Story time

First: Today I was told that my blog was sometimes "too thoughtful" to be really random and silly. In response I submit that the reproduction of Calvin and Hobbes dancing in the title area should contribute more than enough random/silly points to make up for any actual sincerity on the part of the blog author.

That said, children, gather 'round. Today's story will be about how Lea and her best friend managed to score Josh Groban's autograph in a completely unexpected way.

So Shannon came into town a few weeks ago to hang out in San Diego and to go see Wicked for our first time. We got all dressed up--in dresses, with makeup and cool shoes, which is not normal--and drove up to Hollywood. The show was amazing. If you haven't seen it, and you like musicals at all, I highly recommend it. (We've seen it three times.)

Anyway, after the show, we waited until most of the crowd had left the theatre to make our way out. Then, I said we should check out the merchandise (they have t-shirts and hoodies and various knick-knacks for sale at the "Ozdust Boutique") on a whim. Upon discovering that they were charging 35 bucks for a t-shirt, though, we decided that wearing "Defying Gravity" on our chests was not a commercial priority. I mean, I have a printer and an iron, and some basic photoshop skills. I can make a darn t-shirt myself for like $6. So we left.

There was still a pretty good crowd at the front of the theatre, and we were slowly making our way back to my truck, when Shannon said, "Hey dude, doesn't that guy look a lot like Josh Groban?"

I followed the direction of her finger, waited for said guy to turn toward me, and agreed with her. "He's really cute," I said.

"Lea, I really think that's Josh Groban."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"You should say something," I said.

Shannon gave me her best attempt at a "look."

"Seriously, say something to him!"

"No! You say something!"

So I turned on her my most withering, disdainful glance, and called, "Hey Josh!"

And to my infinite surprise, he actually turned around. I was struck speechless for what seemed like eternity, but in reality made a quick, graceful recovery, and, instead of telling him how wonderful his voice is and how inspired I am by his music, I said, with a great deal of charm, "Can we have your autograph?"

I handed him my copy of the Wicked playbill, and to my horror realized that I didn't have a pen. And, it seemed, neither did he.

I nearly cried.

Thankfully, he remembered that there was a pen in his jacket pocket, and he graciously signed my playbill as well as Shannon's and someone's in the crowd.

Shannon and I proceeded to squeal like high-schoolers at a Backstreet Boys concert that we got Josh Groban's autograph. Then we called or texted everyone we know who would know who Josh Groban is to brag that we were lucky enough to be on the same sidewalk at the same time as he was, and weren't they jealous?

They were. And it was spectacular.

The end.

In other news, I'm officially a member of First United Methodist Church of San Diego. Which really came home to me not long after my--what, induction?--at Water's Edge, while I was eating pancakes and chatting with Beckett and LuAnn (I have no idea if I spelled that correctly). I was going to say something about Northside, and refer to it in the way I normally have, as "my church back home." But I realized that's not true now. I have a home church. That's very groovy.

I wonder what the people at Northside will say when I tell them I've joined--rejoined--the UMC. I don't think it will make any difference whatsoever in their love for me, but they're funny folks. I mean, not all of them, of course, but some. The same people who were upset with me for singing the Ave Maria at Christmas a few years back because "we don't worship Mary" will likely not understand my purpose, or motive, or whatever.

"Led by the Spirit," however, seems like a good enough reason for me.

Thoughts before work

It's crazy how things work out sometimes. My whole family had this weird cosmic resonance thing at Easter, and now I'm going to officially be a member of the local United Methodist congregation.

I'm sad that this will be my last real weekend in San Diego, unless they let us off the boat on the weekend before we leave. But we leave on a Sunday. And that's depressing. And this next workup starts on a Wednesday. So that's twice I'm missing church unnecessarily.

On the plus side, I get to go home in a week and a half.

On the minus side, I feel like every time I put down roots here I have to pull them up. But, like Molly the preacher said, "The church will still be here when you get back." So here's to that.

I have to go to work. And fly until 10:30 tonight. Which is the coolest thing you can do on your last Friday in San Diego.

One last thought: anonymity is useless.

Ships and shoes and sealing wax

There was a minor crisis at work today, involving me being sick and there being a shortage of crew chiefs. The ops solution to the crisis was to borrow a crew chief from another squadron and go test the darn plane. I thought it was a good plan, provided we could actually get someone, which we did.

Neither of the QA's wanted another squadron's crew chief touching our aircraft. One of them--I am being 100% serious--said to me, "That's like glory points. 'They go down there, and can't even support themselves!' No one is going to say that about us!"

And I was thinking, as long as the plane is testing, who cares?

Whatever.

I was sick again this morning, which meant I got to come home early. I took some drugs and a nap, and woke up at 5:00 feeling a hundred times better and just in time to get dressed and go to Vespers. Which was freaking fantastic. I walked in, and there was a soprano singing Handel. I thought it was a recording, but as I was walking to my seat, I saw that there was a live woman singing up in the chancel. She was really, really good. She was a guest vocalist who came along with the guest speaker for tonight, and she just happened to be able to sing the organist's selection for tonight's prelude. It was awesome. I love music. Especially when it's really good live music that I wasn't expecting.

Also, I was sitting next to the Director of Music, Dr. Stan Wicks. I vastly enjoyed listening to him sing, no choirs, not much formality, just as a member of the congregation. He has a very good, and very educated, voice.

After the service, there's dinner in the fellowship hall. I didn't go, because a) I couldn't have eaten anything with my sore throat anyway, and b) I didn't have six bucks. Now, I'm sure that I could have eaten on an IOU, or a visitor's first-time welcome, or someone else's six bucks, but again, see (a). So I was just walking around the campus, finding out where things are, when a gentleman--who turned out to be Tom, the business manager--stopped me and asked if he could help me find anything. I told him I was just trying to familiarize myself with the place, as I was new, which led to the inevitable discussion of how I ended up at First Church. And that discussion led to a really nice conversation that lasted a good few minutes. It was cool.

Then at seven it was time for the guest speaker, a gentleman named Adam Hamilton, who started the Church of the Resurrection in Kansas (or Kansas City, I'm not sure). It's a big church, and he's written eight books. I didn't know any of this until tonight. But I bet he's pretty well known in church-ish circles.

His talk coincided with the release of his eighth book, Seeing Gray in a World of Black and White. So he talked about the value of finding the middle ground between the two opposite sides of--well, pretty much anything. From church, and faith, and theology, to political parties and social issues. He made a lot of sense. I thought it was a tiny bit over the top when, near the end, he said that it was the United Methodist Church that had the message that people needed. Just a tiny bit.

But he made a point that today's young generations--you know, X and Y and all that--want what following Jesus has to offer: a deep and meaningful relationship with Someone greater than ourselves, and a chance to make a difference in the world. The evangelical and the social Gospel at the same time. Heart and mind.

I think he's right. And what a difference we could make.

So I bought two of his books after the talk, and ended up in another good conversation with one of the younger regulars--maybe a member, I don't know--named Ryan. And now I feel like I'm more connected at First Church in a week and a half than in a year at Existence.

And I got to talk with Molly the preacher (That's what I have to call her when I'm talking to Shannon, to distinguish her from the other Molly--and Mali--that I know. It flows well, I think.) for more than two sentences tonight. Which I've been looking forward to, because anyone whom I have described as "enthusiastic (joyful?) to the point of barely being able to contain it" is someone that I would like to get to know.

Anyway, that was my day. And tomorrow, provided that I feel decent, I get to go shoot the big gun. Which is always a good time.

Say what?

Probably "I missed this stuff" when said to the preacher directly after a church service doesn't convey the impression that one has been regularly attending church since she was born. It probably says that one is returning after a long absence, at the very least.

Which is funny.

Anyway, I checked out the "contemporary" service--which has a name: "The Water's Edge"--at First UMC today. It was good, again in a way that I didn't expect. I've gone to two different contemporary services regularly in the last three years or so--plus visits to friends' churches--and I think this may be the best yet.

It's a shame I'll only be able to go like three or four times.

So the service. It reminds me of Sunday nights at Northside, with a band and better media. Or of worship at summer camp at Leesburg, without the teenage-ed-ness. It's a sweet blend of tradition and the modern.

For the record, that's what I've missed.

Anyway. There are songs, which today were bluegrass throwbacks to the 70's (I guess, I wasn't around), because--I think--someone in the band's dad was there and he (the dad) plays the banjo. So we sang "Do Lord" (!!!) and "This Little Light of Mine" and "Will the Circle Be Unbroken" and "Spring Up, O Well"--all of which I know and love, and it transported me to Sunday nights at Main Street, when it was just my mom and her guitar and the Cokesbury hymnal and the Bible and the preacher.

Then prayer--like congregational, intercessory prayer. The congregation voices their prayer requests aloud, then prays... Like Sunday nights again.

There were two Scripture readings--actual readings! by actual readers!--one from Acts and one from John, today. Ha! I forgot that they are all scheduled, anyway. That's funny. It's been a really long time since I've been somewhere that the preacher didn't choose his text for the week. I guess either way has its pros and cons.

Then the preacher preached. She's good. When she was through speaking, there was a response--"talkback"--time, for thoughts from the congregation. I thought that was cool, and Sunday night Bible study-ish. Again.

And Communion. Every week. I love--love--that. I wish more Protestant churches placed more of an emphasis on Communion.

Anyway, I liked it. I wish I had started going there sooner, which may be the best compliment I have. If I'd known about that service the first time I checked out First Church (like a year and a half ago), I probably would have stayed. It's homey.

Aaannndd I still think it's fabulous and hilarious that the pastor's hair is exactly like Shannon's except brown. Maybe it will be a huge trend among young women ministers to have short spiky hair. I would encourage it.

Good grief

It's 2:45 in the morning, and I have to wonder why I just created this do-hickey. At 2:45 in the morning. I just got my iTunes library pretty much consolidated, a feat which has been in the making for the last six months, at least.

And that's the least productive thing I've done all day.

No, that's not true, I slept until 1:00 in the afternoon. But wait! that's not as bad as it sounds: I didn't get off work until nearly 1:00 last night. Thank goodness that Anthony is finally "Q'd" up, and I can go back to normal training schedules. Sort of.

I had dinner with Mandy and Courtney and the boys tonight, which was a much-needed diversion from sitting in my room--alone--and !!! organizing my iTunes library.

And I wrote Ryan's character statement.

And I am almost finished re-reading The Fountainhead. I love that I understand it better this time than I did the first time. I think I read too fast.

And I spent some time looking at First UMC's site. I didn't realize that I missed the Methodist thing until I went at Easter. I like Existence... They're a little bit like a fraternity there, though, and I haven't been initiated. I just don't have it in me to really fit in with the college crowd anymore--not when my life is a million miles away from their lives.

First Church is familiar... they have acolytes... and choir robes... and Lay Readers... and hymns... Oh, I've missed hymns...

Okay, far be it from me to espouse the trappings of "religion" as a motive for attending a certain church. But I like that it's... sacred. I missed that.

I seriously haven't been to a Methodist service--save once--since I was thirteen years old. It was good, in a way that I didn't expect--even that I didn't expect to expect, which is weird.

And one of the pastors stopped me on my way out to introduce herself. And she wasn't stationed at the back door to shake hands. It was impressive.

And now it's after three--hence the title.