Sometimes you believe in something and yet at the same time you don’t. I
guess it isn’t so much that you don’t, but maybe it is that you believe in
something that you don’t want to believe in. Like that Joan Osborne song
“If God had a face / what would it look like / and would you want to see /
if seeing meant that you would have to believe / in things like heaven / and
in Jesus and the saints / and all the prophets.” Sometimes faith lifts you
up, and sometimes the responsibility weighs heavily on the soul.
I’m not leaving my faith or anything like that, but sometimes I just stop
and think, “is all this worth it?” I think of the alternative and sometimes
the reply of “yes, it is worth it,” comes back so slowly that it scares me.
I believe what I believe deeply, yet sometimes (especially when I fail) I
become disheartened and want to take the path of least resistance. Why must
the path of faith be so freaking resistful anyway? I know the answer, but
my heart rebels against it and screams in frustration. Most of the time
when this happens I either need to be talked down from the metaphorical
religious ledge or my legs get tired from standing so close to the edge and
I take a nap. I usually feel better afterwards.
The primary class I subbed this Sunday aparantly thinks that the first
person to see Jesus wasn’t Mary Magdalene but was Mary Madcow.
I have almost decided that Orange County will be my
favorite movie for at least a week. I recorded if off of Comedy Central and
have been trying to burn it to DVD all afternoon. It will transcode for a
while then…I’ll spare the details.
I guess I like it because I can slightly identify with it. Granted my
family is sober and seldom disfunctional, yet I compare myself to the main
character and his desire to be a writer (or filmmaker, same dif). He wants
to study with his favorite author at Stanford and leaving Orange County and
his crazy family behind is an added bonus. His school guidance counselor
sends in the wrong transcript and he is rejected from the only school he
applied to. He sees this as a death sentence to his desire to be a writer
and for at least a minute or so of screen time mourns his loss.
After several silver-screen shinanigans, which make up the bulk of the
movie I guess, he finally meets the author that was the inspiration in his
decision to become a writer. The writer explains that to be a good writer
you don’t have to go to Stanford or anywhere else. It was much more
dramatic and well-written, but you get the gist.
Shaun, which is easier to type than “the main character”, realizes that his
conflicted relationship with his home-not just his family but Orange County
itself- is actually his inspiration and the bond between him and the
characters in his story (his family) is stronger than he realizes. He
finally decides that the twisted place where he lives is actually the
perfect place to work on his writing-a place teeming with interesting
characters and situations.
I guess I compare this to myself a bit: my family is okay, but there is
internal conflict where the place where I grew up. I love the south because
of its history and uniqueness, but I also am frustrated by its problems. I
don’t fit in here, yet I love the characters here. It’s, well, conflicted.
I think I am going to watch Orange County again.