Life hasn't exactly slowed down in the last year. I still write, and I still play IKAIK whenever someone will have me. But on top of that, if you didn't already know, I joined a rock and roll band last October, Vigilantes. We're a busy bunch, and I've devoted a lot of time into practices, booking, performances, recording, planning, photos, promotions, networking, etc. We just released our new EP "Don't Dance With the Devil", and it's got a little buzz going around our city...

Last Sunday, we were the backup band for our worship leader at Mars Hill. The night before, Brent and I were both sick, Luke couldn't sleep, and Joey had trouble sleeping because he normally works third shift. So all of us were dragging through the day. After the third service, the church let us use the youth room to play a concert. About eighty people came, and we were hit with some divine blast of energy. Brent was hitting hard and connected with us and the audience (he looked like he was going to fall over all day, his eyes half open). Joey and I were going back and forth, maybe trying to out-do each other in wildness. Luke, somehow, managed to stand on his head and play bass at the same time. And you know what? We really nailed it. One of the best shows I've played with anybody ever...

Any other news from the past year would probably be accessory, considering most of the people who read this have either abandoned the Journal-ship or have learned to ignore mine. Who can blame them, it's been a long time. But, to tie up some loose ends:
- My new and enthused house church quickly dissolved after only two and a half months. I'm still a little heartbroken. Not because it "failed", which I don't think it did, but because I couldn't do anything to stop it. Even though I started it, the house church wasn't mine. I didn't want to make it mine. I wanted a church with leadership but without leaders. And everybody seemed to make me the leader. Then they didn't like the direction and left. So it goes.
- Dad and I self-published the first edition of our book, Stark Raving Obedience. Apparently, when the printer transferred my Word document to Adobe, it messed with all sorts of grammar and spelling. I know that some of the errors are my own fault, but it's nice to know that I'm not that dumb. I'm currently working on the second edition, and hoping that only very understanding people are buying the first.
- Since I've begun editing my grandfather's memoirs, I've become the unofficial Kallman family historian. I was able to tell my dad about things he never knew. We had a long talk about his brother Stephen one day. Stephen had Down Syndrome and died from complications caused by Leukemia at the age of eight. Stephen was such a remarkable child, he broke several medical barriers and proved that a child with Down Syndrome could potentially grow up and live a wonderful life. This was back when doctors still referred to them as "mongoloids". Hospitals often wrote obituaries for the children of prominent figures when they were born, and then sent off to institutions. And that's just a small part of what I'm getting out of this project.
- I'm not sure if I'm a healthier person now, almost a year after my last entry. In fact, in some regards, others might even say I'm worse. I still drink a little more than I should, and I'm still really lonely. Even so, I chase after God and seek to understand Jesus, and I know that everything else will figure itself out.

I'm Not Like Everybody Else - the Kinks

I used to scoff at people who lost their temper online, saying things like "goodbye (and then choose xanga/livejournal/friendster/myspace...)". I suppose I still do scoff at them. People need to take things a little less seriously online. Their world can fit in a little black bag. sad. I bring this up because I know as well as you know that I neglect my journal more now than I ever have before. The world hasn't changed, nor have I, basically. It's not like I'm in and out of a journaling phase. No, no, it's more like journaling online has seasoned me. And I don't think I need to tell you. Anything has bad taste when there's too much seasoning...

Do I want to stop writing in my online journal (I never could say "Xanga" and feel right about it. I think it sounds like a vicious STD, or something)? Of course not. I know that people still stop by, although less frequently than years past. And I still care about you. And the Dance Party, well, I'm certainly proud of that. I started the Dance Party when I still lived at Calvin College, skipping classes to write in journals. My suitemate, Justin, the would-be-African, and I would turn up the music and shake around like the arhythmic buffoons that we knew we were. I still shake like a buffoon, only now alone in my parents' basement to the Animals, Canned Heat, and North Lincoln. I still believe that people ought to remember the sweet joy of expressing that beautiful rock and roll spirit. Forgetting the other people, all afraid of the same scorn, all secretly wishing they were free to love the musician as the musician often loves them. I think that my journal should remain active if only to let people know that the Dance Party still lives...

My wonderful sister lives at Spring Arbor University now, and she talks to me so infrequently that I usually have to go to her journal for the latest news. My wonderful friends. Jennie in Massachusetts (you got a bitchin' Joust song, how many people can say that? Probably eight, or so...), Bailey in Florida (How did you like that book?), Megan in God-knows-where (you really ought to call and fill me in sometime), lovely Ms. Allen (it may do better as a poem), the Joust boys, and all of Josh Nordyk's brain-fucking stories. How could I forget? Why would I? I'd miss that terribly...

But there are also good and sufficient reasons for writing less online. First, I spend far more time writing now with three projects and school. By the time I sign on to the journal, well, it's usually to comment on Etta's entries. My brain is tired, my eyes beg for books and baseball. I know somewhere in the back of my mind that if I published everything I wrote on here, the pages may very well pad the bottom of several trashbags. Or maybe spread underneath birdcages. Who knows. I meant to keep in touch, possibly inspire (I mean that in a very humble way). Or maybe I'm just used to it. Like Russ' on Tuesday, every Tuesday for all of those years. Or like my summer diet of two popsicles, coffee, tortilla chips, and a night of gin and whiskey. Some things (like the gin and whiskey) are worth getting used to less. They're good (mercy, they're good), but again, too much seasoning...

Don't worry, friends, this isn't a goodbye. It's an explanation of already current absences...

Overlee - the Rentals

Josh Nordyk and I had two reasons apiece to celebrate this past week. His two reasons: He finished the first draft of his screenplay. I read it last night, I'm very impressed. He also quit Walgreens (lame) and got a new job (awesome)...

My two reasons: On Thursday, just before my show at Skelletones, I got a letter in the mail. A special letter. One that contained my ASCAP MEMBERSHIP CARD! It's official, I'm a professional. As for my other reason to celebrate, I finished a short story on Wednesday, and revised it Saturday. It's six and a half pages long, and I'm quite proud of it. I'll have to post an excerpt here...

            "...Mark didn’t reply. John Galm had taken off his headphones when he noticed the argument up front. They all sat waiting for someone else to say something.

            Up ahead, off to the side of the road, a brown and black shape stirred. It almost rolled toward the highway before it went airborne. The three boys stared, stunned, unsure of what they witnessed. The turkey had gone only a few feet off of the ground, and in the middle of its languid flight turned to look at the van. It blinked.

            Brian thought of a few things before the bird and van collided. “I’ve never seen one of those in real life before/I didn’t know turkeys could fly/it looked at me/windshields are supposed to be shatterproof.”

            Part of the turkey hit Mark on the head as it crashed through to the backseat. He blacked out. Slumping on the wheel, the van turned and flipped, rolling into the ditch..."
Kids Get Cut - Meneguar

Before I say anything else, I should probably mention that I went camping with some friends in Manistee National Forest. Because, you know, dudes never sleep when there's cold beer, kosher dogs, and a good campfire. On top of the whole sleep-starved weekend, on Saturday we found a little ravine with probably fourty trees that had been hit by a flood a while ago. By then, many of them had dried out nicely, and we hauled six of them over to our campsite. All told, we found seven felled trees and lots of fallen branches, and we spent all day sawing logs. I also broke a hatchet, which must mean that I have animal strength...

Then today, it finally happened. Etta moved to Spring Arbor. I moved most of the furniture in her room, and after living in the woods all weekend, my body had gone through enough. I sat most of the time drinking water and collecting myself, and it didn't help that Etta's RA kept poking her head in and asking if I was alright. Sweet girl, best of intentions, but embarrassing for sure. Etta looked happy, which makes me feel much better about all of this, because she showed so much apprehension earlier this summer. Oh, and hey, I guess if I want to visit her some weekend, the University will pay for my meals and put me up in a room. Apparently, they see me as a prospective student. I see it as a free vacation with my little sis...

So, Etta, well done. You're on your own, already surrounded by kids who want to be your friend...

Moonage Daydream - David Bowie