertrude and The King leave.

Hamlet: I can’t believe she married that guy. I mean, what a loser. She didn’t even wait that long after my dad, the old king, her husband, died to marry his brother, my uncle. This is really tearing me up inside.

Enter Horatio.

Horatio: Hamlet, I was just walking around outside and I saw your father. I couldn’t tell if he was a ghost or real, but it looked exactly like your dad…..who recently died, which is why I thought it was strange, but thought you’d like to know.

Hamlet: Are you sure, Horatio? I know we go way back and you’re my best friend and I’ll trust anything you say to me, but this seems a little unlikely.

Horatio: I know. Hamlet, you’re my best friend too, and that’s why I knew I could tell you.

Hamlet: Alright, Horatio. I guess I’ll check it out.

Hamlet goes outside.

Hamlet: Dad, is that you?

Ghost: Sort of. I’m a ghost Hamlet. But I am still your father.

Hamlet: I can’t believe it.

Ghost: If you can’t believe that, try this one on for size……my brother, your uncle, the new king, your mom’s new husband, killed me.

Hamlet: What?

Ghost: Yeah, I didn’t see it coming at all.

Hamlet: Now I’m even more upset about this whole situation.

Ghost: Think you’re mad? I’m dead. This guy took my throne and my wife, your mom.

Hamlet: What can I do about it?

Ghost: How about you kill him?

Hamlet: Ok. I’ll do that.

Hamlet wanders around in the palace.

Hamlet: Should I be, or shouldn’t I be? Should I just let it be and play it as it lays?

Ophelia: Have you forgotten about your girlfriend?

Hamlet: Who?

Ophelia: Your girlfriend. Me. Remember? I’m your girlfriend? Ophelia?

Hamlet: Oh yeah, my girlfriend, Ophelia.

Ophelia: Well you can forget it. Here’s all those love letters you wrote me. You can take them back now. I don’t want them anymore.

Hamlet: Whatever. Go to a convent or a monastery or something.

Director: Uh, Hamlet, I don’t think most people are going to know what a convent or a monastery is, or at least what those words mean. Can you just change it to church? I think that will make more sense to the audience. Oh, and don’t forget to mention that she’s your girlfriend again. We don’t want everyone losing track of how all these characters are related.

Hamlet: Yeah, sure………..Ophelia, I know you’re my girlfriend and all – were my girlfriend – but now you’ve got to go.

Ophelia: Where should I go?

Hamlet: Ophelia, get your ass to church!

Outside Queen Gertrude’s bedroom.

Hamlet: Hey, Mom, can I talk to you for a second?

Queen Gertrude: Of course, Hamlet. Come on in. What’s on your mind, my son.

Hamlet: Well, it’s just that I can’t see how you’d marry dad’s brother, my uncle, your former brother-in-law, when he’s not half the man that dad was. I mean, check out these two pictures. See any difference? Well, I do. I see a big difference, Mom. One of them – dad – was awesome. The other one - my uncle, your new husband - waste of space.

Queen Gertrude: Hamlet, you’re overreacting again.

Hamlet: What’s that noise? There’s someone behind the curtains.

Queen Gertrude: Hamlet, you just killed Polonius, Ophelia’s dad.

Hamlet: I know who he is. Whatever. He should’ve minded his own business.

Queen Gertrude: What are we going to do?

Hamlet: Don't try to change the subject, Mom. Back to what I was talking about before. Dad’s brother killed him. Dad told me himself.

Queen Gertrude: How is that possible? Your dad is dead.

Hamlet: I know that, Mom! It was his ghost. Oh, hey, there he is right now. Oh wait, I guess he’s leaving again.

Queen Gertrude: This is crazy. I can’t believe it.

Hamlet: Mom, things stink around here, and I don’t just mean the body on the floor. I’m getting out of here.

Horatio walks with Hamlet around a graveyard.

Hamlet: Hey, Gravemaker, can I see that skull?

Gravemaker: Sure.

Hamlet: I knew this guy when he was alive. He was a comedian for my family when I was a kid. But he’s dead now, which is why I’m holding up his skull in my hands. Oh well.

Horatio: What was his name – something ick – meick, himick, herick?

Hamlet: Yorick.

Horatio: Myick?

Hamlet: No, Yorick. That was his name. Yorick.

Horatio: Oh right, that makes sense. Now I remember. The comedian?

Hamlet: The very same. Whoa, there’s a lot of people approaching and I know all of them. Look, Horatio, there’s the king, my uncle, my dad’s brother, my mom’s new husband. And there’s my mom, the queen. And there’s Laertes, Ophelia’s brother. Looks like a funeral. I wonder whose funeral it is. Let’s watch and maybe we can find out.

Queen Gertrude: Poor Ophelia. I thought you were going to be my daughter-in-law because you were going to marry Hamlet, but you’re not going to be or do either now, because you drowned a few days ago. R.I.P.

Laertes: I want to hold my sister in my arms one more time before you bury her.

Hamlet: Whatever. You didn’t love her as much as I did.

Laertes: Yes, I did. Way more than you did.

Hamlet: Well how can you prove it?

Laertes: I’m her brother. How can you prove it?

Hamlet: I would eat a crocodile.

Laertes and Hamlet are in the palace ready to duel. They pull out their smart phones and begin to do battle via text.

Orsic: A hit. A very palpable hit.

Director: Palpable?

Orsic: Sorry…….A hit. I could feel that hit from over here. So, you definitely get the point, Hamlet.

Laertes: Yeah, I guess that hurt a little.

Hamlet sends out a text marked “to many” saying that the King, his uncle, his dad’s brother is to blame for all the bad things that have happened, including the pornographic video clip that was sent to everyone’s phone from an anonymous e-mail address.

Everyone kills each other, except Horatio survives. Fortinbras enters.

Horatio: I can explain everything.

Fortinbras: Sweet. Hamlet seemed pretty cool, so give him an honorable burial. I’m the new king now though.

He picks up Hamlet’s I-Phone 4 and calls his mom, Mrs. Fortinbras.

Fortinbras: Made it, ma. Top of the world. (to the audience) That’s a James Cagney reference. For all of you who have never heard of James Cagney, he was a…..oh you know what, just Google him. (back into phone) What’s that, Mom?.....Oh yeah, I know, right?

Curtains.

Screenwriting Dreams of the Scatological Variety

2011-04-22T14:39:00.000-07:00

As Dave Barry usually prefaces something outrageous, "I am not making this up." I awoke this morning at 4:55am in a slightly embarrassed panic. I checked my jammies, and to my relief, they remained unsoiled. Let’s rewind a few ticks of the clock back to my unassuming, utopian state of R.E.M.

I was dreaming that I had found a copy of the script of The Social Network (this makes sense because I have been thinking about how to get a hold of a copy for my summer reading list), and as in most of my dreams, when I find something it’s a totally awesome miracle. I had discovered a secret code hidden deep within the facets of an e-mail sent by some business acquaintance. The code unlocked a drawer in my own bedroom that I evidently didn’t know existed until that moment. Within this drawer there was a neat row of beautifully bound movie scripts, one of which was The Social Network by Aaron Sorkin. I greedily plucked it from the bunch and the reading immediately commenced.

I don’t know how far along I was when it happened (maybe page 23), but all of a sudden I pooped my pants. It was one of those dreams where everything seemed completely legit, normal, and really real. So, I got scared. I snapped into consciousness and thought, “I don’t know how this happened, but I think I pooped my pants.” But as I mentioned before, thankfully, this was not the case.

But this brings me to my main fecal….forgive me…. focal point, and possible topic for further discussion. What did the dream mean? I have always ridden the fence on whether dreams are just ridiculous amalgamations of memories, worries, and desires that our brain attempts to fit together with a failed semi-logic, or whether there are some signs to be taken from them, as if they were sent as a personal message from divinity or devil. And surely, if there was ever a dream that warranted wrestling between these two schools of thought, it was this dream.

And so, I will pose the questions. Could it be that Sorkin’s script was so utterly and shockingly fantastic that it unexpectedly moved not only my emotions, but also my bowels? Or perhaps it was a decree appointed from up on high that exclaimed Sorkin’s script was actually, unbeknownst to the critical masses, really crappy.

Or was it merely that I am easily excitable and geeky when it comes to matters like reading award winning screenplays, and letting one go in my shorts is the highest compliment I could equate with writing of that caliber? I really can’t say.

Food for thought, I suppose. For the record, I have not read the screenplay yet (hence the bewildering euphoria upon it’s discovery), but enjoyed the movie enough to have seen it three times. I think it’s safe to assume I’ll enjoy the screenplay with no worries, especially since Laundry Day is just around the corner.

While I’m on the topic of art vs. excrement (or is it a marriage?), I might as well post this poem that I wrote a little while back. There’s a lot of hidden meaning lodged in this one, so plunge in!

YOU MELODRAMATIC PIECE OF SHIT

I sat down to relieve myself

And a poem came out.

As it left me, it read itself aloud

In a self-indulgent and tasteless voice-over:

“I never want to see you again.”

Lydia Ooghe

2011-04-15T22:43:00.000-07:00

I met her a couple of times back in 2004 at the Sidewalk Cafe in Manhattan (though I doubt she remembers). She was singing with a guitarist back then and I taped a performance of theirs that can be seen here: http://www.youtube.com/user/Grantasia#grid/user/557EBD99781458D9

I've gone back to these recordings over the years and am always continually inspired by the intricacies of the note selection and the unexpected changes and places the songs go. And Lydia. Her light, seemingly effortless voice, that she wills to waft and linger.

To my delight, she is still writing and recording songs, and she is now backed by the Lux Vacancy (http://www.lydiaoogheandluxvacancy.com/). Her lyrics are as piercing as ever, maybe even more so.

This is my favorite of her newest recordings.

&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://lydiaoogheandluxvacancy.bandcamp.com/track/yes-sirree"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Yes Sirree by Lydia Ooghe and Lux Vacancy&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;

i really loved you baby
i really was your girl
you had me sexy sadie
by the whole world
by the whole world

sometimes i think you felt low
something didn't agree
i wondered where you would go
and you came to me
because you know just what I'd do
yeah i would romanticize you
and say clumsily the right things
so you'd please come again
plus I meant them

i loved you baby while i could
i didn't care if you were good
and you were no good, yes sirree
but you gave me some
damn good memories

Wilting and Unable

2011-04-14T22:07:00.000-07:00

Am I resilient or resigned?
Brilliant or blind?
My lens out of focus,
Unable to notice the locust
Chewing what now is behind.

Unable to recall what the plan was,
Is this only a lull in the stanzas?
Soon to right, soon to rise,
Shake off this beggar's disguise,
And walk away from this empty canvas?

At the seams, prayers in sincerity:
My arrogant dreams, miming prosperity -
Only to wake in reckless expedience
Unable, stiff necked, defeated disobedience
Faithless in the face of who cares for me.

15 Years to the Day

2011-03-12T21:14:00.000-08:00

And will I ever shake it?

To Every Friend

2011-03-11T00:17:00.000-08:00

I wish you all could see it. What started as a fairly standard montage comprised of your Facebook photos, jumping from memories I helped you make to memories I missed out on (and continue to), morphed into a sun flare of moving images cascading through every lobe in my brain, clutching sparklers in both hands, burning away the reality that I was experiencing it alone.

And then the song ended.

Midnight

2011-03-09T23:56:00.000-08:00

Sometimes you accidentally stumble onto something that perfectly speaks to the minutes that you just can't seem to break out of. At least, I do.

Bankrupt in Paradise

2011-03-01T00:49:00.001-08:00

There was hail in LA on Saturday. Today was on the lush road to recovery. An impenetrable blue sky accompanied the breezy palm trees and sun-soaked grass as I found street parking (free 2 hour) in front of the Glendale Central Library - the best place to find free parking if and when going to the Americana/Glendale Galleria (or as I call it, The Grove Light). It's got almost everything The Grove has: the fountains, the fine dining, the blaring Frank Sinatra tunes. But minus the Apple Store. It is so almost thoroughly posh. Before I made my way to my beloved triple decker Barnes and Noble (same as The Grove), I moseyed on over to the Borders down the street that is, in light of the company's recent financial woes, liquidating their entire inventory. And is it any wonder? The store looked like hell - if hell had never seen a vacuum cleaner. They even closed off the bathrooms to the public. There can't be a clearer message that they are looking to shut the doors as soon as possible.

Back across the street, I was relieved to be back amongst some order in a store that took pride in its displays, its products, and its atmosphere. They even announced over the loud speaker that the floor was not an appropriate place to sit. "Barnes and Noble have chairs available for reading," the employee informed the appropriate idiots. This chain always has had and continues to have it together, and regardless of whatever happens to them in the future, they aren't going to go out like Borders, which resembled a Dollar Tree with books and blu-rays.

After roughly two hours of comparing browsing experiences between the booksellers, I headed back to the library. On arriving back to my car at precisely 3:48pm, I was greeted with the indelible image of a drunken homeless man urinating under the closest tree to my vehicle/person. And not urinating on the tree itself, but actually pissing in the wind, wetting the dirt, perhaps hoping to strengthen the trunk's roots. No attempt whatsoever was made to shield himself, in all his streaming splendor, from any passerby, mature audiences or otherwise. From outside my driver's side door, I was transfixed, marveling at both his oblivion and lack of aim. It is hard to say which one took greater precedence. It is safe to indulge in the obvious, and clarify that he did not know where he was. After a stumble-ridden buttoning of the fly, that took at least 60 seconds, he very happily walked a good five feet away from his newly claimed territory, stretched out on the grass, and proceeded to take a nap.

Tonight I will receive word as to whether or not I have snagged a spot at the apartment in Park La Brea, or whether tomorrow I join the ranks of the trench maker.

Shivering in the Internet Cafe

2011-02-15T14:21:00.000-08:00

Waiting on a file to upload,

Jim Beam lingers in my blood stream.

Got a call from Riley, ever the encourager.

Listening incessantly to Mew, Yoko Kanno, and Blossom Dearie.

Plugging away at chapter 20 of the adaptation (first draft).

Clinging to Psalm 22 for warmth inside this meat locker of a room.

California continues to lovingly stroke my hair, while simultaneously kneeing me in the crotch.....over and over.....

Untagged and Nameless

2011-02-01T02:27:00.000-08:00

Today a Japanese tourist took my picture. I was sitting by myself at a table on the Santa Monica pier outside of Soda Jerks Fountain Serve. A group of young Japanese women were walking/cackling back up the bridge to Ocean Avenue, when one of them stopped and smiled at me before putting a camera to her face and capturing what was, no doubt, a stunning still image of some random, isolated American in a red button down shirt and jeans, amidst the backdrop of the American Dream, struggling to write his way out of oblivion. It will surely be uploaded and added to a Kanji labeled Facebook album, indecipherable to the western eye, the nameless writer forever untagged. Just one more place where yet another piece of me is locked away, inaccessible to myself.

Another Comparison You Probably Won't Understand

2011-01-30T00:46:00.000-08:00

I have more toes than I have tears that I've cried for you.

It could be one, or two, or even nine tears shed.

And that's assuming I have all ten toes.

Whatever the exact number,

The point is that it's not that many.

Take Me To Your Certified Epileptic

2011-01-22T22:02:00.001-08:00

I want to know how to freak out to flashing lights

Because I've always just found them to be monotonous

And, for the most part, predictable.

Kyra Sedgwick Segue Into Sigourney Weaver

2011-01-22T01:02:00.000-08:00

I was imagining a universe

In which every role Kyra Sedgwick had ever taken

Had been played by Sigourney Weaver,

And vice versa.

It was a pointless exercise,

Unfruitful and frustrating.

Chrome Shades in the Apple Store

2010-11-20T13:42:00.000-08:00

You named your recently acquired arm dog “Muffin.”

Your relationship accessory, Thad, is motioning you towards the Mac Air display table.

He thinks it would go nicely with you,

But you know that, in reality, it will go nicely with him and Muffin.

You grin, take a sip of your Metamucil smoothy, and let him think what he wants.

The "Accidental" Phone Call From Max Belz

2010-11-19T17:14:00.001-08:00

I heard this after I answered my phone the other day:

"Hey Grant. I didn't even mean to call you. I was trying to call Google. But it's a likely mistake, since you both have similar bases of knowledge."

The misunderstanding was appreciated.

Olga Grbich In Stockings

2010-11-10T03:07:00.001-08:00

Blonde fairy,

I see you through the hazy filter on a Nikon D90.

Contrary to your body's direction,

Your windowsill gaze shoots back to find me.

Some room on some gray afternoon in Kiev or London,

Where was it taken?

Two shades of blue, on the wall and on you,

In a space that seems otherwise vacant.

Liquid crystal display and pixels

Form your understated advertisement.

And you'll never remember because you'll never know

The first moment our eyes met.

All things Summer Dregs

2010-10-20T17:05:00.001-07:00

Carl Cadwell is a musician based in Chattanooga, TN.

I used to live there too.

I recently moved to Los Angeles, CA.

But before I did that we worked together on two projects.

The first was a music video for the Summer Dregs song "A" which Carl wrote, performed, and produced with Stephen Nichols.

I had the idea for this video in July 2009, but didn't actually have the resources to shoot it until September 2010.

My brother, Ben Withington, was the constant and consistent force at my side the whole way (as per usual) and co-everythinged with me.

The idea at the beginning was "the song is called 'A,' everyone wants to direct their own lives, technology distances people more than it brings them together, give everyone a camera, 26 cameras (one for every letter of the alphabet), have them all think that they are directing their own video, but in actuality they are just players in the 'A' camera's (the omniscient perspective) frame, and place it in the context of a guy trying to recreate a memory involving a lost love, failing, and searching for her in their former haunts."

After much fleshing out, many re-writes, and the actual production, here is the final result over a year later (click on link for credits - which are cool!):

Summer Dregs - A (Official Music Video) from Grantasia on Vimeo.

BUT WAIT!!! That's not all!

There was another project that Carl and I worked on.

I wrote a song called "The Toast of Tulsa" on acoustic guitar.

I showed it to Carl.

He liked it.

He decided to produce it.

After adding synths, piano, beats, electric guitar (Andrew Hobbs), and snare brushes (Joshua Caleb Green), he had elevated it to a new stratosphere where it now resides and shimmers.

Here is that track for your listening enjoyment (click on actual link for credits and lyrics):

The Toast of Tulsa (w/ Summer Dregs) by Grant Withington

Here's hoping that our paths cross again for future collaboration!

Bitrates flying at the speed of life,

- GBW

Oubliette

2010-08-22T20:52:00.000-07:00

The question resurfaced again last night.

Who knows why?

Heaven?

Like a rigged game of tic-tac-toe

I answer,

"Very seldom.

That's how much I love you."

But the delusion runs deep,

The idea has eclipsed the individual,

And X marks nothing.

The Bird Has Flown and Is Flying Elseward

2010-06-21T19:00:00.000-07:00

Last night I had the most vivid dream in recent memory. Maybe because I'm going back to our hometown soon.

I don't know.

I think that's why.

It seemed so real that it fooled me, as dreams used to fool me as a child. And yet, the only thing that I can remember from it now, 14 hours later, is that you helped me.

Regardless of the reason that prompted it, it has prompted me to ask for your prayers. Prayers for this bird's direction.

I hope you find this like a mofo.

Broad Street Film Festival (Year Two)

2010-04-28T19:22:00.000-07:00

One year ago, I was stressed out of my soul trying to get "The Fountain of Youth" done to submit to the Broad Street Film Festival. Drew and I took years off our lives making a film about people trying to stay as young as possible for as long as possible. We finished it just in time to enter it. The awards ceremony last year was epic in every way. Epic in the grand sense: held at The Tivoli Theatre in downtown Chattanooga, most attendees dressed to kill, the rest dressed to maim. Epic in the long sense: 3 1/2 hours long, extremely tedious, most of the on-stage shenanigans having nothing to do with film, but more like a high school variety show. Epic in the accomplished/rewarding sense: "The Fountain of Youth" won Best Picture, Best Supporting Actor, and the People's Choice Award. Drew, Isaiah, and I were the producers of that film, but we also had a hand in getting the festival off the ground. But we saw many flaws in the festival from a production standpoint. It would need much tweaking for 2010.

This year's show needed to be shorter, tighter, and all in all, more entertaining. I assumed that since I was not submitting a film this year that I could take on more responsibilities from the production end of the festival, and that it would be nowhere near the stress level of last year. This was a miscalculation. I wouldn't say that it was worse. It was about the same, just a very different kind of pressure. I was the "film liaison," which means that anything having to do with projecting something onto a screen and assembling the content that was shown on that screen was solely my responsibility. This stemmed from being the one who was in contact with all the filmmakers submitting films to the festival, receiving their films, processing them on my computer, forming a committee to decide which ones would be shown at the festival and which ones would be cut and what the films that made it would be nominated for, getting the hopefuls to the judges to determine who the winners would be, as well as meeting with the judges to help them come to a collective final decision. Then there was the big stuff. Actually, making the compilation of all the films to be shown at The Majestic, and running two projectors at the same time for two showings to a total audience of around 700 people. Then, compiling clips of all the films nominated for 12 different categories, plus media clips that presenters wanted played during their bits before they presented the awards. It was condensed and strained madness. But it worked out. I wish I could have enjoyed the weekend a little more from a participant's perspective, because it was a lot better than last year. The show was over an hour shorter, and for the most part, moved along at a fairly steady pace. I don't hesitate in calling it a success, and look forward to it being even bigger and better next year, and maybe..... even a little bit shorter.

Here is some print media, and I do stress "some." I wish there was more. That is something that we will be working on a lot harder next year.

A short write-up on the festival:

http://rheaheraldnews.com/story/16220

This was a cool advertisement in the Covenant College newspaper:

http://bagpipeonline.com/uploads/2010/04/img009.jpg

A masterfully composed shot at the awards ceremony for the second year in a row by the master himself, Christopher Thorton.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/cjthornton/4559953856/sizes/l/

I had the privilege of making the official trailer for the festival. My brother, Ben Withington, composed the music, which really made it easy to cut.

Check back next year!

Palate 2 Palette

2010-03-23T08:35:00.000-07:00

Here's an article on an event that I participated in at CreateHere. It was a fundraiser for the Craniofacial Foundation of America called Palate 2 Palette:

http://chattanoogan.com/articles/article_171124.asp

and one of the two videos that I made for it:

Faces From/For The Good Days from Grantasia on Vimeo.

Voicemails #3 and #4

2010-02-16T21:01:00.000-08:00

Billy lives in Seattle. I live in Chattanooga. My name is also Billy. Billy likes to drink and cook among other things. The first voicemail (#3) came after drinking, the second(#4) happened in medias res.

#3 (Mood: incredibly sedate throughout)

Heh heh heh (clears throat), holy geez, Batman. I woke up drunk. It's pretty fantastic. You know there's a problem that I incurred yesterday? Rachel has a sister. Rachel's sister is hotter, and that's bad, it's bad, it's bad.....and older, and it's all bad. Somebody needs to make them go away or something. I don't know. Those kind of people are just bad, because they're hot, and they're smart, and they have money, and they're fun, and they're hot, and it's like, "What are you going to do? What are you going to do, Billy?" And I'm like, "Well....I can think of 3 things, most of them involving whip cream and lassos." Yup. That's what it is. That is what it is.

#4 (Speech pattern modeled after our old college roommate, sort of like Kip from Napoleon Dynamite)

Well, heh heh, hey Billy. I'm like making salsa. So, like, that's pretty cool, and spicy at the same time, which, you know, cool and spicy are like, pretty hard to get, like, in the same conversation sometimes, but you know how it is. Like, this Billy knows how to rock it with the cool and the spicy. You know....it's pretty sweet. So, anyway....Well, this is Billy making salsa, saying, "Hey Billy."

Voicemails #1 and #2

2010-01-21T22:50:00.000-08:00

For me and mine, voicemails are an art form of sorts: an on the fly, off the cuff, in the moment, out of the box chance to leave an irretrievable, never to be replicated piece of audio history that can be deleted or saved with one key touch. With so many voicemails to leave and receive, there is only room for the most special messages in the "SAVED" box. I have yet to acquire the technology needed to transfer a saved voicemail to my e-mail in mp3 format. So, I must ascribe to the archaic practice of text. This first entry is from Max, who now lives in Southern California. Actually, Max left two keepers recently. These are word for word. And note that Love's Best Habit is the title of my latest album.

Dear Grant,

I'm having a hard time phrasing this but....seeing that it's 9:55 Pacific time, 12:55 Eastern time and the fact that you're asleep or not answering your phone is a small indication as to the quantity of your social life...the quantity/quality of your social life. Consider this a concerned note from a concerned friend.

Sincerely and sympathetically and concernedly,

Max

Grant:

This must be Grant Withington. Max Belz here. Just listening to Love's Best Habit. Seriously? Love's Best Habit? How about 2009's Worst Album?

Last notebook transfer of 2009

2009-12-21T01:24:00.000-08:00

A friend sent this link to me: http://www.poemtree.com/poems/BecauseILikedYou.htm A poem by A.E. Housman entitled "Because I Liked You." I read it over and over again. I was so perfectly in tune with these lines describing being out of tune, and was encouraged to wrestle with my own thoughts on this same theme.

Detuning In 3 Acts

Glad tears:

The organ blast symbolized a rolling charge,

Kicking up the dust inside my chest.

You came so close to sympathizing with

The choir of smiles emerging

In the form of geese upon my arms.

I was not cold,

And I could not help it.

Low notes:

Out of nowhere, a distant gong, pristine.

I distinctly remember thinking...... no, no I forget.

Somewhere I refused to listen but

Felt the ground I was losing begin to shake.

Bows swelled the strings and shot me from afar.

I was open,

And I could not help it.

Timeless:

Is this recollection another exercise

Merely, merely, merely

Triggering the endless supply of

Sad music in my head?

Or dare I be so honest in my defeat?

I loved you so,

And I could not help it.

____________________________________________________________________

In effect, my experience with writing poetry? Futile, not fertile. My intent? To pierce. The result? Words on flesh look and feel equivalent to flesh on brick. Even so, yet another attempt.

From Limbo, I Squint

Currently?

You are a deterrent,

Determined to undermine

Hundreds of important evenings

In which I consciously plague myself with insomnia

In order to understand everything from my own yearnings

To whatever else is evaporating.

Permanently?

There is not yet a line

That can press you to the page.

Love's Best Habit - First Review

2009-09-24T12:55:00.000-07:00

The first album review of Love's Best Habit can be read here:

http://www.bagpipeonline.com/2009/09/10/4187/

It was written by Colin Stayton for The Bagpipe, Covenant College's newspaper.

You can hear a couple of the songs here:

www.myspace.com/grantwithington

The 2009 Broad Street Film Festival Recap

2009-05-05T04:42:00.001-07:00

The Bagpipe article:

http://www.bagpipeonline.com/2009/05/04/broad-street-film-festival-hopes-present-successes-will-lead-to-future-growth/

Bagpipe Photo taken by Chris Thorton at The Tivoli in Downtown Chattanooga, TN 4/25/09
In the photo: (left standing) Drew Belz, Grant Withington, Isaiah Smallman - (seated) Max Belz, Michelle Moore, Nathanael Booth, Rachel Yellen, Asher Payne - (right standing) Susannah Verner, Will Lutz, Ben Withington

For full resolution: http://www.flickr.com/photos/cjthornton/3478771106/sizes/l/

Two short video recaps featuring myself and my fellow producers:

and

UPDATE: This article was on Bryan College's website (full list of winners)

http://www.bryan.edu/filmfestival

Interrogation Room

2009-02-17T08:29:00.001-08:00

This is an idea I had a couple of months ago. It was filmed in a "secret room" on campus containing only a folding chair and a dangling light bulb. I wrote it with some help from Max Belz (The Inquisitor). James Harrison shot it. We all edited it. And there you have it.

Lie Still, Still Hope

2008-11-07T07:26:00.000-08:00

This dark room has become
Too used to pollutants,
Imperfections excused
And then highly esteemed
In a delusional attempt to
Show life.

Pictures that take themselves
Leave you scratching your head,
Minus assumptions and
Too natural for words,
So obvious they have to work hard
To hide.

Revelations of this
Magnitude sit somewhere
In the center of the
Spectrum, separating
Accelerated decrepitude
From sheen.

These new snapshots taken
Used only whatever
Available light could
Be harnessed through the lens;
Our smiling wasn’t even prompted......
Sleep now.

Corporate Love

2008-10-22T10:07:00.000-07:00

While these lines have absolutely nothing to do with the people at my workplace or the nature of the work that I do there, I was nonetheless inspired to write them in my office.

CORPORATE LOVE

Today I played the courier to the upper crust.
They were a stodgy crowd, unmoved by my delivery.
It seems the manila tones were all too familiar to them.
From the hardened 1st floor flatfoots
To the 20th story nose bleeds
My tune never wavered.
Note for note I sang true with my instructive instrument.
Their mechanical yawns ground into me unmercifully.
I held back the bitter tears of embarrassment.

But I know their game. They themselves
Classically trained, are breaking me down to build me up.
Secretly bowled over, they stifle their glee at my performance.
"Just what is he made of?" rings their collective inner monologue.
This is the echelon that grooms me for my biggest audience.
They observe me playing with Benjamin Franklin's children
To see if I am playing nice.
Come Christmas, this self-abasement will pay off in spades:
A key to the room where he has no need of being divisible.

Darkest Before The Dawn

2008-10-07T08:05:00.000-07:00

I have a tape of a sermon that Dad preached on December 30th, 2007 that I requested upon hearing it from the pulpit in Raleigh, NC. It was something that I especially needed to hear at the time, and I found myself needing to think on these things more and more this past summer. I wrote it out word for word to the best of my ability, to try and keep Dad's speaking style in tact, although so much of his inflection and power in delivery is lost. But the message is there. I hope people reading this blog will have the time to read it in its entirety, and be encouraged. And I also just want to say, Happy Birthday, Dad! I'll see you in 2 days!

We have a saying for it. “It’s always darkest before the dawn.” And like it is with so many other sayings, I wonder why does it have to be that way? “It’s always darkest before the dawn.” We all enjoy the dawn. I’ve had opportunities, if you want to call them that, to look longingly for the dawn to come. One of the times was during my seminary career when I had my calling strengthened by knowing that I was not going to be a night watchman. I had to watch a building in downtown St. Louis overnight, and make sure that some of the things inside it were not stolen because it was in the midst of construction. Just to keep an eye on it. And waited, I remember, through that long night looking at the little light blipping at the top of the St. Louis Arch, and just thinking, “You know, eventually the sun is going to hit that thing and this is going to be over.” Boring comes to mind, but there was just a loneliness about it. No danger, no problem, but just dark, dark. And yet how often we use that to describe much darker, much harder circumstances that we go through. Not a literal night perhaps, but a night of the soul. Darkest. Why is it always darkest before the dawn? We try to bargain with God. We try to tell him, “You know, we promise, honest, we’ll be grateful.” Because the one explanation we ordinarily hear is that when it’s really darkest, then you appreciate the dawn a lot more. You’re much more grateful for it because things have been so bad, then by contrast, now they’re so good, and finally instead of saying, “Oh yes, of course they’re good, we deserve it, and we’re kind of used to it and take it for granted,” now we don’t take it for granted anymore. We’re really thankful, and so we promise the Lord, “That’s ok, you don’t have to make it dark anymore. I’ll be grateful, honest! This time! Just give me one more chance.” But....it continues. We find ourselves in those dark places again from time to time, and wonder still why it is, because actually there are times when it’s been light. We’ve had times in our life when it’s been light, and it’s been good, and it’s been prosperous, and we have been grateful, like Job was. Never do we read in the account about Job that he had not been grateful enough for all the good things that God had done for him. It wasn’t that God needed to get his attention. There’s simply not an explanation for what happened in the book of Job. Job brought sacrifices to the Lord continually, not only for himself but for his children, lest they might have sinned against him. Job was a righteous man. He loved God. And yet, look at the darkness that Job had to undergo. And so do we have to undergo these things? Is the explanation just so that we might appreciate the good things later on when they do come? Enjoy the dawn, enjoy the sun when it finally does rise? It doesn’t wash. Why? Why does it have to be darkest before the dawn? Why is it that all hope, it seems, must be lost before God very often will intervene?

Well, in this account of the death of Lazarus, we have the final sign that is given in the book of John, and it is a sign which is given in the midst of a situation even more hopeless than has heretofore occurred. As we go back through the various signs there was in every case some kind of problem, some kind of distress. In the first case, probably not the most grievous of situations, but it certainly was for the host, who ran out of wine. That first sign that took place, where Jesus turned the water to wine, and a hopeless situation, at least on the social end of things, was resolved. But then we have the second one, again in Cana, the healed official’s son. Then the third one: He healed the invalid at Bethsaida or Bethesda in Jerusalem in chapter 5. There, of course, someone whose prospects of ever even being able to get up and get to the pool were utterly hopeless. And yet, the Lord Jesus intervened. The feeding of the five thousand: absolutely a hopeless task there in chapter 6 back in Galilee. And yet, the Lord fed them all. And immediately after that there would be no prospect of being able to catch up with His disciples, and yet He walked on the water, the fifth sign. It’s after the second sign that they don’t keep track anymore. They say, “This was the first sign: water into wine. The second sign was healing the official’s son,” and then they don’t number them after that, but we do eventually wind up with seven. After the walking on the water we go a couple of chapters to chapter 9. The sixth sign: healing the man who was born blind. And we’re seeing, maybe not a direct, clear, step by step pattern here, but we certainly see a progression from changing water to wine to healing someone who was born blind. Not someone who was blinded. We know of cases where someone got there head jostled and something fell back into place and they were able to see again. This is someone who never had the eyes to see with from birth. A really hopeless situation, and yet the Lord Jesus heals him. He gives him sight. Now we come to the most hopeless situation of all, where someone has died. And eventually, as most of us are familiar with this account, we know that by the time that Jesus does stand before Lazarus’s tomb, and utter those words which cause him to come forth, Lazarus has been in the tomb for four days. He is dead. This is an absolutely hopeless situation. But we have stopped at this point in verse 6 to focus on Jesus’ preparation for this, because we have a problem in Jesus’ reaction to the news that one whom He loves is sick. A problem really so severe that one, modern translation alters the way it literally ought to be translated in verse 3. “It was after saying it was Mary who anointed the Lord with ointment and wiped his feet with her hair, whose brother Lazarus was ill, so the sisters sent to Him saying, ‘Lord, he whom you love is ill.’ But when Jesus heard it He said, ‘This illness does not lead to death. It is for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.’” Now, it is between verses 5 and 6 that the problem occurs. “Now, Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, so when he heard that Lazarus was ill He stayed two days longer in the place where He was.” You see the problem? The problem here was so acute that the New International Version translates that saying, “Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, yet when He heard that Lazarus was ill He stayed two days longer.” The fact that Jesus decided after hearing that Lazarus was ill, probably to the point of death, He decides to linger a couple of days longer, is so incompatible with the idea that He loves Lazarus that one translator says, “We have to oppose these things somehow. It just doesn’t make sense. We have to make the one clause a concession to the other one, because if He really does love him, we’d have to say, ‘yet, for reasons which we can’t imagine, He decides to linger around for a couple of days before He finally goes and offers the help that He’s been able to give all along.” After all when He does arrive there that’s the first thing that Martha confronts Him with. “If you had been here my brother would not have died.” Of course, we will get to what she says next, and to that glorious, glorious declaration of faith that she makes. But that’s a problem. How is it that He would decide when He had demonstrated the power to heal (they’d seen Him do it), why wouldn’t He come as quickly as possible? Why wouldn’t He do what He did way back in that second miracle, with the healing of the official’s son? Remember, He didn’t even have to go there. All He had to do was declare that the son would be healed, and He was able to tell the man, “Go back, your son is healed.” And so when the man goes back and however long it took him to journey back to his home and he finds that his son has been healed already, and calculates the time at which, as he interviews the people there, the time at which his son rose up from his illness, he says, “That is the very time that I was talking to Jesus.” That was the very time that He said, “Go, your son is healed.” Jesus could have done that. It didn’t matter how far away He was. Well, alright, we understand the problem. Where was Jesus anyway at this point? That’s been a little bit of a puzzle, and it may be that we have a clearer understanding from some more recent study, and archeological discoveries that the region where Jesus had gone, and its referred to just back in the previous verses at the end of chapter 10, when it says, “He went away across the Jordan to the place where John had been baptizing at first.” We recall all the way back in John 1:28 that this place across the Jordan where John was baptizing, and that was the place where John pointed out Jesus and said, “Behold, the Lamb of God.” “These things took place in Bethany, across the Jordan where John was baptizing.” Bethany across the Jordan. Of course the first question comes to our mind, is this the Bethany where Lazarus, and Martha, and Mary live, which is a little town that is just a couple of miles from Jerusalem. Well, the difficulty there is that that Bethany is not across the Jordan. The Trans-Jordan, across the Jordan, is over to the east side. Jerusalem and Bethany are on the west side of the Jordan. This Bethany, whatever it is, wherever it was, and there still is a difficulty in locating it exactly, this Bethany was across the Jordan. And recent scholarship has theorized that perhaps what is meant here is a region that was called Bethania, which if you spelled it just a little bit differently would sound like Bethany. And it was a whole region that was about a hundred and fifty kilometers away over to the northeast in the Trans-Jordan. So, Jesus would have been between a three and a four day walk away before He could have possibly gotten back to Bethany which is near Jerusalem. And so, this is most likely where Jesus is at the time that He receives this news. We know very little from the Scripture about the relationship that Jesus had with these sisters and their brother. It is told us here, there is a window that speaks of a very dear relationship that had arisen between them. We have a description in Luke of how this whole thing began. In Luke 10 Martha had invited Jesus into their home, and that’s when they first became acquainted with Him. That is the account where Martha is preparing everything and Mary is sitting at the feet of Jesus listening to what He teaches. From that time it is apparent that Jesus spent time in that home, and got to know those people, and had come to love them dearly. So when Martha comes and finds Him, she sends this word, “Lazarus, whom you love is ill.” Jesus says, “This illness does not lead to death.” He of course is looking forward and He is giving away the end of the story here, although His disciples don’t yet understand what He means. But He says again as he said about the man who was born blind - notice the parallel there - he was not born blind because of his sin or the sin of his parents, but in order that the glory of God might be displayed in him. And so, in the same way He says here, “It is for the glory of God.” This illness is for the glory of God. This darkness is for the glory of God. This hardship, this tragedy is for the glory of God. So that the Son of God may be glorified through it. Now Jesus loved Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus. John puts that in there that there might be no doubt that Jesus does indeed, not just in Martha’s mind, but He does indeed love Lazarus, and love Mary, and loves Martha. He would have done anything for them. If He would heal one stranger after another who had no human claim on Him, surely He would heal Lazarus. But then we come back to that problematic word there in verse 6. As a result of His love, because He loves them, therefore when He heard that Lazarus was ill He stayed two days longer in the place where He was. Excuse me? Isn’t this the time to put on all haste? Well, let’s take a moment here and go back and see how perhaps the Lord Jesus taking......well, we know that He doesn’t take a page out of anybody else’s play book, just because others came before Him, we know that they were really taking a page out of His.....but we go back to Elijah on Mount Carmel and it just amazes me always when I read that account of just how cool Elijah is. I mean, he’s got 450 prophets of Baal, who obviously have knives and things like that that they’re cutting themselves with, and at any given moment they might all of a sudden decide, “You know what? We could use these knives on Elijah.” But that just doesn’t seem to bother him. He’s making fun of them, because they just can’t manage to get this god who Elijah knows doesn’t even exist, they’re bleeding into the air, to answer. And surely I think most of us, and most modern people today wouldn’t have any difficulty, as long as they didn’t think that the prophets would turn against them, they would probably have the same confidence. Of course no one is going to answer by fire. Fire’s going to come down out of heaven from this god Baal? No, I’m sorry, it’s not going to happen. And so, Elijah was certainly in a pretty good position there. I could be speaking to any crowd of any persuasion, and I think all would agree that Elijah was in a strong position at that point. But then when he turns and he says in that very simple prayer, (no yelling, no screaming, no cutting himself, no running around, but bowing his head and simply praying) “Lord, you are God. Show them.” Then he’s way out on a limb, because he has set it up. He set the stakes awfully high. Now of course, we didn’t read that far, did we? We didn’t read Elijah’s prayer. What we did is we read about what he did before hand. It seemed that he was determined to make the problem even worse. He’s got his bowl and he’s going to soak that bowl. And they soak it once....that’s not enough. He’s going to soak it a second time, and then soak it a third time, soak it so much that the water pours out and fills up this ditch that he’s made around the alter. And by the way, that was not a common thing. They didn’t usually have a ditch like that around the alter, but for this sacrifice you were going to need it. Everything was a mess. It was soaked with water. And after all, there had been a drought for three years. It hadn’t rained for three years. It was really dry. You know what they tell you, “Be careful about any kind of a spark. Anything can start a fire.” So, some little spark hit this bone dry sacrifice and sure, sure everything flew up in flames. Elijah wanted to make sure that didn’t happen. He soaked that sacrifice. We all know what happened. The fire did indeed come down from Heaven. But Elijah was bound and determined, deliberately to make the problem worse, in order that God might be glorified, showing that you can't make it too hard for God. You cannot, even with all of your ingenuity, come up with a problem or with a situation which is too difficult for God. Go ahead, make it worse. Soak the sacrifice. The fire will still come down and will consume it entirely because it is God who is doing it. The same thing happens in Acts 27. We read the account there of Paul on his trip to Rome as a captive. Usually, your ordinary captive doesn't try to give advice to the captain: “Oh, by the way, you might want to hang around. Things are going to get dangerous out there.” And of course the captain reacts as one might ordinarily to a prisoner, and just dismisses what he says. He takes the word of the experts as they get out into the middle of the Mediterranean Sea and they find out that Paul was right. But remember that verse right in the middle when it says, all hope of salvation, all hope of deliverance was abandoned. All hope was lost. And it was at that point that Paul stood up and said, “An angel of the Lord appeared to me, and he said we are all going to be saved.” Now, he has to get it in. I mean, Paul was only human. “You should have listened to me. Told you so.” But God was going to deliver them. He was going to save them.....after all hope was lost. Was that something unique? Was that something different? Look back.

The first time Jesus appeals to this pattern is back in John 3, and He deliberately points it out when He is talking to Nicodemus, and He says, “I thought you were a teacher in Israel. I thought that you understood these things.” And then He mentions the bronze serpent which was raised up in the wilderness. You go back, and you read that account in the book of Numbers. In that account God is angry with the people and so He sends serpents among them, and the serpents bite them. These are deadly serpents. Once you are bitten your death is certain. You have minutes to live. So, all hope, once you have been bitten, is gone. You're dead. It's over. It is too late. And yet after it is too late (not when there is one more chance, but after the last chance is gone) Moses raises the bronze serpent, and those who look to it live, after it’s too late. Jesus points out that pattern. And then we see it throughout the Scripture. After the fruit is eaten, when it's too late, when all is lost, paradise is lost, the promise of the woman's seed is given. After Abraham and Sarah are past childbearing age the promised son is born. After the Israelites are trapped with their face towards the Egyptians and their backs to the Red Sea, after it’s too late, the waters of the sea part. After the people are bitten by the serpents, the bronze serpent is raised. After the armies of Amon and Edom are upon Jehoshaphat, and it’s too late to mount any kind of defense, the Lord says, “You will not fight this battle. The battle is the Lord's.” Or when the armies of Assyria surrounded Hezekiah, and all hope of deliverance is futile, God did deliver. And indeed, now we see, after the greatest civilization of the ancient world, the only truly worldwide empire that history would ever know, had quietly spelled its own doom by conferring the title 'Augustus' upon its emperor Octavian, declaring Caesar to be God, the son of God and Savior (Augustus marks the turning point, his own reign marks the high point of the civilization of Rome, and it begins to decline. It is to last for a few more hundred years, but it is on its way out at that point), at that point in the years of Caesar Augustus, a child is born. A son is given, and the government would be upon His shoulders. This is the pattern that the Lord has used all the way through the Scriptures. Because He loves those whom He has determined to save, it becomes darkest before the dawn. We see why it is that when Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, therefore so, He determined to delay in order that God might be glorified, in order that He might be glorified, and in order that the sign might be given: “This is the salvation that I have come to bring. I will save sinners from the very worst.” He is showing that it doesn't matter how bad it gets. It doesn't matter how deep the pit is. It doesn't matter how great the disaster is. It doesn't matter that all ordinary hope is entirely gone. It’s not just those who are sick, where Jesus can intervene and can keep them from dying. It is those who actually have died and who are beginning to decay that Jesus can and will save. What had to be demonstrated is that the last enemy, the most powerful enemy, the most implacable enemy, the enemy that no one, no one, no one beats: Death itself would fall before this Son of God.

And so, because the Lord loves you, sometime takes you through dark nights to show you, yes, that He will never leave you or forsake you even in the midst of that night, but also that He always will, no matter how dark it becomes, He will always bring the dawn. You need some application? Believe it.

The Opener

2008-09-25T12:07:00.000-07:00

I posted this on Facebook for the Covenant College Film Club, but for those who can't access it due to anti-Facebook sentiments (namely Drew), I am posting it here too.

Opening Scenes: They Are Important
By: Grant Withington

Your opening scene, much like the opening sentences of such great novels as Anna Karenina and David Copperfield, must be solitarily striking. An intentional, direct statement that is confidently set before the viewer demands attention. If you can rope an audience in right off the bat, you won’t have to work as hard at winning them over during the course of your movie due to a poor start. By establishing a solid opening sequence you automatically establish the audience’s trust, and even if the rest of your movie is not as good as your introduction (which hopefully is not the case) you will have an easier time holding their interest because they will know that they are in capable hands. The opening scene is also important because it is a chance for you to make a thesis statement that says what the main themes of your film are. A filmmaker who can sum up what the entire story is about in a matter of the first three or four minutes of screen time (give or take a few) is someone who knows what he or she is doing, and in most cases you can rest assured that the rest of the film will follow suit both in terms of being concise and precise. To pull this off the scene must be terrifically written. Top notch writing is essential. You do not have time to ease your audience into brilliance. They need to be smacked in the face with genius immediately. You want those first frames to be some of the most memorable from the entire film, if not the most memorable. The goal of the opening scene should be to make it impossible for anyone to stop watching your movie. It needs to make them want to watch more.

Here are fifteen examples of what I am describing. They are helpful in showing how such a feat is effectively executed.

1. Manhattan (Written and Directed by Woody Allen)
2. Adaptation (Written by Charlie Kaufman, Directed by Spike Jonze)
3. Magnolia (Written and Directed by Paul Thomas Anderson)
4. Vanilla Sky (Written and Directed by Cameron Crowe)
5. Match Point (Written and Directed by Woody Allen)
6. American Psycho (Written by Mary Harron and Guinevere Turner,
Directed by Mary Harron)
7. 8 ½ (Written by Federico Fellini, Ennio Flaiano, Tullio Pinelli, and Brunello Rondi,
Directed by Federico Fellini)
8. Annie Hall (Written and Directed by Woody Allen)
9. Blood Simple (Written and Directed by Joel and Ethan Coen)
10. Citizen Kane (Written by Orson Welles and Herman J. Mankiewicz,
Directed by Orson Welles)
11. High Fidelity (Written by D.V. DeVincentis, Steve Pink, John Cusack, and Scott Rosenberg,
Directed by Stephen Frears)
12. Touch of Evil (Written and Directed by Orson Welles)
13. The Player (Written by Michael Tolkin, Directed by Robert Altman)
14. Stranger Than Fiction (Written by Zach Helm, Directed by Marc Forster)
15. Trainspotting (Written by John Hodge, Directed by Danny Boyle)

Manhattan (1979)
If you are going to make a movie entitled Manhattan, what better way to open than to unabashedly show how magnificent a place it is through a shot sequence comprised of nothing but the city itself? Allen shot the film in black and white to give it a classic, somewhat timeless feel. His picture is backed by Gerswin's Rhapsody in Blue adding to its nostalgic quality. Finally, his use of voice-over not only lets the audience know that this film is a comedy, but informs them of the kind of a person his main character is. The opening serves as both a spectacular tribute to Manhattan Island and an indicator of what the tone of the piece will be.

Adaptation (2002)
Adaptation uses the titles sequence to orient the viewer with the mind of the main character. The simple use of a well written monologue (softly spoken over a black screen with small typewriter font credits at the bottom of the frame) sticks in the viewer’s head. While Kaufman repeatedly talks to himself in this fashion throughout the film, this opening is probably the most immediately memorable. This method also shows that the focus of the film is on the craft of writing, and draws attention to that by shining the spotlight on the monologue itself. It is a film about screenwriting and therefore the first sentences must be superb.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DLLihqJ22Vo&feature=related

Magnolia (1999)
The opening sequence should in a way prophesy about what kind of film you are about to see. Magnolia's preface is six minutes long. During this time none of the main characters are introduced, nor are any of the story lines that are to follow. It is there purely to present the main theme of the movie. It is a thesis statement that says, “This is a film about Chance vs. Providence.” If it seems a little self-indulgent for an introduction to run so long, the film's three hour running time will likely feel the same. But for those who enjoy Anderson's full throttle style, this introduction perfectly prepares the audience for the incredible events that transpire later in the film which might otherwise have been difficult to accept. Despite its length, this narration flows so smoothly that it feels shorter than it actually is.

Vanilla Sky (2001)
Sometimes you might want to 'wow' your audience with an opening that contains almost too good of a visual idea. Cameron Crowe does this in Vanilla Sky by shooting Tom Cruise running through an empty Times Square in the opening dream sequence. While this stunt calls attention to itself and initially caused everyone to say, “How did they do that?” somewhat taking the audience out of the narrative, it effectively communicates everything we need to know about the main character's mental state. The thesis statement is clearly stated in this first section. Not only is the Times Square sequence a mind-blowing visual stunt, it tells the audience a valuable piece of information and doesn't compromise the integrity of the film with what otherwise could have been interpreted as cheap gimmickry.

Match Point (2005)
Once again Woody Allen shows his abundant skill through his minimalism. With a single shot, a concise monologue, and less than a minute of screen time he has clearly stated what this entire film is about.

American Psycho (2000)
As seen in Adaptation and Trainspotting, a well written monologue given in the first person can be personalized and therefore easier for an audience to relate to. There is a personal connection that is made between the main character and the viewer. These monologues are the ones that turn such films into cult classics with many fans memorizing them. They also generally start a film off for maximum potency. The monologue here gives us a feel for the character himself, but also foreshadows the entire thrust of the social commentary that the film embodies in more detail later. Acting as a springboard it tells what the movie will show.

8 ½ (1963)
Here is an opening that uses almost no dialogue but tells us a great deal about the main character and the overarching theme of the film through its pure use of visuals. Everything in the dream sequence represents something that will be fleshed out in the future, much like the opening dream sequence in Vanilla Sky. It is so simultaneously disorienting and distinct that it grips the viewer immediately, and makes them want to figure out what the symbolism represents.

Annie Hall (1977)
Having a character look directly at the camera and speak to the audience (breaking down the third wall, as they say) is a fairly common practice in motion pictures now. It is a bold move declaring that the writer has the utmost confidence that his opinions and general outlook on life warrant the attention and respect of everyone watching. Allen was one of the pioneers of this method in Annie Hall, and few have put it to better use.

Blood Simple (1984)
The establishing shots that would normally be reserved for an opening credits sequence are used to create an eerie mood by showing us stark Texas landscapes, and then to reinforce the feeling of desolation, the writers/filmmakers implement a short and sweet monologue delivered by one of the film's antagonists. In one minute the film's ideology has been cemented. The Coens used this same method again with similar results in No Country For Old Men twenty four years later.

Citizen Kane (1941)
Citizen Kane's opening is so densely layered with symbolism that it is hard to neatly pick it apart. But it does make sense in light of the film that is to follow. For the most part, the questions that the opening raises will be answered, and any ambiguity that remains is intentional. This introduction, like the rest of the picture, begs for dissection. It is technically and aesthetically intriguing, and grips the viewer with its foreboding quality.

High Fidelity (2000)
Simplicity once again sets the tone of the piece with unexpected firmness. The vinyl record spinning on the record player is the first indicator that pop music will play a significant role in the film. The second is of course the main character staring into the camera (as in Annie Hall) stating his sentiments on pop music as it, in his opinion, connects with the human heart. A strong beginning that is both brief and blatant.

Touch of Evil (1958)
With the example of Citizen Kane it is obvious that Orson Welles considered the first frames of a film to be of the utmost importance. Here is another classic example of his dedication to detail and seemingly effortless ability to pull off the most elaborate and difficult shots. He starts off Touch of Evil with a tracking shot that is still talked about today as one of the most memorable moments in cinematic history. The suspense it creates is immediately palpable, and the viewer is hooked in no time.

The Player (1992)
Robert Altman's dark satire on the Hollywood system constantly references old films as well as current ones. These films are mentioned by name in many instances, but they are sometimes paid tribute to in the actual style of the filmmaking. The opening tracking shot is an obvious homage to Touch of Evil. If this was not evident to the audience, one of the characters in the shot discusses the tracking shot and how Orson Welles used it in that exact film. This tongue in cheek humor is out of the ordinary and therefore peaks the curiosity of the audience. Altman also uses this shot to introduce the world that we are entering and the main characters that inhabit it.

Stranger Than Fiction (2006)
The monologue that begins Stranger Than Fiction serves the same purpose as the one in American Psycho, only it is told in the third person. It is yet another example of first rate writing that is nicely complimented with inventive visuals. The protagonist is well outlined and the pacing and feel of the film are firmly planted in three minutes.

Trainspotting (1996)
The irreverent monologue that the main character in Trainspotting delivers is an infectious rant that is hard not to sympathize with, which is the goal of the filmmaker and screenwriter. They want you to agree with this broad opinion so that you will be on the side of Renton's character no matter what turns the narrative takes during the course of the film. His self-proclaimed sensibilities make you understand why he justifies heroin use. Even though the film's ultimate end is to show that heroin use is simply a delusion to escape another state of delusion, this is not the goal of the opening segment. This opening is fast, exciting, and deceitfully empowering. It works.

Other gripping introduction scenes that are worth looking at:

The Godfather (Written by Francis Ford Coppola and Mario Puzo,
Directed by Francis Ford Coppola)
Goodfellas (Written by Martin Scorsese and Nicholas Pileggi, Directed by Martin Scorsese)
Pulp Fiction (Written and Directed by Quentin Tarantino)
Reservoir Dogs (Written and Directed by Quentin Tarantino)
The Dark Knight (Written by Christopher and Jonathan Nolan, Directed by Christopher Nolan)
The Big Lebowski (Written and Directed by Joel and Ethan Coen)
Raiders of the Lost Ark (Written by Lawrence Kasdan, Directed by Steven Spielberg)
Jerry Maguire (Written and Directed by Cameron Crowe)
Full Metal Jacket (Written by Stanley Kubrick, Michael Herr, and Gustav Hasford,
Directed by Stanley Kubrick)
Raising Arizona (Written and Directed by Joel and Ethan Coen)

Goodnight, Void

2008-09-24T06:50:00.001-07:00

Tie red
Red tie
Tired
Retiring......

Status

2008-09-17T07:08:00.001-07:00

Someone asked me last Sunday if my friendships would change now that I have "status" and a lot of my friends remain "poor college students." I laughed at first, brushing off this question as if it were absurd. Then I got to thinking, "No, you know what? She's right! I have STATUS now! Finally, my life is worth something! But how can I prove this?" I then took a picture of my coffee table, as it embodies and perfectly encapsulates everything worth living for, all of which I have now attained by my right hand! For any former friends of mine who are still in college, I'm sorry to break it to you this way, but I must disassociate myself from you. I have a status to maintain, dag nab it!

Cassette

2008-09-08T21:15:00.000-07:00

How were you to know
That your analogue advice
Preserved in plastic these long twelve years
Would now save me from another mistake?
Despite time's passage
The vocal cords chronicled
Remain harmoniously intact
With every truth I know and breath I take.

God in a Defiance

2008-09-06T14:11:00.000-07:00

"I make me!"
Clever -
A ruse?
Your fingers are starting to prune.
Would you have me fetch you a towel
To prepare you for the prowl?
"No thank you. I will drip dry on the sand dunes."
By protesting your limitations
You choose sleep, prolonging this fiction
Where fortitude is found in flawless diction.
Lost in the art of your Bildungsroman:
"Are not you you? Will this harm me later?"
Semiotics and versification
Screeching, halts halfway down the banister,
Clutching the eternal interim.
When you tire, I will be, for I am
The guiding star of your existence,
The throb of hope that squeezes your hand,
Able to lead you through all resistance.
"Tide take me -
Severed
From you!"

Margaret Livingston

2008-08-27T10:06:00.000-07:00

Sticking to the old stereotype
The city girl smokes a cigarette
As she slowly descends the tight steps
Of a quarter-turn spiral staircase
In her sleek stainless steel stilettos.
Smirking with a dismissive head nod
She is sour, but should be sweeter.
Instead, her act simulates a shock
Equivalent to a glass of orange
Juice seconds after brushing one's teeth.
Sipping, I stick to word origins.

Anomaly

2008-08-21T11:13:00.000-07:00

My living room,
Or
More aptly stated,
The living room within the house where I reside.
There are no curtains,
Only an air-mattress propped up against the window,
And a two-by-four leaning against the wall.
Stashed away in the corner is a broken DVD/VCR combo.
A rain stick stands beside the fireplace,
Whose mantelpiece carries the weight of a movie collection belonging to a housemate:
Name will not be disclosed, but...
Need I say more than Arachnophobia and The Burbs?
Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society Volume 48 No. 1, March 2005
sits on top of a roll of duct tape.
Directly next to this stack is a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.
Littering the floor is a clothes hanger,
A pillow,
And a subscription insert that has fallen out of the June 2008 issue of GQ.
Resting on the coffee table
A half naked Gisele Bündchen is surrounded by two sets of nail clippers,
The Selected Stories of O. Henry,
And the latest J.Crew catalogue.
"Here Comes The Flood" off of Peter Gabriel 1 plays on the turntable.
These are just a few of the highlights.
When would you like to come over?

Operation: Summer Fling

2008-08-11T12:00:00.001-07:00

This is an idea that Max and I discussed in jest at the beginning of the summer. Here's my crack at it.

Operation: Summer Fling

It soon commenced and has now concluded.
The need to forget her pale veined temples
Led me by way of prerecorded strings
In the contemporary classical vein
To a strip mall selling synthetic hoopla.
A scenarist's stand was advertising
Four month spots that were sure to satisfy
Those who hate disciplined improvisation.

I asked: "Which one is the best?" The answer was:
"They are all the best. Equality rules."
So, with decision eliminated
I reached for the nearest stack, when the tanned arm
Of incursion joined the mise en scène and
Bumped me in pursuit of the same dream rag.
Startling my boredom she smiled and
We both apologized to cancel out blame.

"Let's look on together," she suggested.
My automatic reply was: "Why not?"
We read the assigned roles of BOY and GIRL.
"I have a Vitamin D deficiency.
Might we head to the municipal pool?"
"Indeed. We can float in the shallow end.
Let's pretend we are fleshed out gondolas
Pushed by bubble jets down Venetian canals."

This dialogue became addictive and
We really hit our stride after one month.
With the right lighting and make-up it was
Magic hour throughout all of June and July.
When the sun set in late August we cried
And peeled the animated hearts off of
Each other's eyes only to find the words:
Lost and Lonely. It was pretty disgusting.

Art Party

2008-07-18T16:49:00.000-07:00

Somewhere in between my Cabernet Sauvignon and spinich artichoke dip, I said a few words, stared, circled, and did my utmost to ponder, all the while thinking that this is the one situation in which I'd fit in better if I was wearing a dress and not myself. I was also wondering if I could maybe afford the small section of dry wall that a $900 painting was hanging on. Could I possibly own something that once brushed up against supposed greatness? I would hang that piece of wall on one of my walls at home. The fuchsia room would be the most likely candidate. I could even have a little engraved plate made to go next to it explaining the significance of this memento. Yes, and then I would invite many friends over, and we could talk about my newly acquired ticket to validity, attempt to classify it, or at least stand around uncomfortably......that is until everyone gets really crazy and we all get into an all organic hummus/fresh salsa food fight!!! ART PARTY!!!! WHOOO HOOOO!!!!

Skill

2008-07-06T18:30:00.000-07:00

She waxes philosophical while she waxes her Lexus.
She's ambidextrous.

Our MBAs

2008-05-16T08:56:00.000-07:00

Just because I'm back on the farm in NY, and Max is getting that vaca time with the fam in Iowa, does not mean that ideas are not being discussed and lines constructed. On the contrary, the fresh air of our childhood environments has sparked more.......sparks than ever!

Mugged By Allegory

i.
Hank's world represents nothing bigger.
He knows life's pains and pleasures directly--
An unreflective experience, unsoftened by comparisons
Or analogies, like on the SAT he remembers taking.

Yesterday, an assailant coerced Hank into a lesser reality
That signifies his previously immediate world, right there on the street.
The culprit: a masked individual with no distinguishing traits.

Against his will, Hank is now part of a bigger story with characters and failures and triumphs.
For example, rather than merely tasting the steak, Hank's fine dining is a representation
Of decadence or good health or the American way--
Whatever the viewer decides.

ii.
Hank hears the toenails of his dog, Incentive Number 2,
Clicking outside on the hardwood hallway floor.
Awakened by this,
And the 7am blue outline of a sole window shade
That lights his bedroom
Revealing a queen size bed that has been tossed and turned in,
Hank sighs.
He has been roused from his peaceful dream
In which every stitch of his life didn't represent something
More than the sum of its parts,
Before he stepped into that dark alley yesterday,
And his days became pages,
His actions,
Paragraphs used as a referencing tool
For some self help seminar in Sacramento.
The other side of the bed looks like it has been slept in
By someone who has recently gotten up to go to the bathroom,
And might soon return.
However, Hank lives by himself,
With the exception of Incentive Number 2,
And the restless bed in which he has rolled is his alone to make.
He must go to work
Where he used to be a simple server at a 3 star dining establishment,
But now doubly serves as a cautionary tale
For thousands of midlife crisis survivors
In a 5 star hotel conference room.
If only he had stuck to the straight and narrow main drag
Where dreams come true.

Belz/Withington

Mom Withington

2008-05-11T11:30:00.000-07:00

I wrote this song for Mom 2 years ago. From my perspective it was easy to write. Thanks to her, it's got staying power. Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

My Mother

My mother sighs at night
When she’s had a long day,
Out in the fray of children
She teaches at school.
Where the praise is great,
But the pay is minuscule.

My mother feeds the birds
Out in the yard,
Trying to guard their seeds
From squirrels…….and raccoons
(That can only be seen,
Under the light of the moon).

And she takes everything in stride,
And she never fails to provide.

My mother’s faith is strong,
So she followed my dad
Around the world and back
With the future undeclared,
Over rolling hills,
And through mountain air.

My mother loves her home.
Constantly moving around,
And changing the ground it stands on,
Though the hands on deck remain
Extensions of her love,
And forever the same.

And I’ve watched her along,
But I still cannot be that strong.

I was an only son
For a period,
But then
She brought me friends…….

3 friends.

My mother sighs at night
When she’s had a long day.
Still she will pray
For guidance and wisdom on her way.
And we all follow
Where her eyes are raised.

Covenant College Graduation Testimony/Speech - May 3rd, 2008

2008-05-09T09:18:00.000-07:00

Psalm 78 says that God “established a testimony in Jacob, and appointed a law in Israel, which He commanded our fathers to teach to their children, that the next generation might know them, the children yet unborn, and arise and tell them to their children, so that they should set their hope in God.” As one of those children who was once “as yet unborn”, I now know by experience how this works.

In the summer of 1965 my grandfather, Laurence Withington, attended the annual synod of his denomination, the Evangelical Presbyterian Church. That synod was held at the new campus of Covenant College, which had just moved the previous year from Saint Louis, Missouri to Lookout Mountain, Georgia. The main thing on the agenda that summer was the pending merger of the EPC with the Reformed Presbyterian Church to form the Reformed Presbyterian Church Evangelical Synod (which later joined the PCA). One of the elder delegates to the Reformed Presbyterian assembly was Norman Collins from Duanesburg, New York. That summer, two people made up their minds about Covenant College: Laurence Withington’s son, 13 year old Douglas, and Norman Collins, the father of 15 year old Sharon.

Norman Collins returned to Duanesburg, NY armed with original Castle in the Clouds postcards from the hotel, a miniature Covenant College mug, and the following statement for his daughter Sharon: “You are going to Covenant College.” She was not in the least bit interested. In fact, she was adamantly opposed to going so far from home. Two years later in the summer of 1967 both of her parents attended Synod at Covenant. Her mother, Frances, ever the bird lover, was walking the trails behind Carter one day and saw something that was a rarity back home in upstate New York - a bright red cardinal. She felt it was a sign of God’s goodness and reassurance that her daughter would go to college there. The next year Sharon was awarded scholarships to two schools in New York State, and was accepted to Covenant as well. After years of repeatedly telling her father that she did not want to go to Covenant, she met with her pastor. After talking and praying with him she had a change of heart and a true peace about giving up her scholarships and going to Covenant even though she had never visited the campus.

So Douglas Withington and Sharon Collins met at Covenant College. They were married a year after Douglas graduated. I am their first child of four. From as far back as I can remember Covenant College has been cemented in my head through stories of how God used the professors and friends here to change my parents’ lives in so many ways. This was where they learned to think and live in a more consistently biblical way. When it came time for me to choose a college, in my mind there was no choice at all. I would attend Covenant. Having been a mediocre student in high school, I was indifferent about the academic aspect, but was excited to get out of the house. Like my mother, I came to Covenant having never even set foot on the campus. From the fall of 1998 through the spring of 2000, I limped my way through classes in which I had little interest. I made great friends and have many fond memories from that time, but I had an immature attitude that involved much idleness, complaining, and blaming others for my failings. I left Covenant after May of 2000, seeing nothing but futility in pursuing an education. I wanted to find something in this life that catered to what I felt were my passions and strengths. For the next 6 years I watched both of my younger sisters, Melissa and Courtney, attend and graduate from Covenant, as I struggled with disillusionment, blocking out any thoughts of ever returning. While I pursued what turned out to be one dead end after another, my mother would periodically encourage me to return to Covenant. I can’t count how many times I told her, “Mom, stop asking me, because I will never go back!” Does history repeat itself? After years of my denial and the relentless prayers of my family, God opened my eyes to the fact that I had been running from my fear of failure in an academic endeavor for which I felt I was not well enough equipped. But more importantly, He made it clear to me that the things I had looked to and the paths I had chosen were not taking me anywhere near where He wanted me to be. I was finally brought to repentance and willingly accepted that I needed to surrender the dream I was trying to create for myself.

When I returned to Covenant College in August of 2006, I immediately knew that I was where God wanted me. Instead of feeling as if I was coming back defeated by the world in which I had wrapped myself, I felt like I was coming home. Through these last 2 years the Lord has shown me what I believe He showed my parents and my sisters during their time here. He has shown me that He is in control and that His plans are best. He has shown me the power of prayer through my family and friends. He has shown me that He is the God of history and places people where He wants them and surrounds them with the right people. He has shown me that He does not waste time, but works all things together for good for those who love Him and are called according to His purpose.

My Savior has used this institution not only as the means of bringing me into existence, but also as a means by which He has imparted His grace to me and changed my perceptions about my purpose in life, making it clear that it is to glorify Him and enjoy Him forever. My entire existence is tied to this college. When I first came to Covenant 10 years ago I did not appreciate this, but now I rejoice in how the Lord has used this place not only to help form the earthly family to which I belong for time, but to shape us spiritually that we might all be part of His family for eternity.

Seniors Looking For Work

2008-04-28T22:45:00.000-07:00

Overqualified

My friend and I are competing for the same job.
The application deadline is fast approaching,
And I can’t contain my excitement.

My references will attest to not only my eagerness for this position,
But also to my skill set which I have honed for years.
Can I really get paid to live the dream?

My friend thinks he has experience in this area.
His mistaken assumption encourages me in my pursuit
Of being paramount in the field of endless leisure.

While the qualifications are a tall order
The employer will find that my ideals are unsurpassed,
My ability to spend large quantities of cash….more than sufficient.

Example of my matchless knack for living said dream:
Yesterday – 2:24pm – Bombay

Witty repartee in plaza with woman donning the latest fashionable waist sash.
Perceived awestruck looks from bystanders.
Proceeded to go poolside.

But really, all of that is irrelevant,
Because I’m late for my lunch meeting at Shoney’s - Montgomery, AL
Where Phil is awaiting my contact sheet.

As a visionary who reaps the reward of the journey never taken,
I feel that I am best fit for this post that will indefinitely require my utmost
As I forge ahead to a territory previously reserved for the magnate and philanthropist.

Belz/Withington

Split Screen

2008-04-21T18:41:00.000-07:00

Max and I are at it again. In future days we will be the editors of our own poetry anthology. The first poetry team ever (maybe). Belz/Withington. But before we actually start writing together, here is another joint idea we wrote separately on. Whose what is whose?

Split Screen

i.
This conversation would be better
If we were viewable on a split screen--
You in your curiosity and grace,
Me in my witticisms and space.

Like a stormy news show,
We exchange ideas and react.
Only divided by a line, thin and green
Down the middle of the screen.

Best of all, I could watch us talk
And take note of my own expression.
I mean literally take notes of what I see in our reactions.
Normally, I could never be this objective.

Separate the madness with a line
One pan of the camera can't contain this.
Bisect this dialogue, and join it again.
Then we'll see if we're doing this right.

ii.
From where we stand now,
All I have to go on are my own interpretations
Of your watchfully arranged words.
It would be helpful for me to see us talking on our rotary telephones
Via split screen on my television.
You would be inside of the top left triangle.
I would inhabit the bottom right triangle.
Despite the hypotenuse that divided us,
I would be better able to know what to say
By viewing your reactions, and mannerisms.
I believe it would be an accurate gauge.

Whenever you look down to your left at the coffee table where you are painting your toenails,
I will look up to my right where a spot of water damage bulges from my dilapidated ceiling.
It might feel to me as if we are looking at each other,
And then I would get temporarily distracted from the TV in front of me,
Where we are displayed for only me to see.
Not for you.
That would defeat the purpose.

If that were the case, we might as well speak face to face,
Cloaking our natural physical responses,
Like always,
As we strive to hide our b side.
If my calculations are correct, I will never know you squared,
Because unfortunately,
Neither of us owns the rotary phones
Which would keep us within our respective triangles.
You would frequently pace off screen with your mobile…

And I would gain no new insights into you.

Inspiration anyone?

2008-04-20T15:38:00.001-07:00

Our friend James Harrison made a short for the Watchtower Film Festival (Covenant College's first ever film festival), starring Max Belz. Asher Payne and I have cameos as his character's self- affirmed friends. Happy day!

The Internet

2008-04-19T22:19:00.000-07:00

Max had an idea for a poetry exercise. I am all about poetry exercises. This is the result. Can you guess who wrote which one?

The Internet

i.
Someone recently told me about the “internet.”
Man, a lot of good stuff, a lot of good stuff.
Some bad stuff, but a lot of really stellar information.
I found myself being propelled forward by electronic links as if I were playing hopscotch.
My friend said that I was “surfing.” Ok.
Have you checked this thing out?
I mean, somebody is really on to something here.
I have gone through screens and screens of what seem to be an endless encyclopedia encompassing everything from useful to useless.
My friend called them “pages”…..web pages, but it still looks like a constantly altering monitor image to me. Whatever.
But what a neat invention, huh?
I kind of want to keep it to myself though, and my friend who told me about it.
If more people found out about it, I don’t think it would be as cool.
I wonder who makes all of the “pages.”
That person must be pretty smart, and old.
I hope they don’t die too soon.
It would suck to lose this thing right after I found out about it.

ii.
Someone recently told me about the "internet."
I was skeptical (I always am about these sorts of things).
He was so elated about the pros of the technology,
That he almost dropped his lit cigarette during our private smoke break.
"I won't create a need for myself that will fight for my attention,
Like a hungry dog. I won't yield to marketing ploys and idea-speak.
I want results!"
After I stopped shouting and did some quick research, I judged that it was a reasonably useful tool.
This person came to me and shared facts, stats, and Sharon Stone's birthdate--
All data readily accessed from this mysterious, somehow invisible web of information.

And that's when I was wowed.

"Think of how this could change my life," I thought.
I went to my workplace the next day
Determined to not be distracted by my ruminations on the matter.
The same guy who had originally told me about it stopped me when I entered my building.
"But what a neat invention, huh?" he said smarmily.
I acted unimpressed, but secretly was pleased with my own knowledge.
I realized that it would be beneficial to write something down about my encounter with this technology.
Not just that, but that I would lock the paper up in a safe.
It would suck to lose this thing right after I found out about it.

Superb video

2008-04-07T10:28:00.000-07:00

This is the video that Drew Belz shot for Founders Music Video Night 2008 with the Catacombs.....and me (I drove the van). I don't think that there is anyone who cannot help but enjoy this amazing feat that was flawlessly executed.

Higher Learning

2008-04-02T12:00:00.000-07:00

Here's what I got out of a class presentation today:

What is this like?
It is like a like.
What is a like?
It is like like,
But basically like more like,
and like like.
Not like....
But basically like.
So,
I don't know,
Like,
I think like
I want like
I do like
I knew like.
I'm through like, talking about it.
Cue my pity clap.

Screenwriting Exercise (with a trimming moral)

2008-03-30T19:24:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we had our last screenwriting class. It went from 9am to 10 pm. We spent the entire day reading and critiquing each other's screenplays one at a time. But before that we started the morning out with a stream of consciousness exercise. The only instructions that we were given were: Write exterior, creek, day.....David skips a rock on the water. We had around 10 minutes to write. This is mine. (In the future youtube cult classic, David Barr will star opposite an animated Grateful Dead Bear/Carebear type almost twice his size in a completely realist scenic location)

EXT. - CREEK - DAY

DAVID skips a rock on the water. He hears a LOUD NOISE in the bushes and turns.

Emerging from the bushes comes a PURPLE BEAR eating from a box of Teddy Grahams.

David runs.

DAVID

Aaaaahhhhh!

The bear TELEPORTS in front of David.

PURPLE BEAR
Don't be afraid, David. I'm not going to eat you. I've got all I need right here.

David looks at the box of tasty treats.

DAVID
I don't understand what these saucers I call eyes are seeing. Golly gee, Mr. Bear. Why not eat me? I'm all alone and you're a hungry purple bear that talks.

PURPLE BEAR
David, I like you. You make me laugh. You state the obvious like you're trying to inform an audience of what they can surmise for themselves.

DAVID
Heavens to Betsy, Mr. Bear! I guess you're right! Say there, what's your name?

The Purple Bear takes a pawful of Teddy Grahams and hands them to David.

PURPLE BEAR
Well David, some call me something different than Purple Bear, but that's none of your business.

David eats the Teddy Grahams.

DAVID
(chewing with his mouth open)
Wow, I bet you've got quite a story to tell.

PURPLE BEAR
It sure does pack a wallop. Well, I guess first I should say, I'm not a natural bear.

DAVID
Yeah, you're purple. And you talk!

PURPLE BEAR
Ha ha! Redundancy is fun, isn't it, David? Well, you're right. But I'm also a cannibal bear. I only eat other bears. That's what cannibal means, David. I'm trying to get off the real thing with these here crackers.

DAVID
Cool!

The Latest

2008-03-27T22:21:00.000-07:00

I deleted my Facebook and have been on Myspace very little, as I am trying to stay off the internet and in my books. A little over one month to go until graduation...... can I make it?

Here's the latest news, and I'm glad I didn't have to take the time to type it:)

http://www.bagpipeonline.com/?p=3084

Ten Years Gone

2008-03-13T13:02:00.000-07:00

I started writing this song in 1997. I was never satisfied with it, but couldn't quite bring myself to throw it out completely. It went through two different musical drafts, three different lyrical drafts, and four different recordings. Finally, in 2007, I recorded the final version that I am happy with, both musically and lyrically. So, here are the finished lyrics:

Caving In

Once appraised at a price in the nice side of town,
Now the highs are low,
As low as old downs.
How did we not see our base,
Become flooded rooms warped from slow decay,
And not realize until now?

Isn’t it funny how we’ve changed,
And how we’re forgetting to laugh?
Isn’t it sad how we’ve changed,
Into this aftermath?

Now we’re caving in,
So let’s lie to ourselves again.

We’ve memorized these lies,
Like lines from a play.
Though the quips are written in,
With an ad-libbed fib we’ll stray.
We wrote a script that slips,
Through pursed and puckered lips.
It’s slightly slanted,
But deeply implanted.

We’re caving in.

Untitled kind of haiku sort of thing, but not really a haiku at all

2008-03-12T07:19:00.000-07:00

Sleep is a blessing.
This I know because I can't.
Deep and distressing,
Night moves slow but does not dance.
Leap of faith pressing,
Might You show me in advance?
Keep me from guessing.

(January 2008)

This day, last year

2008-03-08T09:08:00.000-08:00

Today (the last Saturday of Spring Break) marks a day I will always remember. I wrote the following blog almost a year ago. It has been incredible to look back and see what God has taught me from that sunny day in Florida to this snowy one on Lookout Mountain, GA, and to know that He will never stop guiding my every step.

Hands Across The Ocean March 13th, 2007

I just returned from the most amazing spring break I've ever had, and one of the most prolific experiences of my entire life, so what can I say? Well, a lot. So much that I'll need the help of my other 5 companions to compile it all, so as not to forget any details. Every one of our 7 days in Florida was jam-packed full of adventure, laughter, music and the undeniable nearness of our Almighty God. I don't believe that I could begin to scratch the surface of the overall feeling of the trip without typing up an entire memoir from its start to finish. I will note one significant event though, and solely because I was the only one who had the experience. I would want the collective input of my friends to get the details right for all the other highlights.

I went to Florida with a group of awesome guys to find some good surf. David is a surfer, and he was determined that the rest of us learn the basics. We all prayed together as we were going down south that God would bless our trip and our time together. The results were astounding. Here is my story from Saturday, the last day of the trip. God had already shown Himself faithful throughout every hour of every day up to this point, but He must have been adamant in making me realize just how near He is. I have never had an experience such as this.

David had been waiting all week for Saturday. According to the surf reports the waves would be ideal for surfing that morning at a prime surfing spot in Sebastian. The entire week, we had gone out to find waves, but the surf was relatively tame. This day was the one. We all arrived at the beach around 10:00am to find a slew of top notch surfers out in the ocean fighting over the steady flow of very decent sized waves. I decided fairly early on that I was not going to venture out there with a surf board and try to compete for space with the already saturated area. I sat on the shore and watched everyone do their thing for a good hour, trying to detect the wave patterns. The place where the waves broke didn't seem too far away. All the surfers were bobbing on their boards just past the break, waiting to ride the perfect wave into shore. As time passed I grew restless sitting there, and had a strong inclination to go into the ocean and swim. It is something that I have always done since childhood, and I had done it a few times in the previous days. I didn't want to be disturbed by the surfers though, so I walked about a half-mile down the beach away from everyone. By the time I decided to stop walking and get in the water, everyone else in the ocean and on the shore were specs in the distance.

I felt the current immediately pulling at my feet, nearly knocking me off balance at shin deep level. Once I couldn't feel the ocean floor anymore I started getting pushed back to shore with every breaking wave. I thought the only way I'll be able to get to a place of calm would be to swim past the break (the same distance out as those surfers who were bobbing on their boards). This proved to be quite difficult, but after much struggle I managed to get past the waves. Within a minute of calmly floating out there I decided I was feeling pretty tired and should start heading back to shore. As I tried to ride the waves back in, I noticed that I was getting pulled back with the undertow after the crash, and not making any progress. Once this realization set in I felt a rush of panic. I am not a bad swimmer, but I would not call myself a strong swimmer either. I am also severely out of shape, and my endurance is obviously not what it was when I was 17. All of a sudden I realized the weight of the situation. Here I was totally out of sight, out past the break, almost out of stamina, and completely out of my element, having totally underestimated the ocean. I started freaking out and flailing a bit, going under a wave and swallowing a substantial amount of salt water. For a good 2 or 3 minutes I really believed I had possibly made a deadly error and was going to drown in the ocean. Finally, through the unmistakable grace of God, I composed myself and mustered up what little strength I had left. I felt for the rhythm of the waves and floated with them until they broke, where I would then swim against the undertow as hard as I could. I would repeat that method of conserving energy during the formation of the wave, and then extreme physical exertion at the break, until I miraculously reached the shore, completely exhausted. When I finally left the water and set foot on the sand, I immediately got one of the worst side cramps of my life. It was so bad that I could barely walk back to where the others were. All I could think about was what if I had got that cramp even 1 minute earlier. But God was there, as He always is, and I knew it. By all logical reason, I should have died out there. Everything was against me, including my own naivety/stupidity. But God gave me the strength to keep my wits and actually come up with a plan on the spot, not really knowing what I was doing, or if it would work, and keeping my body functioning well past its normal capacity in such conditions.

That evening around 5:00pm we were walking back from the beach to the parking lot. There was the most marvelous sunset, where the sun was shining through select breaks in the clouds, piercing them with pillars of light. Whenever I see a sunset like that I imagine that what I am seeing is not the sun but the actual light of God shining down on His creation. This time was especially significant. It was a sign to me that God was watching over me, as He controls the ocean, and is accountable for every breath I take. What a reminder.

I got back to school Sunday night. Yesterday classes resumed and we had our first Chapel since being back. Mrs. Dr. Neilson spoke about death! The whole chapel was about how we don't take death seriously and always treat it like its so far away, and that we take God's sustenance for granted, failing to give Him credit for the life that He has put in us. I called my mom after the chapel to tell her that I'd gotten back safely from Florida. I related the story of my "incident" on Saturday. On Friday I had called her to tell her that we were all going to be going out to Sebastian to where the crazy waves were. After I told her what happened on Saturday, she said, "Grant, I didn't want to tell you this Friday, because I knew you were going to do what you were going to do, but I was so scared that something like that would happen to you. So, I called Grandma back in NY and we both prayed for you all day that God would watch over you." My friend Luke who was with me on the trip also told me that on that day when he looked up from his book on the beach and didn't see me anywhere for about 10 minutes, just stopped and prayed that God would protect me out there. It was amazing that I was the one person who was blind to the fact that these waves were extremely dangerous. I believe that God put this ignorance in me to show me His goodness, and also to show me the power of prayer. There are so many times when I subconsciously doubt that God will listen, but He continually and thankfully proves me wrong. This life is a gift. This is true. Thank you to all of you who pray for me.

2004 - It was the mediocre of times, it was the worst of times.

2008-03-07T18:34:00.000-08:00

This is a poem I wrote while wasting away in the Chapel Hill, NC music scene.

The Glorious Ephemeral

To the male population of UNC:

Rev your engines, start a fight,
Knock another girl up tonight.
Flaunt the wealth that you inherit.
Spit back catch phrases like a parrot.
Go Tarheels,
Way to use conformity as a platform!

To the female population of UNC:

You are bogus,
Like an infatuation that is simply coaxed along by close proximity,
Like the inebriation that inspires the most unlikely camaraderie.
You are not bogus,
You are trying to assure me earnestly,
Well, at least as earnestly as you can be,
But I’m sorry.
Goodbye,
Not so humble cutie pie.
I can see the chump change that you’re displaying,
But I can’t hear the noises that you’re phrasing.
All I hear is a sound enrolled in flames,
Telling me to get the hell out of this place.

To the collective whole:

You siphon cyanide out of the cynics,
And spike the punch at an optimist’s picnic.
I carefully cover my shins and wrists,
So as not to be immediately dismissed.
Lost in the mirage of our misguided motivations,
We fumble in pursuit of different aspirations.
We make a horrible team.

Something Charming To Say

2008-03-06T15:14:00.000-08:00

It is hard for me to keep a straight face and talk to people about music most of the time, as I have said before. I find the motivation for listening to music fascinating. Why do we do it? Why do I do it? Well, it stirs something up inside of me. It taps into a place inside of me that can’t be reached through that many other avenues. For a long time I assumed that this was a universal truth. When I became old enough to talk to my peers about music, I was excited. To find people who are passionate about the same things as you are is invigorating, reaffirming, and fun. When I became a teenager, it became increasingly clear that the popular view of music was not grounded in notes, composition, and execution, but almost solely in being a means of achieving personal identity. It was reduced to a mere social accessory. Not to say that I didn’t buy into this cultural norm for the majority of my middle school and high school years (it was virtually impossible to escape). But in later years I had to relearn how to love music for what it was to me personally, not just what demographic it could connect me to. So I understand the pressure to listen to the “right” genres of music, but it still bothers me that this pressure exists. I wish people could just like what they are personally drawn to, and not be forcefed something that they would naturally have no interest in, and then feel a frantic need to recognize its merits to find acceptance.

But there is something worse, in my opinion. This is what Nick Hornby refers to in his book High Fidelity as, “The Professional Appreciator.” Such a person suffers from another form of the same identity crisis. This is the person who tries to armor themselves with wider and better musical taste than anyone else. They find comfort in isolating themselves from everyone, and scoff at people who listen to “that band.” And the number one rule for this type of person is: its ok to like “this band” because no one else has heard of them. Once "this band" becomes well known and well liked by all, the Professional Appreciator can make the claim that he was listening to them before everyone else did, and now the band sucks because they have “sold out.” One of my favorite examples of this is “The Death Cab For Cutie Argument” that I love to have with supposed fans of music. Death Cab was a good little band back in the early 2000s. They were musically tight, and had a lot of energy. The songwriting was decent, the recording quality of the albums was mediocre, and Ben Gibbard’s vocal delivery was shaky. Now, those first couple albums were not bad. For a band on a very small independent label, they were fine. If nothing else they showed a lot of potential, but they were far from stellar. Along comes “Transatlanticism” and blows everyone away. An amazing album! Right there Death Cab lost some fans. “Everyone is listening to Death Cab now.” Of course from that statement it can be deduced that they obviously gained some fans too. The album was successful because it was musically better than the previous albums. The songs were better, the production better, and Gibbard’s vocals were more confident. Then “Plans” is released, and my oh my, if this didn’t piss some “hard core” Death Cab fans off. “They’ve signed to a major label. They’re total sellouts!” Ok, yes, now they can have their music distributed all over the world in mass proportions. But Chris Walla is still doing all the production in their same studio, and their approach to the process of songwriting, arranging, and recording has for all intents and purposes remained the same. They are growing as musicians. That is really the only change. They are maturing as most people do when they stick with the same thing. This does not seem to register with a large portion of “serious” fans. Before “Plans” hit the street people were trashing it.

I have a tough time picking a favorite between “Transatlanticism” and “Plans” because they are both so musically good. They are the only two Death Cab albums that I bought. I would never buy the earlier ones because there is not enough musical merit there for me to warrant owning them. I still run into people who talk about Death Cab’s “glory days” (before “Transatlanticism”) and how they “suck now.” Really? They suck now? Could you qualify that statement? I have never received any answer that has any relation to anything musical. It is always an issue of personal identity. Something that in reality has absolutely nothing to do with music at all. And this is coming from the people who make the claim, “Music is my life. Without music I would die.” This brings me to a whole other topic that I won’t go into now, but if you are claiming that one particular aspect of this life IS your entire life (meaning that this thing encompasses your whole being), it will end up destroying you, rather than enhancing your life experiences.

I drove to pick up Ben from a Death Cab show in Raleigh in October 2005 right after “Plans” had come out. There were all these fans standing outside the venue that were on this topic. I thought, “Why are you even here?” Ben is a true fan of music. He wasn’t talking to any of these kids who have numerous opinions on everything that all miss the point. He was in the back talking to the band about music. I think Chris Walla and my brother would get along pretty well in a studio.

I wrote a poem that night about this whole idea. I guess if you’ve read this entire rant then the poem might be obsolete, or vice-versa. Also, I updated the blog Spring Break Oh! Eight!, because I found a revised version of the poem Idle in another notebook. Alright, I’m done now.

The Professional Appreciator

Darlings no more,
Purists turned whore,
You used to be more beautiful
When only I knew you.
I loved you when nobody knew
Who you were.

But now they crowd
Around what I’d found,
And claim you as their own,
When you used to be mine alone.
My ears were your home
When you were outsiders.

My darlings no more,
Since everyone beats on your door.
You used to be more beautiful
When your efforts were less fruitful
In the eyes of the world.

Now you could care less,
But I didn’t used to be faceless.
Though tonight I blend in with the masses,
Of polo shirts and cell phone flashes,
And every other trust fund boy and girl.

Boohoo.

Please Sir, I want some more Clod.

2008-03-05T19:40:00.000-08:00

I was reading William Blake's Jerusalem (which is where the title for the movie Chariots of Fire comes from - not 2 Kings, though Blake obviously took the phrase from the Bible) today and found myself doing what I always do when I look up a Blake poem: reading more. He has been one of my favorites for quite some time. I wish there were more poets like him. Totally awesome poets who are also totally awesome artists. That would just be so totally awesome. But there aren't, so there's just him, but that's ok, I guess.

This is the first Blake poem I ever read, and I still think it is one of his best.

This is my God!

2008-03-04T20:40:00.000-08:00

I was told at the age of 18 by someone I cared deeply for that my problem was that I viewed life as if it were a movie. I started thinking that maybe this observation was correct. When my plans started to go awry, I blamed it on this philosophy that someone else had told me I adhered to (see Gums and Teeth from an earlier entry). While I continued to love movies, I made special note that I might have a tendency to be unrealistic in my assumptions about life, and subsequently took special care to look at life more practically. I strove for common sense, logic, rationality, and plausibility. This would save me from the fate of my former naivety. Even if I was overcompensating, better to error on the side of reason rather than greenness, right? As I found out through even harder lessons than before, this was not so. While I felt an urgent need to escape my idea of immaturity, I ran further into the arms of the world. But there was no realization or validation there. It was only a more mature looking fantasy. Via countless dead ends and broken noses from consistently running at top speed into the brick walls at the end of those cul-de-sacs, I finally started relearning how I am to live. How I am to approach this life in both ideology and action. I gave a devotional with my Ireland team last semester on 1 Corinthians 1: 18-31. It was where the Lord had finally led me in my own journey to real understanding. I’m not living in ignorance or fear anymore. I don’t understand everything that God is doing in my life, but that’s alright because I am certain that it is good. This last year has been especially marvelous. It is unexplainable apart from Christ’s sovereignty and providence. That preface is just to say that I have no idea what God is doing, but He’s doing something huge, and “Hallelujah!” Try to make sense of this:

I’m on Spring Break, but staying at the college to climb on my mounds of seemingly insurmountable work. Oleg is a friend from the apartments who is also here for the week. He has been bugging me for over a week now about bringing over my DVD copy of Chariots of Fire. He must have heard about it from someone else recently and for some reason he REALLY wants to see that movie with me. He has never seen it before. I have seen it probably close to 30 times (many of those viewings were between the ages of 4 – 18). It’s one of my all-time favorite films, definitely in the Top 5. Every time I run into Oleg, which is at least once a day, he asks me about when I’m going to bring that movie over. “Oleg! I’ll get it as soon as I can!” All my movies are down in St. Elmo, so they are obviously not immediately accessible on the mountain. I finally get the movie for him on Sunday when I’m off the mountain for church. Oleg is happy. Now this won’t make a lot of sense for anyone reading this that hasn’t seen the movie, and I don’t have the patience right now to give a detailed synopsis, but Eric Liddell is the main character. He was an Olympic gold medalist in the 1920s in the sport of track and field, and he was also a missionary to China. God had called him to the ministry but He had also given Eric the gift of being an incredibly fast runner. Eric’s primary struggle in the movie is finding out what his purpose is. He is passionate about the mission work and the sport. God gave him the ability and the love to do both. Yet he still struggles with the idea of having to juggle the two, or even choose one over the other. He finally comes to the conclusion through prayer and the godly counsel of his family that he can do both. And not only that he can do both, but that he is called by God to do both. It is God’s will that he do all he is given to do. In a pivotal scene Eric is taking a countryside walk with his sister and tells her, “I believe God made me for a purpose, for China, but he also made me fast. And when I run I feel His pleasure.” He says that he is going back to China, but he has “a lot of running to do first.” As he sets off for the 1924 Olympics in Paris, he is confronted with the temptation of taking his talent into his own hands and going against what he knows to be right by running on the Sabbath. He resists the temptation, and while he loses his chance to run that particular race, he is made a most unusual and generous offer to run a race that is not only more favorable being that it is not on Sunday, but that it is also a distance that he is more suited for (400 meters rather than 100 meters). Before the race as Eric is stretching, another athlete comes up to him and hands him a piece of paper. It reads, “It says in the Old Book ‘He who honors me I will honor.’ Good luck. - Jackson Scholz.” Liddell crumples the paper in his fist and runs the race with it. He wins. It is maybe the best movie moment I have ever seen. I’ve seen the movie 30 times and I still cry every single time. I love it. Why did Oleg keep relentlessly pestering me about it though? I mean, I know how it feels to want to see a movie really badly, but even I thought his persistence was a little weird.

For the last year numerous people have been asking me about the Shakespeare Sonnets album that I’ve had in my back pocket for over 2 years now. In the last 2 months the requests have increased. In the last 2 weeks they have gotten downright irritating. I don’t want to think about it. I played the Folk Festival. It was fun. But I’m through. That’s all I wanted to do. I want to hang it up. That part of my life is over. I played music for so long, and I look back on that time with a lot of disdain. Mainly, I look at how I was, and I don’t like it. I don’t like the cynicism, the attitude, the numbness, the fear, etc. I automatically associate all those feelings with playing music. I do that because I was playing music for the wrong reasons and not using my gift properly. I thought that if I ran away from it, and focus on mission work that all would be solved. When I’d tell my friends at Covenant this solution I was surprised that I didn’t get many immediate positive reactions. “But you have such a gift.” I found that through trying to convince them, I was trying to convince myself as well. “I think this is right,” I would say to myself.

My Senior Integration Project has hit a wall. I cannot make progress. I can’t even concentrate. This is not good. Less than two months to go. This is not good. Why did Oleg want me to watch that movie with him that he had never seen before? Why was that so important? Why is everyone hounding me about the Shakespeare Sonnets album, and making me feel this unnecessary pressure to make some decision about it? I can’t think about music. What about China? What about what God wants me to do?

I get up to do my devotions. I have been going through My Utmost For His Highest by Oswald Chambers and Charles Spurgeon’s Faith’s Checkbook. The entry I read in Faith’s Checkbook on this very day confirmed what I’d been suppressing. What other verse could it have been? 1 Samuel 2:30 – “Them that honor me I will honor.” Out of all the bible verses. Out of all the movies. Out of all the days.

I have to be honest and say that it’s not music, it’s me. I’m the problem. My outlook is still screwed up. God has called me to do this. He has called me to ministry, but he has also called me to be a musician. I am a musician as Eric Liddell was a runner.

I called Dr. Macallister at home and said, “I’ve got to change my SIP!” She told me that if I do this I will officially be the latest person to ever change their SIP. I replied that pretty much every decision I’ve ever made in my life has been fairly unorthodox, so this would just be par for the course. I told her my idea, and she said that if I can get my readers to approve it than it was fine with her. She sounded excited and was actually totally cool with it. I called my Dad. “I thought you should have done that from the start.” I called Ben. “Yes.” I called Riley. Within 2 minutes he said he’s taking off work and coming here for Easter Break to work on it with me. I called Dave Hess. “Whatever you need.” I just might graduate on time.

All I can say is, God might take me places far far from here to serve Him in any number of different ways, but in the vein of Eric Liddell, I have a lot of music to do first.

Ok, so maybe I still sometimes view life as if it were a movie:)

Beginner's Genius

2008-03-03T09:33:00.000-08:00

My roommate wrote this poem a few weeks ago. He said that he had never written a poem before in his life. The only reason he wrote this was to help our friend Paul with an assignment for his poetry class. He wrote it in 2 minutes, threw the notebook at Paul and said, "That one's for free." Now that he and a slew of my other friends are frolicking in the Gulf Shores, I find it appropriate to post here.

Wearily christen a new red dawn
dogs play on the beach while turtles
menstruate on the white-washed sands of time
the dogs' hair is wet and twisted like seaweed
as they agitate obese sunbathers too early
for their own good.
I sift through my confusion as the seagulls
sort and peck through trash and cigarette butts.
I'm more lost than I was before,
and I've forgotten how to leave.

-Thomas Prettyman

Spring Break Oh! Eight!

2008-03-01T16:35:00.000-08:00

The 1st day of spring break was such a doozy, let me tell you. I slept until 1pm, read 1 chapter of a novel, and saw 1 movie at the Bijou. It's all downhill from here. Blah. Here's an old doohickey I scrounged up from Notebook #1 that I find fitting in light of this ghost campus. Speaking of ghosts, I woke up this morning, and my apartment mates had left me a farewell message in red lipstick on the bathroom mirror: REDRUM. Funny.

Idle

Illustrated in more melancholy colors,
Here is yet another entry,
Depicting an existence that is
Rapidly racing towards sedentary.

I envision on the vanity,

A record of my family's pedigree,

And visual representations of our tree,

Posing in front of the liriope,

Captured in exquisite B&W photography.

My life is on Victorian setting:

Duller than a biscuit,

Tighter than a corset,

I made myself a rule to break this cycle,

But I never choose to enforce it.

Never have there been so many awkward stances,

Pent up words,

And apologetic glances.

Stall tactics are all intact,

Desperately waiting to crack.

Dust bunnies are collecting on the hard wood floors.

All this marble trim

Is starting to look so grim.

Too many options.

All this incessant doubting is such a chore.

Alice (Gap Teeth continue to inspire)

2008-02-28T13:55:00.000-08:00

This is a song that started out funny and ended up sounding sad. Most people who knew me a couple of years ago think it’s a little too painful, but I want to talk about where this song came from, because it amuses me. I started writing this in the final months of 2005, and finished the only recording I have of it in March 2006. The section where I now sing “callus” and “palace” used to be “Alice.” The song was going to be called Alice. I was writing a song from the perspective of Jankyn, who is the fifth husband of Alyson, or Alice, the Wife of Bath in Geoffrey Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales. While in her prologue it is obvious that he has died before she sets out on her pilgrimage, I envisioned her leaving him while he was still alive for this piece. There are a couple of lines that I threw in to make it sound specific to my own personal experience (there are obvious parallels anyways), but this has never been one of my more personal songs, contrary to popular belief. I must admit though that as the song was coming together, I saw the “sad potential” and tried to milk that. Truth be told, I actually enjoy it.

Calluses

I overlay her memory with gold,
And the finest jewelry.
The engagement gone wrong fills every song,
And brings on every callus.

And I admit my tendency to be possessive,
Was lightly put just a bit excessive.

I’m still not immune to her perfume,
That fills this empty palace.

How could I be jealous of her former lovers?
She said they got nothing on me.

And I recant every lengthy rant about all my needs.
On my knees I am.

All the brighter thoughts ignite my want for her.
I’m gaunt with worry, my judgment blurry.
I almost forget the calluses.

Rules Of Worship

2008-02-27T09:38:00.000-08:00

When will the Shakespeare Sonnets album get made? I don't know. Hopefully someday. Definitely not anytime in the near future. I get excited about it when I'm talking to Riley about the possibilities of starting the process up again, but otherwise it is not a pressing concern. I was actually on the phone with Riley last night for a few minutes. He had to go because he was about to get chips for a poker tournament he was playing in. There's evidently no money involved. I guess because it's in North Carolina. I'm not sure. Anyways, he just loves to play with strangers, because he says "it's one of the best ways to learn about yourself and other people." I never thought about it that way. Maybe because I don't play poker. Just thinking about the whole gambling culture brought me back to the poem that I wrote in the Las Vegas airport this past summer while eagerly awaiting my plane ride back to NYC. I had just experienced an eye opening series of days with Tim in a place where everything that is wrong with the world seemed to be compressed into a few square blocks. Even though I never sat down to play a game, I did learn a lot about people who do.

Rules of Worship

Climbing up from all pits of life to this town,
Full wallets arrive in heat carrying fresh faces,
Soon dissolving into nervous sweaty brows,
Hung out to dry in the shower from their shoelaces.

Play your hand.
Change of dealer.
Lose a limb,
Due to Caesar.

Among the lot are withered retirees,
Who cash their checks from Social Security,
And come equipped with arthritis and crumpled 20s,
Proceeding to slowly die by the penny.

Take a seat,
At Tall Pink Duck.
Odds are set,
In lieu of luck.

Higher risk and chance attract men of business,
Producing many a dumbstruck standing witness,
Like the breathing accessories that accompany,
Receding hairlines that shoot craps and pornography.

Blow the dice.
Forget the hour.
Comp rooms at,
Eiffel Tower.

Common purses rub with those of the offspring of tycoons,
And fleets of nurses are soon dispersed to inflict subtle wounds.
Bringing free short orders full of demise,
They are tipped in accordance with cup size,
Spewing, "Sapphire Tonic and a White Russian."
Roulette wheels bullet train eyes still adjusting.

Praise the sin.
Embrace the vice.
Scream out, "God!"
And, "Jesus Christ!"

Love is licensed with petty vows,
That later become a liability,
For the ripe flesh of the here and now,
Limiting the frequency of promiscuity.

Lose your shirt.
Mesh your bodies.
Choke the dream.
Keep it gaudy.

Diamonds in the sand connect every language of Babel.
They blind every room, they bleed every table,
Occupied by the vibrant and the decrepit,
All suffering from flawed depth perception.

Double down.
Split the aces.
Bet your life.
Thank Las Vegas.

Gloomy Tuesday

2008-02-26T10:10:00.000-08:00

I started this blog as a place to post my song lyrics and poems for anyone who wants to read them, and it sort of took on a blog life of it's own. So, to get back to the archiving.....here are the words to one of the songs I played last weekend at the CFF.

Go Free

Oh, my precious valentine,
A diva with nine lives to spare,
(I was lucky enough to occupy,
The one in nine for which you did not care)

You’re never not beautiful,
And I am not easily drawn away,
But still I’ll say,

Go free,
And tell the feelings you call prisoners,
That they are released from me.

Thought I’d push enough to win,
Thought I’d love enough for two,
(My ambition was in the red,
And that’s exactly what left us black and blue)

But our gardens weren’t meant to be so green.
No, we were just flowers shooting through cracks in the sidewalk,
On a cloudy block.

Go free,
And tell the feelings you call prisoners,
That they are released from me.

If you ever reach New York City,
And you forget what it’s like to be held,
(Though I don’t think you’ll have that problem,
I myself, know it all too well)

My arms are always open,
But my hands are still just as cold,
So,

Go free,
And tell the feelings you call prisoners,
That they are released from me.

My Songwriting Philosophy

2008-02-25T12:58:00.000-08:00

Whenever I run into other songwriters after I perform and they ask me how I go about writing songs, I have the same irresolute response that I give to the question about what my music sounds like: “I can’t really explain it.” Or at least I’m really bad at trying to explain it. Many times I look back on a time when I wrote a song and don’t even remember what I was thinking of at the time. The memory is just a big blur that was only clear for that fleeting moment in time. That is only for the songs that come together very quickly (1 day – 1 month). Those are rare. Out of the 100+ songs that I’ve written (not counting my high school songs that have been discarded for very good reason) very few songs are finished within that time frame. If I’m very excited about a particular piece and no lyrics are surfacing I will wait for the lyrics to come, develop the melody, structure, and rework everything over a period of 6 months. That is average. Some songs have taken me 2 to 3 years to finish. A few songs are still in progress after 6 years or so. “What comes first, the music or the lyrics?” It’s always different. Sometimes the music gets written and just sits there with no lyrics for a long time. I have fit lines that I have written with no melody in mind with new music many times. At times I have let the music stir up the words, and have written down ideas that were spawned from the melody. I don’t know, I don’t really think about it. I really don’t ever think much about what I’m doing (the process that is). I have never had a single vocal or guitar lesson, and I know absolutely zero music theory. All I can say is that I listen to a lot of music. Listening to music on my headphones while closed in my bedroom is what I spent most of my younger years doing. Looking back I fear it might have been a horrible waste of time, and detrimental to my growth in all sorts of other areas, but that’s what I did. I still listen to more music than the average person, I would say. Not so much in variety, but in hours spent, and not in the background or as a distracter, but with undivided attention. I definitely listen to more music than almost all of my songwriting friends. Most of my friends have a songwriting/practicing/performance to just-sitting-and-listening-to-music ratio of 40/60. Mine is maybe 10/90, if that high. I know a lot of people who have a guitar in their hands anywhere from 4 to 8 hours a day/ 7 days a week. On weeks when I’m not playing shows or on a recording schedule (which has been the last year and a half) I have a guitar in my hands 4 to 8 hours in a whole week tops. And I like it that way. I don’t love playing guitar. I don’t love writing songs. But I love listening to music, and I am consistently inspired by it to use the guitar and songwriting as a means of expressing the joy that it gives me. The words are inspired by people, events, and experiences in my life. The only other thing that I will say about the music itself is that I do have a test for what I think is a musical idea worth developing: I have to love it. I have to say to myself “If someone else wrote this and I heard it on the radio one day, I would love it, and go buy it.” Why work on something that you would not love to listen to yourself? And the only reason that I can hear things that I like popping out of the guitar, is because of all of the music that I’ve listened to. If all I did was practice guitar and write songs all day, the output would be uninspired. Also, the music I’ve listened to is generally regarded by more people than just me or elite inner circles as being worth listening to. The vast majority of popular music that is listened to is not worth listening to (yes, even most of the bands in the beloved indie scene), and therefore will not develop a good ear. There you have it. There are the nuts and bolts of how I try to explain an unexplainable process. The mechanical gibberish. But to be perfectly honest, I never think of it in those terms. I have no idea what I’m doing.

Here is my personal songwriting philosophy:

Music is not created, it is discovered. All the notes are already on the scale, they’re just arranged differently. Every word is already in the dictionary, they are just tools. I believe that whatever it is that I do comes from God, and I am a tool that uses tools. I cannot even tell people accompanying me what key I’m in or what notes I’m playing. I have no musical training and no reasonable explanation for any of this. Sometimes I go 3 months without writing anything at all, musical or lyrical. Sometimes I’ll get 3 usable ideas in one week. I am proud to be the one who was allowed to write down what I refer to as “my songs.” But I have never understood where they came from. They did not originate inside of me, they only passed through me. Actually, a better way to say it would be: they always were. That is why my legal copyright name that I put all my songs under is “Predestined Excavations.” I’m the explorer that finds what was waiting to be found. The ability to play a musical instrument is a gift from the Lord, and so is this craft. I try not to dissect it. To quote T.S. Eliot, “For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.”

For the peeps that made it out to The Catacombs Folk Festival to see me play on Friday, thank you! It was an honor to be there. Here is the set list:

1. None Other Lamb, None Other Name (#157 in the Trinity Hymnal)
(Piano – Dave Hess, Bass Line – Max Belz, Alto Line – Sam Belz,
Tenor Line – Asher Payne, Soprano Line – Me)

2. Fake Plastic Trees (Radiohead cover)
(Piano – Dave Hess)

3. Go Free (2005)

4. Another Way To Roll (2005)

5. Era Of Unknowns (2007)

6. Shakespeare’s Sonnet 138 (2005/2006)

7. Sleeping/Reading Beauty (2007/2008)
(Accompanying guitar - Matt Brown)

What more?

2008-02-20T09:46:00.000-08:00

The first thing I read this morning was my devotional "My Utmost For His Highest" by Oswald Chambers. Between that and the chapels this week (especially today's) on relational steadfastness and personal introspection, and discovering the Polish word for essential and vital (being of the greatest importance) last night when looking up their etymologies......is this not God's way of convicting? How then? Is this not the time for realization/action? If not, when? Why this unrelenting unrest?

Taking the Initiative Against Daydreaming

Arise, let us go from here —John 14:31

Daydreaming about something in order to do it properly is right, but daydreaming about it when we should be doing it is wrong. In this passage, after having said these wonderful things to His disciples, we might have expected our Lord to tell them to go away and meditate over them all. But Jesus never allowed idle daydreaming. When our purpose is to seek God and to discover His will for us, daydreaming is right and acceptable. But when our inclination is to spend time daydreaming over what we have already been told to do, it is unacceptable and God’s blessing is never on it. God will take the initiative against this kind of daydreaming by prodding us to action. His instructions to us will be along the lines of this: "Don’t sit or stand there, just go!"

If we are quietly waiting before God after He has said to us, "Come aside by yourselves . . ." then that is meditation before Him to seek His will ( Mark 6:31 ). Beware, however, of giving in to mere daydreaming once God has spoken. Allow Him to be the source of all your dreams, joys, and delights, and be careful to go and obey what He has said. If you are in love with someone, you don’t sit and daydream about that person all the time— you go and do something for him. That is what Jesus Christ expects us to do. Daydreaming after God has spoken is an indication that we do not trust Him.

-Oswald Chambers

What more outside motivation do I need?

1st Belz Poetry Reading

2008-02-17T11:37:00.000-08:00

I got an e-mail from my sister Melissa today saying that she watched "the 1st Belz Poetry Reading" on youtube. I didn't even know there was a video. I don't even know who recorded or posted it. There was a poetry reading last October, and there were probably 30+ people who presented in a room with around 80 people in attendance. I read three original poems that night (Poem For Tim, an untitled selection, and 3 Successive Thoughts Pertaining to 1). Bits and pieces of Poem For Tim and the untitled one are in this video. A few of my good friends are also on here including Max Belz, Matt Brown, Seth Morgan, and Laura Childers. This was a nice little Sunday surprise for me.

Music enhances texts and images

2008-02-16T11:44:00.000-08:00

Places I go to avoid assignments:

http://withington.covblogs.com/
http://mwithington.covblogs.com/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/cwithington/
http://www.myspace.com/winterboat
http://www.imdb.com/
While listening to: http://pandora.com/
Having Max Belz read me selections from his cousin's blog at: http://belz.wordpress.com/

Song picks for the day:

1. Here With You by Van She
2. She's A Star by James
3. Lonely Dirges by Paul Michel
4. Sparkle by Afterhours
5. Rotten Love by Levy

Fake Plastic Words

2008-02-15T11:11:00.000-08:00

Someone asked me yesterday what kind of music I play. I have been asked this question numerous times, but obviously not enough to give a proper answer. I still can’t formulate a succinct reply that makes any sense. I don’t like saying that I’m a cross between two popular artists. But I obviously sound like something. What do I sound like? After I gave a very fragmented response, I was asked who I listen to. “What popular music do you recommend?” This person listens primarily to classical music, and had never heard of the band that I mentioned. “How would you describe their music?” AHHH!!!! Again, this is something that I have no skill in doing. As much as music means to me, I am bad at explaining what it sounds like to me. Music is something I feel, but don’t really enjoy talking about. That is why listening to people talk in musical journal-speak irritates me. It makes no sense to me. I wrote an article for the Covenant student paper last semester concerning the particular band that I was futilely trying to sell in my conversation last night. It is about the closest thing that I’ve been able to say about what music means to me.

It can be read here: http://www.bagpipeonline.com/?author=24

True Love Waits

2008-02-14T08:17:00.000-08:00

My grandfather Laurence Withington and grandmother Esther Bobier married each other on Valentine’s Day. The story of how they got together is one I have heard so many times from my grandmother that I could probably type it out, but am afraid that I would leave out a crucial detail that would make it seem like I wasn’t paying attention during story time. It is quite a story, second only to the story of how my parents got together, which I have also heard MANY times. But when I think of Valentine’s Day, I think of my grandparent’s anniversary. I think about my grandfather. He died of cancer in April of 2004 at the age of 80. His life was significant to our family in so many ways that I cannot even begin to count them. Great Grandma White was the first person from the Withington side of my family to become a Christian. Her son Laurence went into the U.S. Air Force as a chaplain and served for a full 25 years. After he retired he taught chemistry for awhile at Covenant College, was a chemist at a soft drink factory, pastored a church, and was a ruling elder in my father’s church (that’s the short list). Like every other person that the Lord connects me with, by blood or otherwise, his role in my life was vital. There is no other man that I respect more on this earth than my father, and there was no one who he respected more than his father, and I recognized that at an early age. As I grew to know my grandfather personally over the years, I came to have that same respect and love for him. I worked with him over many summers on different construction projects. One summer we worked together insulating my grandparent’s entire attic, which was enormous. He would tell me stories about my grandmother, my father, my aunt Susie, Japan, Iwo Jima, Covenant College, California, me, the Lord’s providence, and hundreds of random stories I wish I had written down at the time. I am thankful that the last 8 years or so of his life were spent near my family, so I got to know him as more than the “Grandpa” I only saw once a year for 2 weeks. I have been blessed to know all four of my grandparents on a very personal level. In many ways they have had just as much influence on my life and the shaping of my character as my parents have. Grandma Withington and both of my mother’s parents are still living. Grandpa Withington was the first person close to me to pass away. I remember how hard it was to drive him to and from his chemotherapy treatments, and not knowing what to say. He was always strong though, and would make jokes about how he preferred me to drive him (Dad’s driving made him nervous). I’ll always remember our last conversation, and how I knew he was getting towards the end, but thought there would be at least one more time to talk. And then there wasn’t. I still wish there had been, but I know that God’s timing and purposes are beyond my comprehension. The final word is that there will be conversations to come. Conversations of uncountable number.
I wrote these songs in the summer of 2004. Someday Ben and I will make proper studio recordings of them.

Troubadour

He raised my dad,
The only one I have,
And made him the only one I need.
Though it seems sometimes,
That we were made to be sad,
With strategically timed seasons of relief,

His season has just begun,
And will never end.
For those of us who remain,
We will sustain fond memories of him.

He finished out,
With no inward doubt,
His last days in the shade of Woodbine,
Though I wish that he could’ve seen,
What I might’ve been,
Had he been given just a little more time.

That which is me was passed down the tree,
It ran through his limbs,
Keeping us all over 6 foot tall,
And solid, yet slim.

Though he was not a troubadour in life,
In everything he did, he was our guiding light,
And now he’s singing with the angels,
And shining on this troubadour tonight.

I feel I need some,
Inspiration,
When I play to empty seats,
But I know that he would be proud,
If a never drew a crowd,
So long as my heart keeps the beat.

Though he was not a troubadour in life,
In everything he did, he was our guiding light,
And now he’s singing with the angels,
And shining on this troubadour tonight.

Gloria

Gloria, Gloria, Gloria, Gloria,
We sing Gloria.

No more yawns from fatigue at the start of the day,
No more longing for peace with wars underway,
No more storing possessions subject to decay,
We sing Gloria.

Always knew you were just a stranger on this earth,
To the end of your walk from the day of your birth,
All your merits still don’t add up your Worth,
We sing Gloria.

Gloria, Gloria, Gloria, Gloria,
We sing Gloria.

Winter Boat

2008-02-13T07:14:00.000-08:00

It is snowing a tad here at Covenant this morning. It made me think of Ben's latest musical project, and how I hope all will give it an attentive listen.

The very first day of this semester was when my brother and Winston Yellen started writing and recording music together. At present they have recorded 4 songs and are still going strong. When they showed me the first song they produced (Asia) and asked my honest opinion, I told them the truth. It was the best recording of original material I’ve ever heard to come out of Covenant College musicians, with the exception of the now defunct Infradig. The following songs that they have finished further prove this theory, to my ears. Now, it’s just a matter of time before everyone finds out. But you read it here first. Mark.

Here’s the listening station: www.myspace.com/winterboat

Quarter Century!!

2008-02-12T09:42:00.000-08:00

Courtney is 25 years old today!!!!!! This is her second birthday spent in Suriname, and she is greatly missed. We couldn’t coax her back to the U.S. with the prospect of being able to rent her very own car.

This last summer I came home in May from finishing my first year of College Part 2. Courtney did not return for her summer break until June. I usually sleep out in the “Barn Room” when it’s a full house, but for a month I got to sleep in Melissa and Courtney’s old room, which has a lot more privacy. As I practiced in Courtney’s room I came up with a piece of music on the guitar that I knew had to be crafted into a song pronto. My family is always the first to hear whatever I’m working on. Courtney was the first to hear the Shakespeare Sonnets and many other songs upon their initial conception. A couple of years ago I showed her yet another song about a breakup, in which I was beating the smoothly packed dirt that filled a twenty foot hole where a dead horse rested not so peacefully at the bottom. She was a little fed up and asked, “When are you going to write a song for me?” I stored that suggestion away. When this piece came in May 2007, I knew instantly that it had to be for Courtney. I played it over and over and over in her room, but no ideas or words came. She came home in June and we had a great time talking about all the wonders that God was working in our lives, and what our prayers for the future were. We had many blessed conversations as we always do. I returned to Chattanooga, TN at the end of July to get a head start on moving in and job searching before school started at the end of August. The job searching did not go so well, and I found myself playing a lot of guitar. I kept playing that tune I had written in May over and over again…......still no lyrics were coming. It was frustrating. Then I was looking in my notebooks, and I came across a song idea I had started 3 years ago entitled My Era Of Unknowns. Nothing I had written besides the title stood out to me as usable. So, I took the title and dropped “My.” I thought along the lines of not knowing where you’re going, but knowing where you’ve been, and knowing that even though you are unclear, God has your fear of the unknown covered…….so, don’t worry! (Matthew 6:25-34 and Luke 12: 22-34) And then I thought about Courtney. This is what she and I talk about ALL THE TIME. Now I had a theme, but no lyrics. I went to bed with the tune in my head. I woke up very suddenly at 4:30am in the morning, turned on my lamp, grabbed my notebook and pen next to my bed and wrote out this gift which just came pouring in.

ERA OF UNKNOWNS

All of our lives,
We have been contemplating,
Slow to decide,
What’s most illuminating.

Now the turtle you once were is racing,
And hurdling towards the lightning.

We filled up our days,
By filling in these journals,
To excavate,
All that which is internal.

And the regulated love that you’ve been holding,
Is flowing out in streams now.

But when you go, take the leaves,
That we quoted from New York,
If you’re afraid that you’ll breach,
Your own soul and flaming core.
Remember these leaves don’t shake,
Remember these leaves don’t shake.

Prospect for gold,
Leave the rudimentary,
Semblance of home,
Failure is imaginary.

‘Cause the only regrets you left were carried,
Off, washed, and atoned for.

So when you go, don’t believe,
That your dreams are a mistake,
Or that you’ve made up and laid up,
Your treasures in L.A.
Though buildings fall, you won’t shake,
Through casting calls, you won’t shake.

Eras define,
All of our growth in stages,
Measured by time,
And notebooks with scribbled pages.

I sing these notes out over ground and clearly,
In our era of unknowns.
I sing these notes out over ground and clearly,
In our era of unknowns.

When it was all down on the paper, I just said, “Thank you, Lord,” and went back to bed. I got up later and made a demo recording that morning at 11am. When Ben got to Covenant I showed him the song and he wrote a piano part for it. We auditioned it for Mountain Affair at the college in September 2007, and it made the cut. Then we scored 2nd place with it at the actual competition. It’s one of my favorite songwriting stories, because it is another perfect example of God’s good gifts that I can only marvel at, and be privileged enough to witness.
The latest recording that Ben and I made of it is here: www.myspace.com/grantwithington.

Happy Birthday Courtney! I love you.

In the Doldrums of Glumgums

2008-02-11T09:00:00.000-08:00

This is a little thingamabob I wrote a few years ago when I was going through my "bitter period." Paul thinks it is terrific, but also says its downfall might be that it is a little too "glum." All I have to say is that there will always be a market for glum.

Gums and Teeth

Love life is not like love in films.
It’s been badly cast in most brackets.
Although the faces that fill them,
Have all wonderfully acted.

Love life is not like love in films.
It never ends. In fact it,
Drags on for far too long through,
Episodes so anticlimactic.

There might be some initial chemistry.
The surface might seem to be blemish free.
But underneath is doubt and unbelief.
Once pretty mouths are now just gums and teeth.

Love life is not like love in films.
It’s hard to get enthusiastic.
There is no chasing down a plane while screaming out a girl’s first name,
Or anything quite so drastic.

Love life is not like love in films.
No, not nearly as attractive.
No happy coincidences, just lots of hidden expenses,
And a sad lack of want to give.

It might well seem like a dream,
With a pounding pulse and bright flashing beams,
But underneath is doubt and unbelief.
Once pretty mouths are now just gums and teeth.

The Trip To Over

2008-02-10T14:06:00.000-08:00

Something is enforced everyday. Either something that I suspect to be true is confirmed, or something that I thought was the case is proved not to be. I completed a song a few weeks ago that I have been working on for the last 3 years. It started with a title: My Trip To Over. It was a companion piece to another song idea that started at the same time: My Era Of Unknowns. Lyrics came, sat, waited, got up, and left. Some decided to come back, and resigned themselves to rot in my notebooks. After My Era Of Unknowns took on an unexpected new life and a completely new direction over last summer, I felt this urgency that My Trip To Over must get finished. A couple weeks ago this nursery tune popped out of one of my practice sessions, and fit some of the lyrics perfectly. From there the rest came together so easily. I added a few lyrics and moved a few words around to fit the syllabic structure, but the idea is in keeping with the same vision that I initially had. Along our walk on this earth we are confronted by distractions. The verses represent the distractions and temptations that I have confronted in my own experience. But the chorus is a simple surrender to God, entreating Him to reset my vision to its proper place. As I find my own ventures failing to produce personal fulfillment, I am brought back time and again to the ultimate and only real source of comfort. I will trip. I will fail. That is inevitable. But thankfully, He is always there to steady me.

Last night I was reading some chapters in Isaiah, and I ran across one of those verses that seem to hit you in the face when you need it the most.

The last sentence in Isaiah 7:9 says:
If you are not firm in faith, you will not be firm at all.

I was also reading a book by Anne Lamott on the writing process entitled Bird by Bird. There is a paragraph within that made me close the book and use it to repeatedly beat the arm of the chair I was sitting in. Especially after my Bible reading, it was a little too close to exactly what I am going through right now.

“E.L. Doctorow once said that ‘writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.’ You don’t have to see where you’re going, you don’t have to see your destination or everything you will pass along the way. You just have to see two or three feet ahead of you. This is right up there with the best advice about writing, or life, I have ever heard.”

The Trip To Over

Cap and gown and tassel turned,
Freedom bound, the books can burn.
They tell me that my competence,
Determines my sustenance.

Hold me now,
I need your love,
As I trip all the way to over.
Hold me now,
I need your love,
On my trip to over.

So, I run to the stage where masses flock,
To worship all of their false gods.
But I don’t want to see the backs of heads.
I want to see faces instead. (repeat chorus)

Is it so hard to find a mate,
With whom you can procreate,
And then dissipate back into dust,
Someone you can know and trust? (repeat chorus)

I fell in nostalgia’s gaping past,
Where half a dozen millstones crashed.
Fickle phrasing, fragile frame,
Song and writer are the same.

I made a recording of this song the other week which my brother Ben produced. It can be heard here: www.myspace.com/grantwithington

And really……..everyone MUST listen to one of the most phenomenal songs that I have heard in a year. She Will Have Her Way by Neil Finn off of his album Try Whistling This. Please listen to this song! Phew, it is so good!

Saint Entropy's Rattling Ribcage

2008-02-09T10:26:00.000-08:00

I cannot surmise from the last week’s incidents what exactly is going on. Instinctively, I am thinking that other people’s euphoria is slowly killing me. After an evening last Friday night at a local roller rink, I put myself at the mercy of a couple friends as I participated in the “riding of the train.” I was already terrified enough by simply being out there, and not having any skills in this department. When the line that I was in the middle of “cracked the whip” I lost my balance, both my skates went out from under me, and I dropped to the hardwood floor, landing directly on my tailbone. The evening was over.

I have been long overdue for a good ol’ run of the mill sickness (flu, fever, soar throat, etc) . Having always been in generally good health my entire life is not something I take for granted, so I tend to dwell on how frail I really am when it does hit. This week was my sick week for the year. A horrible fever followed by flu symptoms that ruined Monday night and every following day, including today.

Last night there was a “Hoe Down” party that I skipped in order to catch up on school work that I will never be caught up on. As I was leaving campus to head back to my apartment, a group of my friends came into the lobby hopped up on post hick ecstasy. This proved fatal. Max ran up and with full force jumped at me, in an attempt to straddle my back. Since my back is still aggravated from the skate night accident last Friday, I knew the prospect of a person swinging off of it would most likely hurt. I shifted my body to avoid him, only to expose my ribcage to his incoming knee. Well, sometimes you cannot avoid what’s coming.

A couple of weeks ago I completed writing lyrics to a song that I have been working on for the last 9 months. One of the lines mentions “my rattling ribcage.” I don’t think my ribcage has ever been physically rattled before last night, but now I am certain that I would rather it be rattled in the manner that the song speaks of. It hurts to laugh. These incidents and my general condition made me think of the last song I wrote before I decided that I was definitely going to return to college. I was fed up with where I was taking my life. Many things have been fixed, and I am healing; but I am still breakable, and breaking.

Saint Entropy

“Saint Entropy, hear the call.”
Dead inside, impractical,
Until feeling the fantastic pull,
Of grace, grace, grace…
But all my vanities,
Disgrace the One who stands for me,
I pray, pray, pray,
To that which is invisible,
But my list is so pitiful,
And gray, gray, gray,
As Seattle skies.
Strip facades,
I just want loves to love,
And hates despise,
And fly straight, straight, straight,
In a tearless age,
Translucent and seeing through,
Redundancy and selfish rage.
I was called guilty,
And I agreed,
Because I was built to break and bleed,
I, Saint Entropy.

For all the Juliets

2008-02-08T13:28:00.000-08:00

A Romeo

A Romeo you say you want.
With eyes of quartz, and hair of blonde.
A lustrous show that mimics love,
To have and hold, to drape and flaunt.

But aren’t you just his next in line?
Cause for every one, there is a Rosaline….
That he left crying.

A Romeo you say you want.
Not quite all there, not too far gone.
A fantasy, a pro at con,
Betrothed to elegance and pomp.

So, you’re taken by his lack of subtlety,
Self centered crave and childish bravery…..
Below your balcony.

I could try to emulate that.
And I could drink the poison,
So you’d never bring me back.

A Romeo you say you need.
The antithesis of all that’s me.
But I will change your mind to believe,
That I can connect dichotomies.

A Poem and also my notes from today's British Novel class in which Moll Flanders was Discussed and I almost Fell asleep because I am Fighting a Fever.

2008-02-07T12:58:00.000-08:00

Poem For Tim

Here I sit in a worn out room, so bare,
With all of this empty paper to fill,
In the when I should be sleeping minutes,
Stabbing the time with pen, head with Advil.

Surrounded by books with good examples,
Of how to effectively put words down,
I look at the spines of inspired minds,
Then I simply squint and stare at the ground.

Now I stand by the broken window sill,
Just waiting for a gust of ideas,
But its cold and every story’s been told,
Except for that of my friend and Lea.

My friend Tim fell off of a moving car,
And to this day you can still see the scar,
Where they drilled an ample hole in his skull,
And they said if it hadn’t been for me,
His older brother, and the surgeon three,
He would most likely not be here at all.

But as he recovered, his condition,
Brought him down into a deep depression,
Making him quite susceptible to bad decisions.
That was when he met a doctor’s daughter,
Who seemed as refreshing as sweet water,
But cut deeper than his aforementioned incision.

I cannot detail every occurrence,
But can attest to Tim’s high endurance,
For the deadly drama she inflicted.
She, icier than the rings around Saturn,
And he, confined in a holding pattern,
Longed for their freedom, but felt restricted.

After much time went by he could not take,
Her manipulation and had to break,
The tie that had completely unraveled.
He had to get away from Florida,
Because it caused him to ignore God.
Tim decided it was time to travel.

So, my good friend then moved to Seattle,
Where he does daily corporate battle,
Amongst middle aged women and cell phone towers.
The wonder child who pushed through tubes that were tied.
Many said he shouldn’t even be alive.
Now he mingles with T-Mobile’s higher powers.

Oh Tim, how can I possibly begin,
To do this tale any sort of justice?
These are broad strokes leaving out all the jokes,
That could be told using smaller brushes.

Absorbed with books of quotes and metaphors,
Many records of thoughts, time, and living,
I tried to add something to this old shelf,
And fill this blank paper I’ve been given.

Notes on Moll Flanders

Moll is a product of the ......
Facts #1 & 2
More interesting things about this book.
[Important person to remember] - (insert date here)
Sufficient background covered in blistering detail.

Bullet points to keep in mind
Memorize this one in particular
Use another pen color for easy recall of this point

Professor's personal opinion on material.

"Quotation to commit to memory."

Do not confuse student interjection for truth. More historical significance.

Stifle yawn.

Social conciousness is key, as well as conceptualization. (certain test question)

Pay attention to LEARNED SCHOLAR #9, 4, and 13 1/2, and also make note of author's use of language!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Try to follow visual strands verbalized through letters and other symbols, respectively. It is Imperative (double underlined) that comprehension of compressed character discussions be comprised of attributes indicated through words. Stress this.

It's all about semantics, honey.

Well, now this is happening.

2008-02-06T18:28:00.000-08:00

This is the official lyric/poem archive, since there has never been one before. There's a bit of backlog. This autosave is so choice.

Here's a cool song: Clinically Dead by Chad Vangaalen

All the oldies coming soon......