Happy Haunting and Merry Maliciousness!

October 31st, historically, marks my favorite day of the year.  Words cannot describe how much I love Halloween.  The various histories of the holiday (according to different cultures), jack-o-lanterns, late nights splurging on candy, and the costumes.  The costumes!  Without a doubt, my favorite part of All Hallows' Eve is the costumes.  I love making them (alas, I was unable to do anything terribly creative this year...) and seeing what others come up with.  It's an awesome holiday.

Tonight, however, is not as wonderful as Halloweens of the past.

Why?  I came down with a sore throat on Monday, and it just wouldn't go away.  It led, on Wednesday, to my voice going out on me (just in time for a Battle of the Bands audition...oi vey...); and today I now suffer a mighty and persistent head cold.  Suck.

There's something magical about a sickness as simple as a cold.  It didn't seem very intimidating when I woke up this morning.  But gradually, it sapped my strength as I loaded boxes onto a conveyor belt at work, leaving me absolutely and completely exhausted after a relatively easy 4-hour shift.  Once it had me weak, it caused me to ooze from every orifice in my face, which in turn made me cough and sneeze in sudden, explosive fits every 20 minutes or so.  The sniffling still hasn't ended, and as a consequence, I now enjoy the lovely company of a friend I call Angel Soft.  There was a ward Halloween party, but I didn't know anyone, and it was stuffy.  If you don't know me very well, suffice it so say that I don't really enjoy large social functions.  Just not my cup of tea.

...Under normal circumstances, I'd pretty much write tonight off as time not really enjoyed.

But you know what?  There are 4 pint-sized Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in my living room, being led around my my older brother (sporting a sweet Casey Jones costume), and his wife (pulling off a great April O'Neil); and they're laughing and enjoying this night of vampires, mummies, ghouls and all that other fun, spooky, thrilling stuff.  Not much that could ruin my night now.

Happy Halloween, everyone.

One Morning in Rexburg...

An interesting thing happened to me on Saturday:  for the first time in about 4 weeks, I picked up my guitar and played it.  Nothing really special or unusual about that, perhaps.  But I had that feeling that morning when I woke up - I just felt like I should mess around on the ol' six-string.

It felt good.  I always feel good when I pick up and strum out a few songs - something about it is relaxing and fun.  The effect is magnified when I haven't played for a while.  You can imagine how euphoric it was when I got home from my mission, after 2 years of playing almost no guitar.  To a lesser degree that's how I felt Saturday.

I started playing guitar when I was 12 years old.  My family and I were visiting the home of my oldest sister and her husband, Sean.  Most of us were sick as dogs that week, so we were all bumming around their house, finding ways to amuse ourselves in between the horrible puking sessions.  It was a day or two into this that I saw Sean's guitar.  Just a simple acoustic, but it caught my attention; so I dinked around with it a bit.  Sean saw me messing with it, and he offered to show me how this cool instrument was played.  Being a young boy who had a habit of listening to Boston's Greatest Hits and wishing he could rock like that, I readily accepted.  And that's where a deep-rooted passion began for me.  I don't know that I've ever properly thanked Sean for that.  He gave me something priceless that day.

A couple years later, I eventually got a guitar of my own, and I practiced tirelessly.  Which, for me, is incredible.  I'm not the kind of guy that applies himself to rigorous, daily training in..well, almost anything.  I'm generally pretty content to get by being okay at things on minimal effort.  But something drove me in learning to play the guitar.  The better I got, the more I enjoyed it.

Eventually, I got to put my skills to work.  My younger brother, two friends and I started a rock band together.  We practiced a lot, played a few shows.  It was during that time that I began songwriting.  I... well, I've never considered myself a poetic person.  I feel like I slip over my words constantly.  I have trouble expressing myself to others.  But I found I could do that in songwriting.  It was...quite a release, actually.  It's hard work, definitely.  But I rarely feel as accomplished as I do after I finish a song that I have labored over and struggled with for days upon days.  Those days in the band, writing music and just enjoying the whole experience of "music making" are some of the fondest memories I have in my life.

So why did this all come back to me on a Satuday morning while I played guitar (a bit rustily, I might add)?  My bandmate Pace and his wife April moved up to Rexburg that day.  I didn't actually remember that when I picked up that guitar.  But apparently, my subconscious decided I should properly celebrate the occasion.  That Saturday, my mind, my hands, and a six-string had something to sing about.

Oh...and Sean:  thank you.

A little poem

I wrote a poem today.  I thought you might enjoy it.

Friends, Perhaps?

I've seen you a few times

I imagine you've seen me

It seems that when were both around

We're in close proximity

I've checked you out a few times

I know - it's weird, but true

I've wondered if a friendship

Could occur for me and you

But usually I decide,

"No, maybe not today."

And I separate myself from you

And go along my way

Now, normally it's not too bad

My life still goes just fine

But still the feeling nags at me

To approach you sometime

So today I reached deep inside

To do what I have feared

And chose to try things out with you

So - can we be friends now, beard?

Looking back... And a little bit forward, too

The past week and a half has been quite the adventure for me.  I already wrote about the production of Les Miserables that I took part in.  That was the story of my nights from Monday, July 22 to Saturday, July 27.  We put on a 7 PM show on each weekday, and an afternoon matinee on Saturday.  It was...amazing.  That word gets overused, but I can't think of a word that describes it better.  I loved going out there and telling that story (and watching from offstage).  Each day we did even better than the day before; I was so impressed with everyone and how it all came together.  So rewarding after all the hard work that we put into it.  And that was some of the most fun I had in my life.  I will never forget it - the work, the friends , and the feelings.  Especially the feelings.  Man, Reggie (who played Marius) nearly brought me to tears when he sang "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables".  For those who need context, Marius, a young revolutionary student, has just lost all his friends and fellow revolutionaries in a ferocious battle.  He returns to the cafe where they would gather, and thinks of his  fallen comrades.  You can feel his misery, his anguish over their death in the lyrics of that song.  And Reggie expressed that so well - I just about wept on stage during Friday's performance.

It wasn't just the context of the play that made me feel that way.  Each performance was one closer to this experience finally being over.  There would be no more practices each Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday.  As my friend Natalie pointed out before Thursday's show:  "It's our last Thursday on the play!"  It all just accumulated to that Friday night; Reggie's song was just the icing on my cake of bittersweet feelings.  It was an extremely rewarding week, but I was sad to leave behind what had been such a great experience for me.

Still, the show was over, and I've spent the days since Saturday in Yellowstone with my parents and siblings that came to see the play.  After a week of tiring acting, I was excited to spend the next few days unwinding on a camp out.  However, I forgot that I was going to have 13 nieces and nephews at this camp out, all 10 or under.  Man... exhausting.  Trying to help look after that many kids proved very tiring.  I'm super impressed with my sisters - I was beat after a couple days of helping with these kids; SOMEHOW, they take care of these children everyday, often without any kind of break.  It just basically made me appreciate moms in general (and those who will be moms) even more; frankly, I'm glad I'll be the one bringing home the bacon.  I don't know that I have the patience a mother requires to take care of children 24/7.

Not that I'm not looking forward to being a parent.  Despite how tough it's been helping with my nieces and nephews, they really are great little kids.  It's made me look forward to having some of my own munchkins.  Not sure when that'll be...but I'm excited for it.

Interesting what you can learn about yourself through a little reflection and the occasional look forward.

Showtime!

   I've been part of a musical production for the last 3 months.  It's not for school, and I'm not being paid for it or anything like that.  A town close to where I live, called St. Anthony (in Idaho), customarily puts on a musical each year in celebration of Pioneer Day.  So it's just a community gig, but I've really been enjoying the whole thing.

   This year, the musical is Les Miserables.  Many of you are probably familiar with it - it's an exceptional musical.  For those that are unfamiliar with it:  in a nutshell, it's the story of a man named Jean Valjean, who, after being let off of a chain gang (after many years), breaks his parole and flees the law in order to take care of a friend's daughter.  His parole officer, Javert, is unyielding in his pursuit of Valjean, and the story goes from there.  I won't spoil the plot for you.  All you really need to know is that the name of the musical is French; it means "misery".  And it's a fitting name; Valjean and the other characters go through some heavy stuff in this play.  But it is an incredible story, with a great message layered beneath all the crap that rough patches.

I wasn't planning on doing this when I first came up to Rexburg for school.  I just wanted to do well in school, work a bit, go on a few dates, and hang with my friends.  I have two brothers that also live in Rexburg; my younger brother, Corbin, is my roommate, and is also attending the college here (BYU-Idaho).  My older brother, Garrett, also went to school here, but graduated a while ago.  We're a tight-knit trio, and we enjoy spending time together.  It was two years ago that Corbin and Garrett heard about St. Anthony's musical productions; they took part in one called Hey, Tom Sawyer! and they really enjoyed it.  So, naturally, when I came up here, they wanted me to join them in this year's show.  I admit, I was reluctant at first.  I don't typically go out of my way to do extracurricular stuff; I'm most at ease at home, reading or playing a video game.  But I figured, "Hey, it's a show with my brothers.  It'll be fun."  And so I attended the auditions with Garrett.

By then I warmed up a bit to the idea.  It might be fun to be Beggar #3 or something.  I wasn't expecting a lot.  So I was pretty surprised when the casting email came out.  I found my name next to a character named "Enjolras".  Who, it turned out, was the leader of a rebellion that takes place in Act II.  I had recently seen the movie of Les Mis that had come out just a few months before.  I vividly recalled that Enjolras was, in fact, nothing like Beggar #3.  He's one of the bigger characters in the cast; I would have lots of lines to memorize, and about 3 months to do it.  I was...not very happy at first.  I was worried I wouldn't be able to manage this character with everything else I had going on.  I occasionally cursed myself for doing so well at the auditions.  Why didn't I just do an adequate job, instead of going out of my way to "wow" the director?  Still, I didn't want to ruin the show, so I went ahead and resigned myself to my role.

I'm happy to say that my initial feeling toward all this was dead wrong.  I have been having a great time, even when I wasn't sure of any of my lines, and I have made tons of friends.  There must be something in the water in St. Anthony - everyone in the cast is really awesome.  And I must say, I'm glad to have something to occupy me, especially considering that I have not actually done well in school this semester.  While I'm not proud of that, I am very proud of the work that I've put into this musical.

Tonight is opening night.  I hope that everything will come together and go well.  I hope that I can portray my character well, and I hope that any who attend will appreciate the story we will tell.  

To use the immortal words of Bilbo Baggins:  "I think tonight will be a night to remember!"

"What's in a name?"

   Shakespeare penned that question in Act II of Romeo and Juliet.  And it's an interesting query; I've pondered it a bit the past few days.

   You see, in the play mentioned above, Juliet uses this question to assert that names are actually meaningless - they are simply how we label and organize the world around us.  "That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet," she says with sagacity disproportionate to her teenage years (and frankly, "teenage idiocy" might be accurate, too).  On one hand, of course, she's correct.  If I called a rose a taco, it wouldn't smell like a taco - it would still smell like a rose.  If I called you Matthew, that wouldn't make you my buddy I met in Germany (unless, of course, you're reading this currently, Matthew).  The very essence of what we are is not determined by what we are called.

   So why do we put so much importance on names?  We do it all the time.  That crazy concoction you and your roommates made for a late night meal deserves a memorable label (such as "the Masserole").  Pets have to have the name that fits them just perfectly.  As soon as you get the ultrasound image showing whether you're going to have a baby girl or a baby boy, immediately your mind goes into "name brainstorming" mode.  If names don't really determine what we are, why do we obsess over them, occasionally with frustrating, fanatical effort?  It's not going to change what you are.  You're still going to be a human being.

See, this is the kind of stuff I mull over in my mind.  It's insane, I know.  Nobody in their right mind thinks this hard about something as simple as the tradition of naming.  I only started considering these things because I've been having difficulty thinking about what I wanted to call this blog.  I mean, a blog's not serious writing - not in my case, anyway.  In truth, there will probably only be a few people who ever see this blog.  And yet I've spent the better part of 3 or 4 nights proposing names to myself and systematically scratching them off my mental list.  I've struggled to find something that would describe just what I wanted to say about the content of these posts.

As I strained my brain to find something fitting, I saw the question of "why we name" from a new perspective.  Certainly, what we're called won't change what we are.  But our personal names - the ones we give to children, to pets, to things personal to us - might those have an influence on who we are?  My name is Caleb.  It's of biblical origin, and means "bulldog", or "loyal".  I don't know if I'm either of those things; but I know that in 6th grade I looked up the name in the Encyclopedia Britannica.  And then I looked up the stories of Caleb in the books of Numbers and Joshua.  I wanted, in some way, to live up to the name I was given.  And so I try,  in my little faltering ways, to be like Caleb in the Bible.  I try to be a loyal friend.  I consider how being like a bulldog might in some mystifying way improve me as a person (still no definitive answer on that one).  I believe that, perhaps, our names give us more definition than Juliet might have believed.  They don't change what we inherently are; but they give us something to strive toward, a model upon which we might consider building our character.  In that way, our names describe us.

And so, I present to you, friends, my blog:  "Discussions with Myself".  The name is imperfect.  But I hope that here, you'll get a better idea of who I am, what goes on in my life, and maybe learn a little about how this all affects what goes on in that crazy, random brain in my skull.

And I hope that, eventually, the name will fit the thoughts I express here.