She'll marry yo brother!

Julia and I watched Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest last Tuesday. Not only did we go to the cheap theatre, we went during "Cheap Ticket Tuesday," so the seats in the end cost two coughs and a ball of pocket lint. Prior to going to the theatre a local Salisbury House was having a "75 cent Tuesday," where its unfortunately named burgers, "Nips," cost 75 cents each. Coincidentally, they too tasted like two coughs and a ball of pocket lint. Three cheers for the poverty of student life.

A good friend of mine asked if I would like to jam and possibly join his low-key we-are-not-in-this-to-become-famous-we're-just-rocking-out-for-fun band. This moment brought me back to the time that I asked a girl if I could sit beside her during the Friday Night Banquet at summer camp (ed. note: much to my chagrin during my nostalgic journey i realized that there were no moments where a girl asked me to go out). My palms became sweaty, my heart pounded, my stomach churned, and my eyebrows shifted with excitement. Only this time I didn't crap my pants. The whole prospect of being in a band again has not left my mind since his proposition as it has always been a secret desire of mine to rock it out. Unfortunately, I haven't play electric guitar since my days in Stage Fright, and my late 90s roots of grunge and punk have yet to rot away (as i've discovered during private practice sessions). I want to play Underoath but my fingers play Collective Soul, it's a frustrating almost Alzheimer's-type scenario, "Henry! Take out the dogs and feed the chickens! And remember to always play in 4/4 time with predictable and cheesy riffs dang it!" And Henry died 15 years ago.

My calloused finger tips are coming back though. I forced them to return to me because my fingers took a beating last weekend when I played acoustic guitar for the Jr. High youth retreat. I had played guitar only once in the past year, and now I was playing sessions every four hours. Sorry Jon Buller, I cut "Here by the Water" a bit short, but you have to admit that the pinkie never lets off the guillotine strings of B and E. By the end of the Saturday session I would have sounded better if I played with my elbows. But the kids were forgiving and even offered to pray for my baby-soft fingers, or at least what was left of them. I think I played "Awesome God" with most of my digits rubbed down to the second knuckle. The kids call me "Garfield" now, because my hands look more like stubby paws. And I like to eat lasagne with my hands, in very fast, almost blurry, motions.

School is almost done. Julia has finals right now. I still have classes and final projects. But soon Julia and I will be in Vancouver to witness my brother and his very cool fiancee getting hitched. Glorious!

ps: Pirates of the Caribbean was much better than what we had been told prior. Maybe We're suckers for huge explosions, over-the-top action sequences, and Johnny Depp with eye makeup. Or maybe I've been bitter ever since the 1994 film Cutthroat Island. I saw this movie with my dad in the theatre, and it came so close to being a really good pirate-themed movie. It has a very impressive explosion, but it just didn't grab me as well as the more current Pirates of the Caribbean movies. True for anyone else?