I Long To Know This World

I have all these great ideas, like, what I would do for the rest of my life if I could do whatever I wanted, or what my perfect woman is like, and even what I’ll be like when I’m 70 years old.  Thoughts like these often take hold of who we are, though.  I see it happening in friends of mine all the time.  They think of something they want to be like, they see it in a movie, or sometimes, another person, and they aspire to be that.  The problem is that often when we see what we want out of life there are no explanations as to how to achieve it.  It becomes a mystery or a puzzle to us and we look like fools to our peers when we fail at it.  We fail our personal expectations and it sucks when we know it.  I don’t deny that this happens to me.

I have a problem, though, and here it is:

Even though I know my expectations are unrealistic I expect them anyway.

Oddly, most people would see this as a positive theory.  Mainly, because it probably means I strive for excellence all the time.  Well, anybody who knows me can vouch that that isn’t true.  And the mere fact that I believe this about myself probably means I’m really ignorant, immature, or full-blown retarded.

I refuse to take credit for this, though, even though I probably should.  I blame Hollywood.

I think Hollywood has ruined my life.  I’m serious, too.  Every movie, every Behind The Music, every sitcom and every commercial makes us believe that we will have it all.  Even our parents say it.  Real people seem to make it all worse by saying things like, “You can do anything you set your mind to.”  What is the reality of life, though?  In order to have a “happily ever after” we have to work our asses off for the rest of our lives.  Hmmm.   That doesn’t sound like a “happily ever after” to me.  That sounds like a “work your ass off for the rest of eternity.”

As pessimistic as this philosophy may sound it comes from a very optimistic person, Myself.  But really, this philosophy isn’t as bad as it seems.  What it stands for is perfection.  Perfection is what we strive for, whether we believe it or not.  Every person also has a different perspective about what perfection is.  To some, a simple life working at a grocery store and living in a trailer park with no larger worries is perfection.  My own perfection of Rockstardom, perfect wife/perfect kids/perfect house, and becoming a perfectly hilarious old man, unfortunately, seems unattainable.  But maybe it isn’t.  It does happen, so I expect it to happen for me.

These unrealistic expectations stem from years of Hollywood abuse.  That’s right.  My name is John Stizza and I’m a Hollywood addict.  I lean on Hollywood when I feel down.  I use Hollywood when I’m happy.  I call on Hollywood to entertain me, as well as comfort me.  I hate Hollywood.  But I love Hollywood.  I plan on making lots of money off of Hollywood.

Really, though.  If we sit down and think about it.  Hollywood has infiltrated every niche of human society.  You name it, there’s a film or show of some sort that glorifies and commercializes it.  Hollywood influences us a lot.  Here, I’ll show you:
•    Hippies have been ruined by this Big Machine.  They probably got the idea and gained the knowledge of “How to Be the Perfect Hippie” from watching Dazed and Confused.  Ha!  Now, you’re smelly and dirty and thoroughly enjoy boring music.
•    Women expect to fall in love with us men and live happily-ever-after’s after they watch chic flicks.  Hugh Grant isn’t even a real person, probably.
•    I bet my best friend proposed to his wife right after watching American Wedding.  Good luck, buddy.  I can’t wait to give my speech.
•    I think I learned how to kick ass in middle school from watching The Matrix.  “I know kung-fu.”  But I still cry when I get a bee-sting…
•    I’m a musician because I saw Rockstar with Mark E. Mark but haven’t even sang in front of my mom yet.
•    I refuse to touch drugs because of Requiem For A Dream.  Thanks, I appreciate the warning, Hollywood.
•    I write because I saw Almost Famous and believe that I am that kid, only I’m seven years older and have no ambition.
•    When I’m thirty years old I want to wear really nice suits all the time and look super stylish and irresistible.  Rusty from Ocean’s 11 is my hero.
•    When I’m eighty years old I expect to be a badass.  For that I thank John Wayne, the wizard Gandolf, and Sean Connery.

So, there we have it.  Hollywood has ruined my life.  It has filled me with expectations of which will never be succeeded.  Or will they…

    I am surrounded by really great people everyday.  Real people.  These are the people that will help me become the man the God has planned for.  I am grateful for that.  God will provide me with the perfect wife.  She won’t be a perfect woman, because she is human, but she will be the perfect wife for me.  God is perfect so his plan is ultimately perfect, as well.  God makes people; Hollywood does not.  Hollywood cannot make an entire person.  And I am also grateful for that.  (If Hollywood could create real life, it would probably suck, let’s be honest.  I never saw Simone but I heard it was terrible.)
    
We can study characters all day, but it’s the real life that defines us.  Life may not seem perfect, and it may be full of chaos, stress, pain, and terrible tragedies, but at the end of the road we’re all going to look back.  It’s at that point when we decide what’s perfect.  And I expect a lot of it will end up being completely different from what we expected, but exactly what we wanted.  

It’s weird knowing that I am building a relationship with my grandfather in a place people come to die.

My relationship with my grandfather has possibly been the slowest growing relationship on the face of the Earth.  Most of it has to do with my parents’ desire to prevent it, and much of it has to do with the fact that I have been mostly incapable of doing it on my own until recently, anyway.  I saw him infrequently, maybe once a year.  Sometimes less.

My grandfather now lives in an assisted living facility in Houston-ish, Texas.  And here I am, sitting next to him as he blares his television, watching some sitcom I’ve never known existed about a small town and all of its unimportant problems.  I’m on my computer and he’s sitting in the recliner next to me.  It’s late and I think he’s wants me to go to bed before he does.  He’s a very prideful man.  Or maybe he wants the same thing I want: love.

At this point, it’s becoming more and more obvious to me that I am one of very few people that truly love him.

A few years ago he was in a car accident and suffered a concussion, leading to mild dementia.  Since then, he’s been a completely different person.  He’s kinder, sweeter, and even more deaf.  He has a new girlfriend.  He really is a Southern gentleman.  Before the accident he was a mean, selfish alcoholic with anger management issues.  I guess he still is selfish, but who isn’t?

He’s much more fragile these days, but his character is still strong.  I can tell because when I leaned over to pick up a boring-ass Veterans of Foreign Wars magazine he leaned over the side of his chair, picked up a pile of porn and passed it around to my sister, her boyfriend, and myself and said, “Here, read the good stuff.”  After a thoroughly awkward moment we laughed like idiots and I asked for a magazine with something with words, because I actually like to read things with substance on occasion.  I picked up a Playboy.

This event only follows my current favorite quote of his.  While walking to my parents’ guest room we were informed that the residents of the home have decorated the room.  My dad joked that there is probably a velvet Elvis somewhere is the room.  So I asked Gramps, “Hey Grandpa, is there a velvet Elvis?”

“What the HELL is that!”

He laughed along with us for a good minute or two and that’s when I realized that the more I mess with him, the more he understands me.  We have the same sense of humor, only his is about 60 years older than mine.

The person I am today is the person that needs my grandfather.  He never had me around; his grandson, without another grandfather.  And here we are, spending this evening watching television.  There were a few words exchanged regarding politics, girlfriends, musical instruments, and throwing mad-hoppin’ parties, and I think for the first time we’ve really connected.

He finally called it quits and went to bed.  As he dressed for bed he closed the door to his room, but not before pretending to start stripping for me.  No words were spoken; just laughter.

It’s really easy for creative minds to give a big middle finger to “The Man” or whatever it is that we tend to rebel against.  This is because as creative people we think we have something that the rest of the world doesn’t, which implies that people should listen to us.  This may or may not be true.

At quick look at history clearly shows that the great changes, whether economic, religious, political, or social, come from insightful innovation and creativity.  Obvious examples of this are democracy, Christianity, free trade, and the commercialization of the entertainment industry.  None of these things are necessarily bad.  In fact, as humans we should consider these things invaluable.

Musicians are not your typical business tycoons.  We aren’t out to conquer and acquire.  We have all set out to show the world something that comes from deep within us.  As a matter of fact, many of us set out to show that our lives are just as difficult as the next person’s.  We aren’t here to try to make your lives more convenient.

That’s the biggest difference between us and the rest of the business world: the products we musicians sell are more important to us than they are to our buyers, our fans.  On top of that, we spend our lives trying to show ourselves to our fans, in an attempt to interact with them on a personal level.

So what is there to prove for us?  Why do we give out this metaphorical middle finger?  To me, it seems that a musician’s way of going about business is far from giving a middle finger to the public.  What I have described almost makes it seem like we care more about the public than the rest of the business world.  Maybe we do, and that’s partially my point.

It’s obvious to me that the most influential people today are already public figures in their own right.  People like Bono, Bob Geldof, Coldplay, Madonna, Jars of Clay, and Oprah all have used their stardom to help promote good things and changes that need to happen in the world.  We do it because we believe in something good, something that needs help in changing for the better.  Our middle finger merely says, “Hey, listen to how I think we should do things.”  This middle finger just stands for innovation and progress.

I am realizing more and more that when I try to write something cool or unique or even slightly intellectual I am mostly full of shit.  That sucks.  I wonder how many nonfiction authors feel the same way.  If all of them feel this way, then I'm good to go!  Otherwise, I'm screwed.

I think my main problem is that I have thoughts that run through my head that I think are important, or useful to others.  But I'm usually pretentious and wrong.  Most of the things that I begin to write about are juvenile and ill-concieved.  When I've got a few paragraphs down I finally realize how stupid I am and delete all of it (Hence, the birth of this particular blog).

I also realize that I'm not the only one who does this ("this" = writes stupid f*cking blogs about how important his or her thoughts are).  But really, my thoughts are mostly unimportant.  They are important to me, a very few others (if any).

I suppose the reason I blog is to excersize my writing, hoping one day my writing wil mature to the point of expertise and someone will then discover how great I am and give me lots of money and a good job.  How realistic is this?  Well, if Perez Hilton and that big crying queerbag Chris Crocker can get famous doing it, then I can, too!

So here we have good news:  You don't need to be talented to get famous!  I just need to be really gay (DAMNIT!)!

Okay, so it's not very good news.  I'm not about to give up my straight-man privileges for fame.  I think I'll just play my cards like Lily Allen, my supercrush, and become famous because I'm an amazing musician, and then blog my little heart out afterwards for all my fans to see.

Okay, so I'm a Music Business major at Belmont University and I'm on my way to rock stardom.  Cool, got that one down.  Now, I just need to learn how to write like my favorite writers, who just so happen to be decently famous as well.  Here I come Hunter S. Thompson, Donald Miller, and Cormac McCarthy!

So, What I learned from Perez Hilton and the wonderqueer Chris Crocker:  Don't be so gay!

New objective:  Treat this blog like a writing class where I learnz how to write good.  Lots of work ahead of me...

What does it mean when someone says they are "ordinary?"  I have come to believe that once someone states they are "ordinary" they are claiming that they are not.  To me, it is an attempt to be humble.  With media today, we see a lot of great accomplishments ruined by ego.  I think humbleness is our retaliation.  It is how we prove we are different from everyone else.  It's an odd thing, really, to say one thing and obvioulsy imply the opposite.

Humbleness is something that is admired.  We admire those celebrities who admit that they are not bigger than life, who give respect to the people who have helped them.  We want to see that celebrities are human and are like us.  It makes us feel like we can be one of them.  That's why I think so many young artists and people claim to be "ordinary."  Because in doing so, it credits us with the same things as people who are highly respected.

Perhaps, by claiming our humbleness we are looking for a shortcut to fame.  Afterall, we don't want the people who discover our greatness to think we know we have it.  We want our abilities and talents to be seemless, as if they were completely natural and effortless.  If we have to prove that we work our asses off to create something good, that doesn't really prove anything at all, does it?  But if we can make people believe that we simply exude greatness without effort, we are much more respected.  We become Legendary.

By being humble about our works implies mystery.  It is a good mysteriousness that leaves people wanting to know where it came from.  It makes people want to know what we've been paying attention to, where we draw our influences, so they can do the same.

By being humble, we are showing that we are good people.  Good people are the ones who deserve respect.  We have little desire to make a bad person famous.

I have said before that I am a pretentious jerk, and have no reason to be.  I say that partly because of my natural habit of rebellion.  But really, I'm just trying to prove that I'm different.  I guess I'm just as ordinary as the next person.

With his hat pulled low, as usual, he gets into his car.  There's only about fifteen feet between the door to his place and the door to his car, and in the three seconds it took for him to make that walk the beauty of the day was upon him, infiltrating his mood. 

Having already missed his first class from the alarm sounding at the wrong time, he arrived at school in time to make his second.  Leaving the second class around 10 o'clock only meant the sun was higher, the Beauty becoming greater. 

On his way back to his car he is reminded suddenly of the gift that it is.

"God is good"

On his way home he thinks of the failures he has endured in the previous two months.  They don't compare to the greatness of the way today is turning out.  It's the prettiest day of the year thus far.  He thanks his friend for reminding him of that.

In his office he is sent home early, left with anticipation for the work ahead of him.

He calls his girl and receives no answer.  It bothers him for only a moment.  She is a busy woman, after all.  He thinks about her for quite a while after this and decides she is worth waiting for, at least for now.

Darkness arrives and brings a storm.  The wind is strong and the rain is loud and he is reminded of how he sleeps better when its storming outside.

Before giving up on his homework for the day he thinks about quite a few things, primarily his friends and his relationships.  God hasn't been a focus of his lately and he regrets it.  Things will change soon.

God is working very feverishly within him.  He can tell.  It's a struggle to understand the details of it all.

Before calling it a night he wrote this.

Then he realized how much love is surrounding him.  All the time.  He is grateful.

This was an experiment.

I have an addiction.  A terrible addiction.  My addiction is this:  I am addicted to convincing myself that I don't need to do ANYTHING to be okay and get the things I need.  I realized this as I failed a Strategic Managment test this morning.  This class is supposed to be the Capstone of all the learning I've been doing in attempting to aquire my Bachelor's degree in Music Business.

Why didn't I see this coming?  Why have I been so irresponsible?  Im such an idiot.

My life this past month or so has been grueling, despite the poor grades and failure in school.  If I was actually working and trying towards success as a student, it would be even more grueling.  But that gets people places.  We suffer for the things we believe in.  I don't necessarily want to be in Strategic Management, but I do believe in making the grade and graduating college.  Now I have to face the facts and suffer for the things I believe in.

I hate being unsuccessful.
I hate recieving poor grades when I know I can get great ones.
I hate knowing that I'm not living up to something God has instilled in me that I'm not touching.

Here it comes.  The realization that my parents have been waiting to see since the second I was born.  They were right.

There's something about a girl in worn out jeans and a pension truth without philosophy that's unimaginably intriguing.  She wants to be a writer.  She wears worn down clothes.  She doesn't do her hair.  She claims she is "in love" with a guy she has never kissed.  She is a wreck.  Somehow she still knows more than me.

I heard what I believe to be the greatest and most optimistic view of my life thus far.  It's even a bit pessimistic depending on how you look at it.  But I refuse to stear that direction...

Everything we do and who we are is progress.

I can't help but feel incredibly vulnerable when I think about it. 

Every step I take in the right direction
Every achievement
Every failure
Every time I break a girl's heart by being an idiot
Every time a girl breaks me heart for whatever reason
Every time I write a song
Every time I sing or play a note on an instrument
Every time I skip a class
Every time I find myself asking my parents for more money
Every time I recieve a phone call
Every time I wake up in the morning
It's all just progress

It's really the most beautiful thing.  History repeats itself SOMETIMES.  Progress wouldn't allow it to repeat itself continuously.

I want to be something one day.  Everything I do, whether I'm taking steps toward or backward from my ultimate goal, is progress nonetheless.  When I've reached my goal, I will reach for more.  It's like a great addiction, or a "gateway drug" (whatever the hell that's supposed to mean).  One accomplished goal leads to another.  One addiction leads to another.  One desire leads to another.  One moment of happiness leads to more.

I bet if you ask the most accomplished and respected people of our time their ultimate aspirations have not been met yet.  We want to be known for something legendary and timeless.  Something positive.  I have ideas but no knowledge of how to become what i want.  I want to be a writer.  I want to be a great musician.  I want to be known most importantly for my love of Christ and my relationship with him.  I want to be heard and I want people to listen.  Intently.  That's ultimately why I'm here.

yup.  thats right. 
i realized today that i know nothing. 
i can't fix everything that needs to be fixed. 
i can't say everything that needs to be said. 
i can't do everything that needs to be done. 
but i long to. 
i hope thats good enough.