Where the Wild Things Are

This morning I am not going to class and eating dry Cinnamon Toast Crunch out of the box because I have no milk. This does not feel like a waist of time.

So let's talk about something interesting, likeeee the polarizing effect of Spike Jonze and his latest film "Where the Wild Things Are". Upfront, I didn't care for it that much. I won't say it was a terrible movie, because surely worse have been made (http://fvsf.files.wordpress.com/2007/05/roadhouse.jpg) and worse will be made (any movie involving Brittany Murphy). Of course, this is all a matter of opinion so feel free to disagree, but what I'm getting at is that I don't think Spike and company should be blamed for people not liking the movie.

Sure it felt like a gutless plea to the nostalgia of 20 something hipsters at times, but I also saw something really beautiful at the midnight showing.

What I saw was a room full of strangers bonding over a brief, shared moment in everyone's childhood. That was great, my favorite part of the whole experience. It may have been obnoxious at times (howls and all), but it felt genuine, and real. I don't think moments like that can be faked, and that alone was worth the money.

To All The Haters
It's a bummer that my joke of saying "I liked the book better" didn't catch on....mostly because there were people saying that seriously. I'm not gonna saying something condescending like "it's a movie, get over it" but I might say there are more productive things to get fired up over in this life, like why I'm not friends with this guy:Ah, now I'm going to study for my rapidly approaching french test (2 hours away),

!

Songs About Dustin Hoffman (And the Rapidly Approaching Fall!)

This is not going to be the most interesting blog post ever.....

It's fall outside, and over the last few years I've really grown to appreciate Flagstaff's ability to grow old in shades of orange, red and brown. It makes me feel more comfortable growing fat and sentimental. Like if I sell out for shopping at Target on Saturday afternoons after soccer games, it won't be such a bad thing.

This is a first post with no agenda. I don't having anything wonderfully original to share today, perhaps in the future we can all sit down and discuss the meaning of life, what following Jesus looks like, or whether or not Adam had a belly button...but for now I just want to make this, know that it exists and try to be consistent. There are thousands of fizzled blogspot type things on the web and I'd really like this to not contribute to internet pollution, much like this piece of junk: http://randomthoughtsbouncedoffawall.blogspot.com/

The Name
Well before I end this relatively brief post I want to explain why I went with the name "The View from the Bottom". I think about Jesus, a lot, and I think about what following Him looks like...a lot and one of the reaccuring phrases in Jesus' life seems to be the whole "first will be last last will be first" shtick, which I love.

It seems to me that following Jesus basically takes aspirations of being on top in this world (i.e. six figured job, house in the burbs, relative safety and a nice car) and says that's not what we measure success by, that we're no longer trying to get on top, but hang out around the bottom (which is where Jesus seemed to be most of the time on Earth anyways). What this long-winded post is getting at is that Christianity encourages the view of the bottom instead of from the top. I like that, so much that I'm going to name this terribly awkward blog after it. So there! Do a dance, eat some chips, my rant is over!

Now really, before I go, I want to share the thoughts of Edward Hirsch, a poet I've been into lately. He's got this poem called "For the Sleepwalkers" and it's got one of the most beautiful phrasings I've ever heard in it:

"That's why I want to say something astonishing
like: Our hearts are leaving our bodies.

Our hearts are thirsty black handkerchiefs
flying through the trees at night, soaking up
the darkest beams of moonlight, the music

of owls, the motion of wind-torn branches.
And now our hearts are thick black fists
flying back to the glove of our chests"

I think it's pretty, it makes me feel something vulnerable.

Okay, I'll shut up now