Saturday, June 23, 2007

"Pillow Fight!"

Last night marked the second annual Portland Pillow Fight. I have no idea who organizes these or how they corral this many Portlanders together, let alone making all of them hit each other.

But nonetheless I somehow found out about this and Scott and I decided we should check it out. Luckily, we have great friends that thought it was a sweet idea as well. So here are some epic pictures from an event that was the greatest thing I've ever done with strangers.


I didn't get a picture of the most dangerous one. He was a pink haired, nipple-ringed punk in camouflage. One time, as my friend John and I ran through the mob of pillowing Portlanders, he hit John on the top of the head with two pillows. His nipple rings shone in the sunset embers and a pang of fear rushed through my body. You should have been there.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Change in Current


My new job at Rolling Hills Community Church has shifted almost everything about my life. I have totally enjoyed getting paid for the type of work I do. Working with students and kids my age wrestle with the question of faith is one of the most exciting things possible. It is real and more rewarding that I think it should be.

It has come to my attention, however, that my creativity has taken a new outlet. My job requires much musing over ministry strategies, sermon topics and execution, as well as positive ways to serve the city of Portland and surrounding communities at large. I have met powerful people and incredible leaders, but have seen a lack of substance in my previous creative outlets. I have not written many songs over the last couple months, I haven't blogged about anything funny or odd, and I haven't been reading the same type of literature I read before.

I haven't really come to the conclusion of whether or not this bothers me, as it will probably take some time to sort out. I will say that when you truly offer all your gifts to God, including your mind, things sort of look different. Luckily, I have been content with what has come of this new channelling of creative juices and perhaps this blog will see some reports of what has been happening at Rolling Hills and the church at large.

I don't know.

But I really don't want to become another one of those blogging ministers...although it most likely is my fate.

Monday, June 4, 2007

Moving Out, or Why I Have a Shit Eating Grin on My Face

I needed boxes. Let's face it, when you move out, it's the one thing you hate getting. I have to get effing boxes. And you try to think about ways around it. I could just throw all my clothes in the car...

But alas you succumb to the chore of getting off of your fat ass and buying some boxes.

Or not.

It dawned on me, after my dad had explained thoroughly how to purchase boxes, that I live on a college campus, and there are tons of businesses and offices on that campus. Along with my need for boxes I had a need for cash, so I trucked down to the bookstore to see if they would pay me a dime for my beat up psychology tome. And they would. The dude scanned it and said in a monotone, "thirty bucks."

"I'll take what I can get," I said. His response was a blank stare and a slap of the Return key on his vintage PC. Okaaay. As I was walking to the cashier to obtain my cold hard cash, I realized that this place would be excellent for getting some boxes. I got my money and asked the guy at the desk if he had boxes he was going to recycle. He took me to this sketch back room where, for a moment, I actually thought I would die a slow death. Instead, Jolly George thanked me for relieving him of his menial daily task.

"I dunno," I said with skepticism. "These may not do the trick."

"I'll pay you ten bucks right now if you take this boxes," he said with complete determination.

"No, I don't think I can use these boxes," I said with a sigh. He opened his wallet and revealed that he only had twelve American dollars.

"Here, twelve man, I really want to get out of work early and recycling takes me forever."

"Ok. But I'm doing this for you, not me, George." I said compassionately.

I walked out of the bookstore astonished for multiple reasons. First, my Psychology book was not worth more than 20, secondly that the first place I asked for boxes I found them, and third that the boxes were perfect and not worth close to three dimes.

Walking up to my room I could not stop smiling. I passed some people who acknowledged my happiness and pleasure. They knew that I scored big time by getting what appeared to be free boxes. What they didn't know is that those boxes were far from free. I was plus forty bones and feeling like it.

Sucka's.