Cedar Point 2.11

I'm going to say something and it's probably going to make you jealous. More jealous of me than you probably already are.

I went to Cedar Point last week. Yeah, that's right. I said it. I don't feel bad.

Of course, this wasn't your average, everyday trip to Cedar Point. When you are me, you don't take time to plan out a luxurious trip with plenty of time on both sides to get ready and enough time to enjoy the whole of the Cedar Point experience. You fly by the seat of your pants and tag along with your folks at the last minute. Because let's face it- that's just how I roll. The flip side of that spontaneity is that it takes a week to recover. It's exactly a week to the day since we were walking the hallowed pavement of Cedar Point- and I'm just now starting to feel myself again. Lucky you guys- there's a weeks worth of Jason Parks buildup that I plan to spray all over your faces!

In the interests of gloating/creating a virtual memoir of an amazing trip, I am now going to blog my trip.

June 20th
-The trip starts off with me, at my folks house, stirring in bed, thinking (perhaps hoping) that it is well past 10:00 a.m. So I roll over, grab my phone, allow my eyes to adjust, check the time...8:24. Wow. So it's going to be one of those days.
-After some time in the pool, we get ready and hop on the road. My serious control issues with driving rear their head again. Not while my dad is driving- he drove enough during my formative years to permanently give him a free pass as a driver. No, it was the other two drivers that had to incur my wrath- Mom and Josh. My mom has been driving for longer than I've been alive. And while my brother hasn't, he's also logged some time behind the wheel. But nonetheless, it didn't stop me from sitting in the back seat white-knuckling for virtually the whole time. Sorry guys!
-Not that my mom and brother were flawless behind the wheel. My mom almost got forced off the road a couple times by semis trying to change lanes. Maybe it isn't just Nebraska, Mom...
-And my brother almost took us off the road while playing the letter search game. I know 'J' is hard to find, bro. But I would like to live to find 'K'. And 'L'. And whatever letters come after that.
-When we finally arrived safe and sound in Sandusky (Thanks be to God, no thanks be to the crazy drivers that live in my family), we had to wait around for like an hour while my sister got off of work. And since Delaney and I were trying to surprise her, that basically means we had to hide in the lobby for about an hour- since she was going to be getting off of work 'any minute'. Well, news flash folks- I'm a large man. It's difficult for me to find spaces to hide. And when I do find a space, chances are I have had to contort myself very uncomfortably to get there. And if I am uncomfortable- then the world is uncomfortable.
-But hey- this happened. So that made all the waiting and hiding and contorting and cursing worthwhile.
-After we (finally- JEEZ) picked up Jenny, we went to this place called 'Mona Pizza'.

Smoking hot, right? And she's not bad looking either. ZING!

All I need to tell you about this place is that they have a pizza that incorporates mashed potatoes, cheese, and bacon. Yeah.
-I think I might like to live in Sandusky. In addition to the amusement park and my new favorite pizza place, they have an Olive Garden, a Toys 'R Us, and this one Cleaning Complex that had a dry cleaners, a pet wash, a car wash, and a laundry man- all in one. Woah! If cleanliness is next to Godliness, then Sandusky is a stone's throw away from Heaven.
-Of course, all good things must end. Come to find out, we were staying in a 1 star hotel. At least, that's what Random Dude In The Hallway said. I don't know how all they figure out hotel ratings. All I know is that there was no fridge, no nuker, no elevator, crappy AC, and Cleveland sports on the TV. Come to think of it, I'd be surprised if it even got 1 star.

Side tangent: The name of the place was America's Best Value Inn. That should have been the tip off right there. In my experience, if a hotel has words like 'Economy', 'Budget', 'Value'- then those are just buzz words for 'Cheap' and 'Donuts For Breakfast'. And when you combine those terms with the word 'Inn'...well, let's just say that when Mary and Joseph were looking for a place to stay, the place they went to immediately after the inn turned them away was an animal stable. Sure, maybe I didn't have to shack up with a horse. But I did have to share a bed with my brother. Is that any better? It's like Jane Goodall having to share a bed with one of her gorilla friends. But without so much hair.

June 21st
-Delaney. Thanks a lot for getting us all up at FREAKING 6 IN THE MORNING!!! And then falling back asleep after we were all too awake to do the same.

Precious moment? No. Not really.

-The actual day itself was pretty much a blur. Lots of walking around. Lots of rides. Well, not for me. I was too portly to go on the Wicked Twister and the Woodstock Express (which, to be fair, is a children's ride), so I was pretty much defeated at that point. Besides, for me it was more about allowing my daughter to experience Cedar Point for the first time. That, my friends, was a success.
Delaney's first ride was a Merry-go-round, which is a lot like when I went to Canada for the first time and wanted to eat at Taco Bell. But she did well, and went on lots of really cool rides- some of which you can't even find at fairgrounds! One thing I noticed- kids are fearless. Roller coaster? No problem. Power Tower? She probably would have if they (and I) would have let her. I remember being similar when I first went to Cedar Point in 4th grade (probably a little more afraid than she was). I know there's a scientific/psychological reason for this. But I'm not going to talk about that now. I'm just going to tell you my daughter has tiger blood and Adonis DNA and leave it at that.
-Your name is Marcus Bulgaria? (Inside joke)
-It's pretty wild to see that many people intersecting in one place- thousands of stories from across the world, meeting here to enjoy a day of fun and death-defying. And yet, we're not really intersecting. We're all just there to do our thing. Sure, we might see people multiple times in the park (why is it that some people stand out more to us than other people in that setting?) but really, they are just background filler.
-It must suck to be an employee working on the rides. Because obviously what they do is remove your heart and replace it with a battery. Seriously, those people are like robots. All of us paying customers are having the time of our lives and the employees are rocking hard-core poker faces. I know, I know- lots of repetition+tedious jobs+bitterness=hard-core poker face. But still- I think they really turn them into robots. Just be careful Jenny when they ask you to go "downstairs", don't go down the dark, dimly lit tunnel lined with the pipes. Run away.
- Famous Daves. Wonderful, WONDERFUL food.

And a random piece of toast

Beef brisket. Ribs. Chicken. Corn on the cob. Baked beans. Cornbread muffins. WOW. Delicious. I see now why Dave is Famous. I wasn't so sure at first. I mean, I had never heard of him. How famous could he be? But then I thought about it, and realized that maybe he's just a kindred spirit- a fellow narcissist who hit it big. So I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. And boy oh boy, am I glad I did!

My brother is totally checking Lucy out.

June 22nd
-The trip comes to an end. We go home with 0 casualties and tons o' fun. If I had to do it over again? I would. But I would go down a couple days earlier and stay a day or two longer.

The coolest part of the trip? Seeing how the relationship between my two kids has developed. Whenever we would call down to talk to Mommy, Delaney was like 'Um, yeah, sure, whatever, let me talk to Shane'. And then her and Shane would just talk and talk and talk. Same thing when I was talking to Shane on the phone. "Hi daddy, I wanna talk to Delaney". Hey thanks Shane. Love you too.

But really, this trip is not about Cedar Point. This trip was a validation of how awesome my family is- both the family I am a son to and the family I am the man of. Obviously I am the common denominator, and so it's most likely my residual awesomeness that has contaminated everyone else. But still- they're awesome! We're awesome! I AM AWESOME!!!

A time to join, a time to step away

Yes, the rumors are true. Wait, what's that? There's no rumors? Oh. Well then. That was awkward.

I guess I should just jump right in, then. Next month, I'll be stepping down from the worship team. (waits to finish until the probe droids return with care-o-meter readings)
Nobody cares. Okay, we're clear to proceed!

In the grand scheme of things, this is not all that relevant. The only reason I'm devoting a blog post to it is because not all that long ago, I wrote must-read prose about musical excellence in worship, and the lack of exclusivity between those two ideas.

Funny enough, it was soon after that where I realized that I wasn't living up to my end of the bargain. Sure, I played well enough. My technique was decent, and I was focusing on the Lord. But I realized that I wasn't really pursuing excellence. I never practiced outside of our worship band practices. I just came, put on my "I've played drums for like ten years, so I'll rest on those laurels", and went to town. And it seemed to be going fine. Felt good. Had fun. Lots of positive feedback.

A couple weeks ago, though, I just hit a wall. I played both services during the weekend and I might as well have been scraping gum off of chairs or uprooting dandelions. There was nothing. No connection. No feeling. And for a guy who tends to feed off of the emotional charge of the music, this was a big deal. It was like learning to walk while being blind at the same time.

I played a few more times after that, and it was the same thing. Playing music had become, for the first time in years, a chore. It wasn't coming easy. It was painful.

So I decided to quit the worship band.

Actually, it wasn't quite that simple. There were talks with Sara. Prayers. Contemplation. Maybe a ritualistic animal sacrifice or two. Actually, no animals were harmed in the making of this decision.

In the end, there were a few factors that played into my choice to step away from the (drum) throne.

1. A personal reason that I will not reveal. So don't ask.
2. The aforementioned inability (and really, lack of desire) to pursue my craft in a manner that I felt was befitting of a musician for the King of Heaven.
3. A new job that will have me working weekends.

Actually, that last reason happened after I had made the decision, and really just serves to give me a layman's justification for my action. Since making the decision solid and contacting the leader of the worship program at my church, I have felt at peace with my decision.

Will I miss it? I'm sure I will. I've played for over ten years, and have had lots of amazing experiences and great times. I've met wonderful people and shared much joy with them. In the end, I think that's the part I'll miss the most. The connection between fellow musicians, worshipers, and human beings. In the end though, the thought of missing something is not enough of a compelling reason for me to keep doing something that I feel I need to step away from.

Will I go back? I don't want to say never. I do enjoy playing drums, especially in the worship setting. But right now, I feel like my passions are different. My desires are changing. My focus, shifting. I'm walking into a new season of life, and as often is the case when there changes, there are things that stay on and things that fall off. Right now, music is not making the trip with me.

Pic- http://www.lofnz.com/care-bears/images/carebears-grumpys.jpeg

Green Lantern or dim sparkle?

As a Green Lantern fan, it does make me a little sad that the new Green Lantern movie is getting shredded by the critics (and raking in millions). I mean, if it's a bad movie then it's a bad movie, and I'm glad it's not getting good reviews just because I like the subject manner (although...a world whose culture revolved around my interests and whims...that might be pretty sweet). Still though, if it's getting ripped it's probably because it's not a very good movie- which has been my fear all along.

Of course, I'm not writing about the Green Lantern movie, though I can see why you'd think I was. I titled this blog about the Green Lantern, and dedicated the first paragraph to it. And I hyperlinked to a picture of Ryan Reynolds as the Green Lantern in addition to uploading that same picture into the blog itself (The only reason I did that was to build my point). I have no regrets.

As I am beginning to take my writing more seriously (hey you, stop snickering. Yes, you), and hope to expand my audience base, I know that I am not just opening myself up to more back pats and attaboys. There are people that not only will not like things that I do, but there is the potential that they will be vocal about it. I could get shredded by the critics- just like my beloved Green Lantern movie. Well, maybe I shouldn't say beloved. Actually, I don't know that movie. I came here with somebody else (looks for the exit).

What is better- to have a piece of work (writing, art, movie, etc.) seen by new faces and subsequently get torn apart? Or to put yourself out there in friendly confines and get praise and adulation? I admittedly have a difficult time with criticism- it's difficult for me sometimes to separate the criticism from the relationship. It's one of my fatal flaws. It makes me interesting as a character, and keeps you engaged in my story. And when you put your self out there, whether it be a blog or a poem or a story, then everyone is a potential critic- like the agents in the Matrix.

But if you're a fish, I suspect you would risk the sharks in the open water for a chance at the freedom that your fishbowl cannot afford you. That is the goal. Freedom. That's what makes the thought of being torn apart by those jaws full of teeth worth the risk.

One day I hope to have a huge fan base. Lots of readers. Beaucoup feedback. Because I think that I have valuable things to say. I suspect that most writers do- that's why they write. I realize that when you open yourself up to the world, the world likes to take bites and sometimes swallow you whole. But I'm getting to be okay with that. I know that I'm not perfect, and that my ideas and my technique are not infallible. But I think that people need to pick up what I'm putting down. You might want to smell what I'm stepping in. And if I receive a few lacerations and third degree burns along the way, I'll chalk it up as a success and put another notch in my belt.

Just a spoonful of pain makes the words come out

In the process of cleaning out our downstairs closet, I came across some writings of mine from a few years ago. I spent some time today reading through some of them and posting them on my alternate blog. You know? This one?

What a fascinating look into my past. Since a feasible time travel method has yet to be invented, this is the closest way to communicate with my past self. What an interesting person I must have been! So young and full of these big ideas! So bold and brash- thinking to use words to change the world....

And such pain.

I don't recall being emo. I am pretty sure that I was a decently happy person. As a (I believe) fairly insightful person I am pretty confident that, for all intents and purposes, I have led a charmed life. Disgustingly charmed, actually, compared to most of the world.

And so I started thinking about it. I started thinking about pain, and how I cope with it. I started thinking about how I handled good times. Then a light bulb went on. And, as you all know, light bulbs equal blogs.

As an internal processor, I've always navigated through difficult times with an overactive thought life that subsequently manifests itself in the output of words. I believe this is because, unfortunately, words are often the only tool that we know of to adequately express ourselves. I don't know exactly what I'm feeling, but I know what words best approximate it, so I'll just go ahead and use those.

Also, when painful things happen, there is this need to have them make sense to us. I posit that most of us probably prescribe to, at some level anyways, the idea that good things happen to good people (namely, us). So when something happens to shake that worldview, we need it to make sense. We need it to fit in our context. Sometimes we blame God. Sometimes we call it a test from God. Sometimes we point the finger at someone else. But we have to make sense of it. The idea of a random universe is scary, so some order must be restored. That's where words come in. If we can shape an objective point of view (i.e. the dictionary definition of a word) to fit our subjective experience, it can help us to navigate through those difficult times.

On the flip side, I think it is harder for me to write about happiness and joy because I'm just too darn busy enjoying those moments and soaking them up. There's not a need for any sort of introspection or framing because this is as it should be. I don't take the time to connect the word puzzle picture with those feelings because I just want to live them.

The unfortunate thing about that is I'm left in the aftermath trying to recreate those wonderful moments with words that are woefully inadequate to describe the sensation. I'm left with words like 'awesome', 'amazing', 'breathtaking', and 'wow'....nice words in their own right, but not really sufficient either. So we come up with a phrase- "words cannot express" (which, granted, can be used to describe pain as well)- that still uses words and is basically useless.

In the end, I have found that happiness in my life is best expressed externally via tactile,visual, or audible mechanisms. Hugs, kisses, smiles, laughter, pleasant sighs- those are how I express my joy. I love words, and they help me to make sense of my world. But they have limits, and in those moments of their weakness, I thank God that I don't have to rely on them to share my victories with the ones I love.

Now, to find a way to go back in time and slap 24 year old Jason out of his doldrums. "Get a grip, man! You don't even end up with her, you idiot!"

Dirk, LeBron, and a time to sow

Starting off with the obligatory "Congratulations" to the Dallas Mavericks. I don't mean as a slight- any time a team comes together over the course of a season and survives a grueling playoff run, it's a big deal. But I'm not a Mavs fan. I didn't watch any of their games. Actually, I didn't really watch any games this season. You know, since me and basketball called it quits.

But because of my desire to see the Miami Heat fail, I did follow this season quite a bit (pretty much exclusively via reading articles about the Miami Heat on ESPN.com). It wasn't because I was interested in hoops again. It wasn't because I got The Book of Basketball for my birthday (amazing read for anyone who enjoys basketball and/or pop culture references). Even Bill Simmons, with all his basketball acumen and writing prowess, couldn't suck me back into what many have been calling the most compelling NBA season in years. I watched a grand total of one quarter this season- which was the last quarter of the 2010-2011 season. Even then, I didn't watch because I wanted to see the Dallas Mavericks win their first title. I watched because I wanted to see the Miami Heat lose.

And I wanted to see the Miami Heat lose because of LeBron Raymone James.

I've talked about LeBron before. I'm sure I will again. Sadly what I have against LeBron is not entirely his fault. Our society has this nasty habit of exalting individuals merely based upon certain characteristics that are esteemed at that particular time. Sometimes those characteristics are noble. Sometimes those characteristics just involve the ability to put a sphere into a cylinder. I don't know LeBron personally, so I can't speak to his possession or lack of noble qualities. But I don't think national sports magazines put him on their covers while he was in high school because he was voted Most Helpful Boy.

And having never been the target of mass adulation, I can't honestly say how I would respond in a similar situation. I can imagine that having all sorts of constant praise heaped on you from every angle probably warps your sense of standing within the human community. It's not all LeBron's fault that's he's an self-obsessed ego-maniac. All of us sports fans are at least a little to blame.

But still- he has bought into the hype pretty hard core. The "King James" moniker. The random acts of violence towards talcum powder. Snubbing the Orlando Magic after a playoff loss. The "Decision". The "We Did It" party. LeBron has come to represent, in my mind, everything that is wrong with sports in our culture today. It's probably too much to pin on one person, and realistically I know there are other athletes and additional things to blame.

Then he ripped out the heart of a sports city (Cleveland) for the sake of his own brand, prematurely celebrated victory with his newfound buddies, and then spent the year playing the "Woe is me" card when everything blew up in his face. And that sort of surgically grafted scapegoat horns onto his headband. The sins of sports got tatted on his biceps. What did he think was going to happen though? Did he honestly think he was bulletproof?

Enough about James. I've decided to take my talents to Germany.

The 2011 NBA finals provided my NBA voyeurism with a perfect contrast to LeBron- Dirk Nowitzki. I've always been enamored with Dirk. It's partly because the German perversion of the letter 'w' (BTWs, did anyone else think that it was funny that NBA commissioner David Stern mispronounced Dirks last name? How long has Dirk been in your league? Global game what?) led me to mispronounce his name for most of my adult life. Partly it is due to the fact that he is 7' tall and can shoot threes like nobodies business. And he has crazy hair and a face that sorta looks like he's transforming into Teen Wolf. Oh, and he was on Punk'd. Basically this guy bleeds awesomesauce.

But as I watched some highlights and read articles about the NBA finals, I was really confronted with the stark contrasts between Dirk and LeBron. LeBron is one of the most explosive athletes I have ever seen. Dirk is....well, he's sneaky. I feel like when he jumps, you'd need a mongoose to slide a dollar bill under his feet. Dirk has a jump shot that could bring tears to the eyes of a swan. LeBron's shot makes you run for cover. Dirk's movements are very herky-jerky, like Wall-E trying to operate in the low post. LeBron combines the grace of a gazelle with the power of an eighteen wheeler.

But it was more than just their physical differences. There's just something about the way they conduct themselves. And this really hit home to me when they showed a shot of Dirk's fabled shooting coach, Holger Geschwindner, watching the celebration with teary eyes.

I don't want to say that LeBron is not a hard worker. But he strikes me as someone who is gets by on his athletic gifts than someone willing to put in the hard hours of work. I'm generalizing surely- but doesn't it seem like LeBron has basically stagnated as a basketball while Dirk has just grown as a player over the years? I mean, Dirk Nowitzki put in so much work that his shooting coach was brought to tears when he finally won a title. LeBron? I think that if he ever had a shooting coach, that guy probably died by being struck in the head by a wayward carom of a LeBron James laser-throw.

What's my point? Well, a little bit of gloating. A little bit of explanation of said gloating. A little bit of analysis. And a moral to the story- kids, no matter how great your natural gifts and talents are, you have to bust your booty twice as hard as the next guy- because when your time comes, you can't just hope you win because you spent last summer expecting the victory party.

Fail Anatomy

I've watched seasons of Project Runway. I've seen all the Twilight movies. I dressed up like a girl for Halloween in 8th grade. So it shouldn't surprise you that I'm currently watching Grey's Anatomy...with my wife, of course.

Aside from having a forgettable "main" character and more sex than a Vegas brothel, I do enjoy the show. I enjoy it because...hmmmm....I'm not sure why I enjoy it. Often times, it's a train wreck. The plots are often predictable, everybody sleeps with everybody else- they even managed (SPOILER) to botch George's death. I mean, it took me by surprise, sure. But I wasn't sad about it. It didn't make me go through any of the five stages of grief. Because they basically killed his character when they pushed the actor who plays him into a realm of depth and feeling that the dude clearly didn't have. And so really they began killing George a little bit at a time...episode by episode...until eventually George became more of a cameo than a part of the show. A walking shadow. George had already been dead for a couple seasons by the time he actually died.

There are other flaws I could get into- their handling of auxiliary characters (oh, hey, you're on the show to advance the plot a little bit, now see ya!), the inconsistency with their intern program (the show completely revolved around them and then the new crop came on and fell off the face of the Earth...well, into the basement to carve up cadavers) to name a couple. Honestly, if it wasn't for the fact that there are some very compelling characters and the fact that any day now Cristina Yang is going to magically turn into a real-live human being- I probably wouldn't watch the show.

But what really cheeses me off is the way that the show seems to confuse 'sex' and 'relationships'. I understand it is an easy thing to do- because both involve communication, repetition, and breathing. But if they could just be a little more careful. Jeesh.

Seriously- I can't think of one main character (aside from Bailey, who is probably actually asexual) who hasn't had at least two sexual partners. Now that probably doesn't seem like a big number- until you realize that these people are just all sleeping with each other. In a sea of millions, two sex partners isn't that big of a deal. But if your population is about 20- and you have 2 sex partners...well, you've slept with about 10% of the population. Wilt Chamberlain couldn't lay claim to such a prodigious statistic. Everybody sleeps with everybody else. I'm not sure if that's part of the Seattle Grace teaching program...but it seems to be the status quo.

I don't mean to be a prude. I am not trying to impose my own personal moral/religious code on an increasingly aphrodisiacial world (Did I just make up a word? Answer- Yes. Yes I did). But I am tired of living in a culture where the virtue of waiting for one person to give yourself to sexually is completely ignored. You Hollywood guys know that is an option, right? That sometimes, just sometimes, there is more to a relationship than how good someone is in the sack, and that sometimes maybe a relationship can be built on more than bumping uglies?

I know that not everyone that reads this will share my beliefs or my experiences. And that's okay. I just think that there is a lifestyle that has a substance that is pretty much ignored for the sake of the more glamorous "Gets mines" mindset. It is so redundant- all these shows where two characters (already doing it, BTWs) get married on a post-it note and suddenly start fornicating on stairways and in kitchens. What, there were no on-call rooms open? Because that's where you used to do it all the time. If your idea of marriage is John Hancocking a little slip of paper and then screwing constantly like a rogue Black & Decker, then maybe it's time to reassess the depth of your marital insight.

I'm tired of watching shows where all the married people sleep around on their spouses (or just have an affair with their careers). I'm tired of watching shows where people have sex with ghosts. Well, ghosts that end up being brain tumors. Not everybody travels the same path that I and my like-minded old maids do. That's fine. I don't want to take over the world. I don't want a rank-and-file system of sexual prohibition where horny virgins fawn lustily at what they cannot yet take hold of.

But as a man who saved himself for his wife, and who has experienced growing pains throughout six years of marriage, and who is able to look at the big picture and say "I wouldn't change a thing. A thing"...well, I just think that Hollywood could set their sights a little higher. Some people save themselves for someone else. Some people choose to build their relationships upon foundations that are not sex. Crazy. I know. Not everyone is going to be like that. But at least acknowledge it as a viable option. Because it is.

Now if we can just fix the white noise that is Meredith Grey's opening and closing narration...