There are better days

Some days are better than others.

In the days that seem to hold you down and suffocate you - those days where life's cruel sense of humor gets the better of you - you try to claw your way out by distracting yourself, denying that fire of stress, anger, and sadness that burns at you from within.

But that fire can only be suppressed by confronting it. And usually you can't confront it alone.

It's the constants in life that will fight the fire with you. Those things in life that show you nothing but love and peace, tranquility and purpose.

I'm not trying to wax philosophical here, just saying I'm having one of those days. By recognizing the humanness and worldliness of what I'm going through and by turning to my constants (God and music), I was able to turn a miserable 25-minute walk to work into a therapy session.

This song did a world of good to me this morning:

"Oh God, hold me now
Oh Lord, hold me now
There's no other man who could raise the dead
So do what you can to anoint my head

Oh God, where are you now?
Oh Lord, say somehow
The devil is hard on my face again
The world is a hundred to one again

Would the righteous still remain?
Would my body stay the same?

Oh God, hold me now
Oh God, touch me now
There's no other man who could save the dead
There's no other God to place our head

Would the righteous still remain?
Would my body stay the same?

There's no other man who could raise the dead
So do what you can to anoint my head
Oh God, hold me now
Oh Lord, touch me now."

- 'Oh God, Where are You Now?' by Sufjan Stevens

Here's a video of the song, only for the purpose that you can hear the song (not entirely sure what the graphic is all about.)

It's ok, I know you're jealous

As Democrats and Republicans waged war against each other over the right to be patriotic, the right to be religious, and the right to be a woman or a black man, one group smote the strategists and the naysayers, rising from the ashes of a fallen America, conquering the minds and the hearts of its people while rocking the socks off the children and the elderly. They dazzled common citizens with a dizzying array of ear-splitting guitar riffs, thundering bass notes and crushing machine-gun drum solos. And through it all they delivered their tropical bretheren into the promise land of a hope-filled future.

That group was Bananarchy.


B-A-N-A-N-Archy from Ryan Schlagbaum on Vimeo.

Mama, I'm comin' home

Never really read the lyrics to this song, so I now realize how terribly twisted it is. Anywho, here it is for you, by the great Ozzy Osbourne.

To all my friends in Athens, I'm comin' home.

"Times have changed and times are strange
Here I come, but I aint the same
Mama, I'm coming home
Times gone by seem to be
You could have been a better friend to me
Mama, I'm coming home

You took me in and you drove me out
Yeah, you had me hypnotized
Lost and found and turned aroound
By the fire in your eyes

You made me cry, you told me lies
But I cant stand to say goodbye
Mama, I'm coming home
I could be right, I could be wrong
Hurts so bad, its been so long
Mama, I'm coming home

Selfish love yeah were both alone
The ride before the fall
But I'm gonna take this heart of stone
I just got to have it all

Ive seen your face a hundred times
Everyday weve been apart
I dont care about the sunshine, yeah
cause mama, mama, I'm coming home
I'm coming home

You took me in and you drove me out
Yeah, you had me hypnotized
Lost and found and turned around
By the fire in your eyes."

Oh, but it gets better!

Haha oh man...

God. Have. Mercy.

Just venting

Thoughts on life:

Sometimes I hate being a journalist. And now I hate architects (forgive me, Mom; I strongly dislike architects.)

I've spent this summer completing an internship in Chicago, writing for an architecture magazine. Prior to this summer, I didn't know anything about the industry; everything I wrote was a new learning process. Over the course of the last 10 weeks, I've learned plenty (know the difference between an open plenum ceiling and a suspended one? I do), but maybe the most important thing I've learned is that I do not like this industry. And I do not like architects.

The big reason I do not like this industry is that the finer details - which are the details I write about - are just not interesting to me. There is a lot about architecture that is very interesting, and I've had the pleasure of learning all about Chicago architecture in particular. But the little stuff (ceiling systems, glass use, heating/ventilation systems, etc.) is just not that exciting. So I get bored - and distracted - easily.

As for architects, maybe I've just had bad experiences. Either way, every time I've encountered an architect this summer, they seem to look down their nose at me. They think they're something special because they're designing these multi-million-dollar skyscrapers, and apparently I'm nothing but a measly journalist with nothing better to do than to write about what they're doing.

The breaking point was yesterday. I had an interview with two architects that was awkward and embarrassing. The architects acted so perturbed that they had to waste their time with me, and they were so pompous. They made me feel so small, so inferior. And I hated it. Every second of it.

Well I have news for you, architects: I don't give a rat's patoot about what you do. I don't care how many skyscrapers you've designed. You're nothing to me but another Joe Schmo. All I ask is that you look at me the same.

This, on a broader aspect, is the big thing I hate about journalism. There have been so many times that subjects of mine have made me feel like so much less than them. They make me feel so worthless, as if I'm nothing more than an annoying little bug worshipping the ground they walk on by publishing a story on them. I am a waste of their time.

I hate feeling worthless.

I know that part me is just stressing about finding a job that I like and all, but it's legitimately scary that what I want to be when I grow up sometimes makes me feel so...sad. I see a lot of other journalists, and I see that they've just formed a shell to this sort of stuff. They play the role of bully or lapdog and they get the story they need, no big deal.

I don't like being a bully or a lapdog.

Sorry to vent, but this is stressing me out today. And I don't like to stress.

(How I) celebrate our world

Upon reading over my last post, I guess I should probably clarify in case someone finds it insensitive...

I'm not trying to say that nobody can worship to 'Christian music.' And I'm not trying to say that I've never worshiped to 'Christian music.' AND I'm not trying to say that 'secular music' is always healthy and worshipful. I'm just saying that I usually find God more often in music that is not necessarily considered 'Christian.' That's just how I roll. I'm not trying to say it's fact that 'secular music' is more worshipful than 'Christian music,' I'm just saying that more often than not I turn to certain 'secular music' to connect me more fully with God.

Here are lyrics to another Sufjan Stevens song - in fact, if someone were to ask me what my favorite song were, I'd say it's this one. It's another song that I can find God in, full of hope and beauty.

"I have called you children, I have called you son.
What is there to answer if I'm the only one?
Morning comes in Paradise, morning comes in light.
Still I must obey, still I must invite.
If there's anything to say,
if there's anything to do,
If there's any other way,
I'll do anything for you.

I was dressed embarrassment.
I was dressed in wine.
If you had a part of me, will you take you're time?
Even if I come back, even if I die
Is there some idea to replace my life?
Like a father to impress;
Like a mother's mourning dress,
If you ever make a mess,
I'll do anything for you

I have called you preacher;
I have called you son.
If you have a father or if you haven't one,
I'll do anything for you.
I did everything for you."

- For the Widows in Paradise, for the Fatherless in Ypsilanti