Forcing Foreshadowing

I don't know how to do foreshadowing. I'm trapped in a stream of consciousness, and I can't get out of the current. I flow with whatever's carrying me downward, never emerging out on shore to run back and put a sign up that says what's coming. But it usually works out either way. Because I know what's coming even when I haven't seen it, all it takes is a feeling.

Jaclyn and I sat down in our motor vehicle, and set off down our street. We were going to buy supplies for a cookie party (sprinkles, milk, etc.). Our plan was to take a quick right to California Avenue, all the way to Logan. But just as we turned onto California, Jaclyn realized that she forgot the grocery list. So we had to go back to the place we started and go inside to grab the list off of the coffee table. When I came back with the list, Jaclyn was ready and waiting. But this time, she didn't take a right. She took a left. We didn't go to California Avenue, but Western.

As we approached Western, I got that bad feeling. And then I even expressed my feelings out loud. I told Jaclyn, "this makes me nervous."

"What makes you nervous?"

"We changed our course. Whenever this happens, I get this bad feeling."

"Why? What do you mean?"

"Well, we were going to head down California, but now we're heading towards Western. We were supposed to be a part of the traffic on California... I mean, what if someone has an accident now since we're not a part of what was supposed to be? Or what if we are now driving towards an accident ourselves? Since we're on a road we shouldn't have been on, we're overcrowding the street."

"Isn't that all life is though? Just a bunch of failed and altered plans?"

I thought about that for a second, and when my nervous feeling didn't shake I answered her, "Yeah, that's true, but it's also the reason we have accidents."

We were just about at Western now. The flurries were coming down gradually and the Chicago night air was frosty and wet. I looked ahead at a girl with a large fluffy hood walking in the crosswalk., and a car turning onto our street. The headlights jolted back and forth quickly, and the girl's body became horizontal with the pavement. "That person just got hit by a car!" Jaclyn said.

She pulled over, along with a few other cars that witnessed the horrifying event. Jaclyn jumped out to see if the girl was alright. The woman who hit her took quick responsibility and was the first person on the phone with 911. I sat in the car, watching the scene and thinking about the conversation Jaclyn and I just had a few seconds earlier. Was it a coincidence? Or was my fear of an imminent accident justified? Was my feeling a premonition? If we had gone down California in the first place, would that accident have happened? Either way, we wouldn't have witnessed this accident had the grocery list not been forgotten. I'm just not sure if that was the chain reaction that triggered this particular accident or not though. But I felt the tingliest chill down my spine anyway, I don't care how superstitious it sounds, this experience freaked me out.

The girl was lying on the wet, slushy street, and Jaclyn was crouched down next to her. She was comforting her, keeping one hand on the girl's arm as they waited for the paramedics in the ugliest weather of the year. And if we had gone down California, Jaclyn wouldn't have been able to do that. I don't know if this was all some sort of internal foreshadowing, but I can't help but wonder if (and when) someone else's failed and altered plan will end up triggering my own demise.

Until then, let's try to follow through on things, shall we? But don't fight the foreshadowing. All the butterflies flap to it with fervor and fury.

Chicago Street Artist Chews Gum

I was just trying to watch an episode of It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia on Ninja Video (because I don't have cable), and I was interrupted by this advertisement for Orbit gum. (And hey, watch the last Sunny episode if you haven't already. It's crazy hilarious. Frank wears skinny jeans.)

Okay, so it's that graffiti with the big lips that we see all over Chicago. You can't escape Goons in this city, they're everywhere. But I never thought I'd see those lips on a gah-damn gum commercial. I know it makes demographic sense: cool gum, cool graffiti of big lips, big lips chew cool gum, cool kids inspired to chew cool gum, etc. etc. and so on and so on. But now I'll never be able to look upon those big lips at Grand and Halsted with the same sort of intrinsic appreciation. I used to see this graffiti as a pure statement of visual rebellion. Those lips were ugly, and they didn't make me think of chewing gum. But that's all over now baby blue. Those lips now belong to Orbit, and all of that graffiti in Chicago has become just another advertisement (pretty brilliant move by Orbit actually: find the monetary-neutral image that's already all over town and link it to your product. yup...).

But this is what the world has come to. OBEY doesn't make us question capitalism anymore, it persuades us to take part in it (vote Obama?). Street art isn't counter culture these days, it's an internship for future commercial opportunities.

Maybe art is for the masses after all. Maybe the ideals our bright-eyed artists plaster onto the brick walls are only pleadings for attention and fame. If you can throw a Camera Obscura song behind a stop-motion urban landscape and mix in some social consciousness themes, apparently you'll get the contemporary recipe for a marketing opportunity. But, Orbit, Goons, check this out: I'm not going to buy the gum. I'm a Chicagoan, and I see your images on the street every day, and I even like having fresh breath as often as humanly possible... but I really just don't like being pandered about.

Can't anybody do anything for art's sake in this country anymore? Are we so engulfed by our sins that we can't create something unless it's being consumed by a mass audience? I hope all of your years of guerilla work have been worth it Goons, because it's all come down to Orbit gum. This is what you've been working towards... I hope they gave you a life's supply, because you're gonna have to chew on this one for a while.

I'm gonna move to Berlin. I swear. And I'm going to become a graffiti artist who isn't interested in selling personal integrity. I can't do it here. I'd be run out of town by the rich graffiti artists taking up prime wildstyle space with their latest "young urban" demographic blitz of a new product promotion.

Ugh...

Saturday Night Activities for Christian Singles

Just because you're a Christian single doesn't mean you're a "square" or "doorknob." Truth be told, Christians can have more fun than anyone, because they can be completely sober and aware of the blessings God has given them when they hang out. One of the best times to express the joys of the Christian single life is on Saturday nights. Instead of letting your faith be a hindrance to your party, let it be your fuel!

• Email
• Print Article
• Add to Favorites
• Flag Article
• 

Movie Nights

1. Whether it's out at the local theater for a new movie or staying in to watch DVDs, movie nights help Christian singles experience cultural engagement. Try to avoid explicitly "Christian" films that are sold only in the Family Bookstores, but don't watch R-rated movies that contain unnecessarily sexual themes. Find good films that can be enjoyed by persons of all conviction levels and can be discussed afterward. Here are some examples if you are looking for classic films that Christian singles can dissect without feeling guilty: Lord of the Rings, Narnia, The Matrix, Bruce Almighty and E.T.

Improv Nights

2. Is there anything better than laughing? Laughing with Christian friends is so much fun, you'll want to have improv parties every Saturday night. If anybody has seen Whose Line Is It Anyway?, it's easy to see how much fun improv can be. But anyone can do it, and Christians can make improv wholesome and God-honoring, too. Who needs the filthy antics of Saturday Night Live when you can create your own sketch comedy show with your Christian brothers and sisters? Even Rick Warren approves.

Dance Parties

3. Christian singles should dance with each other, but with the utmost respect and dignity for the opposite sex. Instead of going to a club that's bumping out grind-readied crunk and over-sexualized rap lyrics, check out a class for ballroom, line or square dancing. These dances can help Christians meet members of the opposite sex in a safe and fun environment. Don't host these dance parties in your own home. Go to public areas that specialize in group dancing where you will have the benefit of other couples keeping you in check.

Games

4. If your church discourages dancing, opt for an evening of competition. Head out to the local gym for a game of volleyball or stay in for group card or board games. Try to avoid gambling, though; make game night a time for fun. Faith should be kept in God, not in a roll of the dice. Try to play games that both genders can enjoy. Most Christian single ladies aren't interested in war strategy games like Risk, but they will rarely turn down Apples to Apples: Bible Edition.

References

• Saddleback Church Improv Comedy
• Christian Dancing
• Christian Game

Resources

• Movie Bible Studies
• Christian Improv

As for Film: The Road

It seems a little strange at first, but "The Road" couldn't have been released at a more appropriate time of the year. The holiday season is when most of us forget about our troubles, buy each other crap and ignorantly sings hymns about a God we don't believe in. So what does "The Road" have to do with Christmas? On the surface, not much, but just as the story's characters live in an America stripped of its materialism and economy, where only banal humanity and invisible intangibles remain, so also should the individuals in the audience look into themselves for the true meaning of "peace on earth, good will towards men."

A father and son are carrying the fire, the hope that keeps life worth living. The man is born of another world, raising his boy in a foreign place. But the boy has never tasted Coca-Cola before. He will never learn about Karl Marx. The sun has never shown on him. And he has never complained about any of it. There is no hope for him, but he doesn't realize that yet. The boy believes in good, and evil, but he believes that he and his father are dedicated to the former.

The sad aspect of this movie isn't necessarily that the world which has been destroyed was one full of happiness and vitality, but that it was a very ugly place even before the fires (as flashbacks of an unhappy marriage prove). Whatever happened to the planet was the result of humans. All of the animals were gone, no plants could grow, and only a few cannibalistic people remained. With few exceptions being humans who refuse to eat each other.

The father who is trying to teach his son how to survive in the burning world is teaching him things he learned from the old world. But in the new world, the slate has been cleaned and readied for a child. It is not so much that the world is completely hopeless, but that hopeless humans have burned it to ash. There could be hope, hope for rebuilding. But not because of anything that could be taken or learned from the old world. The old world was one of selfishness, greed and foolishness.

Our main characters represent two extremes. The man is all that destroyed the world in the first place. We do not feel warmth from him, he does not remind us of our fathers. He is dying. But the boy is innocent. He is pure, angelic and compassionate. He is that glimmer of humanity that is not all bleak and dark. He carries the fire.

These two extremes, in them we see the duality of man. There is grimness and fear, but there is also love and strength. Strip away the materialism for a moment and take a good look at mankind. Who are we when all we have is each other? If we cannot eat burgers, will we eat each other? If there is no electricity to produce violence on television, will we kill each other? If there is no pornography to jack off to, will we rape each other? Most signs lead to "yes," until we meet the boy. He is that rare gem of the human spirit who proves that goodness is not the result of a judicial system. The innate morality within him is godlike to the father, and rightfully so.

In this world where God no longer exists, prayers go out to the "people" who have already died. But in a world where humanity has been so lost, even this deity is useless. Thanking "people" is just as meaningless as thanking God in a world where spirituality no longer exists. Humans have returned to their primal states, living solely on instinct. They are animals, without a duty to God or each other or anything. They kill to survive, until they themselves are killed.

At times I've wondered how Cormac McCarthy could have written such a staggering book in his old age. Why isn't he becoming content with the world? How does he still have the mental strength to go back into the depths of his soul and come back with even more muck? And then I simply shake my head and quietly thank him for persevering. I am thankful that he has retained the courage to tell me about the ugliness that he has seen, and continues to see. I appreciate his brutal honesty. He shows me that there is much darkness in man, underneath the material, when the slate is wiped clean. And his strength to continue probably comes from that glimmer, that boy who he knows exists. He knows it's not a hallucination or a myth, he knows there's hope.

What would I do this Christmas if I couldn't buy anything? What if I didn't have anything to give, and nobody had anything to give me? How would we celebrate? How would we love each other? This is what we can learn from "The Road." What it requires to be a human is not something superficial, nor is it instinctual. There is a fire inside of us that needs to be carried down the road, otherwise we would cease to be what God created.

Peace on earth is not an external manifestation, nor will it ever be. Good will towards men is not a natural phenomenon. But these are not idealistic fantasies either. We can look inside ourselves and still find a child, and we can live in hope, in faith, and in love. Even in the cold. Even in the darkness.

Blind Pilot and Laura Veirs like Thanksgiving

It felt a lot like northwest America in Chicago this Thanksgiving Eve. Three Portland acts made a stop at the Windy City’s newest venue, Lincoln Hall, for a relaxing evening of dim lighted indie folk. Blind Pilot, Laura Viers and Mimicking Birds played quietly, encouraging the crowd to keep their conversations to a whisper on the biggest drinking night of the year.

Mimicking Birds opened to a venue not even a quarter full, but those that came early were treated to one of the few bands Isaac Brock has deemed good enough to reside on his Glacial Pace label. Their low-key indie quirk even hinted at pre-Moon and Antarctica Modest Mouse. It wasn’t poppy, it didn’t demand your attention, but it was a welcoming intro for a night of Portland pleasantry.


Laura Veirs kicked the energy and the smiles up a few notches with her backup band, the Hall of Flames. Her set consisted mostly of songs from her upcoming album, July Flame. As she joyfully rocked out, I couldn’t help but wonder why she’s still relatively under the radar. Her wealth of songwriting talent is spectacular. Each new album proves that she has endless reserves of the catchy melodies and pop gems.

She was beautifully pregnant too. And there aren’t many things in this world more wonderful than a pregnant woman rocking an electric guitar. That kid is going to be so cool.

Chicago show-goers can be pretty polite at most indie shows. It’s a music town to the core, where most people are more interested in actually hearing the band than just having some background music to get trashed to. But if anything, we were too polite tonight. You could hear a pin drop in Lincoln Hall between songs. Until Laura Veirs loosened us up with a little country hoedown. Acoustic guitar and fiddle got the hands clapping and Laura’s boots stomping. By the time she was finished, the crowd was more than warmed up for Blind Pilot.

And this is when you hear the value of touring with the Decemberists. When Blind Pilot hit the road with them half a year ago, not many people had any idea who the band was. But tonight, a packed house was loudly singing along with all of their sad indie folk.

The six-person band looked downright literary. Upright bass, squeeze box, dulcimer and xylophone crowded every inch of the stage. And their mix was just as crisp at Lincoln Hall as it is on 3 Rounds and a Sound. People slow danced together, girls leaned their heads on the shoulders of their men; it was actually a pretty romantic show. And though the crowd’s quiet politeness persisted (people were even shh-ing each other), they got loud enough to bring the band back for an encore.

While a cold mist fell outside, Blind Pilot warmed hearts and got Chicagoans ready to feel very thankful on this particular Thanksgiving. It was one of those shows that in spite of its soft and somber tone brought a sense of gratefulness to the audience. While enjoying stuffing and mashed potatoes the next day, there will definitely be hums of “The Story I Heard” at dinner tables in Chicagoland.

You Missed Out: Fuck Buttons at Empty Bottle

I've been trying to think of an explanation for what I experienced tonight at the Empty Bottle, but the only thing that seems to work is hyperbole.

We say that things "blow our minds" all the time. If we're in the right mood, a basket of greasy french fries might even "blow our minds". But Fuck Buttons did something tonight that I haven't experienced in music before. It's the closest I've come to literally having my mind blown. They started with my ears, and after blowing through my ear canal with some of the loudest noise rock I've ever endured, their vibrations started cracking through my skull and began prodding at the surface of my brain. I experienced their music beyond my eardrums. I was feeling music in a new part of my body. It was incredible.

This duo made an art out of abusing my ears. Their distortion almost made me bleed from the sides of my head, but they made very sure to never take it that far. No, Fuck Buttons wanted my ears fully functional for their experimental knob show. They didn't want to hurt their audience's ears, but they did want to challenge them.

Mine were taken to the brink of auditory climax tonight. For about three quarters of their hour long set I kept my ears naked, but eventually became so nervous during one of their prolonged techno beat, droning buildups that I had to pull my hood up to get at least some single-layer cotton protection (for future music reviews). I couldn't even tell if I was actually hearing anything for a while. All audience and bar noise disappeared, and a world of sound enveloped me.

At one moment, I even lunged back. Fuck Buttons challenged me so fearlessly. It was easily the best show I've seen all year. I didn't have a single drink from the bar, but by the end of the show I felt woozy. Like I had just stepped out of one of those rocket cars that speed through the desert at 1000 miles per hour. The experience was almost transcendental.

And this is all very surprising, because I've seen Fuck Buttons before. They played at the Pitchfork Fest a few years ago, but I was mostly unimpressed then. I think this is proof of how important a venue is. Outdoor stages are great for bands like The Flaming Lips, The National and Animal Collective, but experimental noise rock bands need an Empty Bottle. It also helps that the Bottle has miraculously good sound. I'm not sure how that dank pit is capable of such amazing acoustics, but it's hard to find a rock venue in Chicago that sounds better.

It also might have helped that I saw this show by myself, and completely sober. Sure I was surrounded by hundreds of people (the show did sell out), but all my friends who were going to join me ditched at the last second. I didn't care though, I wasn't going to miss it. And I'm so glad I didn't. The last time this happened to me was over five years ago when I saw Sufjan Stevens by myself at Schubas (before Illinois came out), and that might have been my reigning "best show" ...until tonight.

I doubt if my ears will ever be treated to such a sonic delight ever again. For one thing, I think Fuck Buttons murdered my ears. But in the process, I might have evolved a deeper sense of listening. A patience and a subtlety for noise that I hadn't previously known. My ears have been born again, and glory hallelujah they shall sin no more. Praise be to Fuck Buttons! (Holy shit they were good...)

A Sick Man

I have a suicidal personality. But I never actually attempt suicide. Life is awful, useless and painful, yet I remain. I'm sticking around, because, I might as well. I have nothing to offer to the world, but it has nothing to offer to me. So it's a mutual relationship. It's friendly enough.

If anything, I don't have to kill myself because a cancer, accident, or human being will do it for me eventually. I'll get sick and lose my hair while all of my friends and family members cry. I'll look at them and say "you're next, you know."

I'll be riding a bicycle when I hit a pothole that sends my face into the pavement. First I'll experience major brain damage, and after many long and difficult weeks they'll pull my plug.

Or maybe I'll be stabbed or shot. I'll be walking home from the store with food in a bag when someone kills me. They might not even say anything to me first, they'll just kill me and walk off with my wallet.

I've been saying this for years now, but the way I want to go is by tornado. I think it has something to do with The Wizard of Oz or A Serious Man. There is no image that terrifies me more than a tornado in the distance. It is so reckless, so powerful. There is nothing that anyone can do about it. There is no technology that will protect innocence from this natural disaster. There is no arguing with a tornado. There is no tragedy, no moral. The tornado is simply God's finger, taking sweet life away from the earth he created like a baker swiping a finger-full of frosting off the top of his cake.

But I know the tornado will not come yet. I can tell that I'm still in the midst of God's story. He's still playing me out, watching the struggle like a dramatic movie. And I don't want to disappoint him. I don't want to end the movie too soon. All I have now is a fever.

I'm a sick man. I look at my self, and I see nothing but uselessness. I try to write for others, and am told "bad job. try again." I am not funny. I am not nice. I am nothing but a screw up. So I write in this blog, hoping someone will be able to tourniquet my emotional bleeding for a day or two.

There's no one to blame but myself. I am a failure and I hope I get better. The point I'm at now is suicide. But since I don't want to be a complete failure, I will make sure to keep myself alive.

A living failure, that's me. I've disappointed my mother, confused my family and hurt my friends. I don't play any instruments anymore, I've quit them all. I don't even have a bicycle anymore. I'm so sick of the lousy human being that I am, and I want everyone to know how sorry I am for leading such a frivolous life.

Realize that this is not a character speaking, this is Dylan Peterson, being as honest as possible. I am very sad today, sad to be alive. It makes me sad to think that someone may actually be reading this, taking some sort of useless pity on me. I hope you don't! I hope you say "fuck him. and his self-loathing internet bullshit." Say it to my face. I have no reason to hear anything more positive.

And yet I'm still intelligent. I'm probably smarter than most of you and yet receive your pity. I have nothing to talk with you about except my own misery. If you want music suggestions, go check out fucking pitchfork.com. If all I am is a pandora station, I'm about as valuable as a computer algorithm.

But I dare you to find an intelligent person who isn't an asshole. He's the prick who says "only an unwise man will declare himself wise." There's no wisdom in that. Only trickery and nastiness. We know when we're wise, and we know when we're assholes. We know exactly who we are, whether we're lazy, perverted, manic, bubble-headed, boring, funny, pretty, uptight or rude. We are aware of ourselves. That sorry old excuse of a prayer that goes, "show us our sins so that we might ask forgiveness of them," is the most poignant example of human bullshit.

I know what I have to offer. I have cynicism and criticism for you if you'd like it. If not, turn around and run away from me. I am a carnivore who preys on the less intelligent and unenlightened. If you believe I am your friend, you mistake my evil for solidarity. Because I am only here to take from you. I am here to enact a stronger blow than what you can deliver. I am here to be stronger, taller and better than those around me. If you are my friend, you are lower than I am.

Is there hope for us? Sure, we will change our minds and write new blog posts and become parents and drink champagne. This is why God continues to watch our story. If he became bored, he would offer his tornado. But for the time being, let's fight each other and make it worse. Let's not offer encouragement anymore, but insults and violence. If I am the only one here with serious emotional problems, make fun of me for it.

We'll be done soon anyway.