A picture of the cast from your favorite TV show.

This is the cast from the long-since cancelled CBS show, Joan of Arcadia. Despite being off the air for six years, I still hold it as my number one TV show I've ever watched, and nothing has really come close to de-throning it from that position. The show centered around a girl (Joan) who spoke to God through ordinary human beings. It's hard to explain and probably sounds kooky and bizarre, but it worked perfectly. Amber Tamblyn was fantastic (as was the entire cast), and it deserved to run much longer than the two seasons it was given. (If you happen to be a CBS executive reading this, you suck at life). Unfortunately, it ended on a massive cliffhanger that will never be resolved, but I still enjoy going back to my DVD collections from the first two seasons and enjoying a bit of nostalgia with my favorite show.

For s&g, here's what I would consider my top 10 favorite TV shows (serialized, not shows like The Daily Show, Sportscenter, etc):

1. Joan of Arcadia

2. Boy Meets World

3. Chuck

4. 24

5. Dollhouse

6. Friday Night Lights

7. The West Wing

8. Spartacus: Blood and Sand

9. Firefly

10. The Office

A picture of you and the person you have been closest with the longest.

This was an easy choice. Matt Norris and I have been best friends since my freshman year of high school. It was about my fifth day of concert choir freshman year when I noticed the kid with the backpack that had scribbled the names of all the bands he liked on the sides. A simple sentence started it all; "hey man, you like Good Charlotte?" Next thing you know, we're off to the races talking about music. Pretty soon, he mentions he plays the drums, so I chime in that I play the guitar. Almost eight years and countless shows later, Matt and I are still best friends and bandmates, and that probably isn't going to change any time soon. 

We have an odd friendship; although we talk a lot, most of our conversations aren't particularly deep or meaningful. A lot of them center around the band, and often times we have short exchanges on Skype or AIM in the evening, just catching up on the day and how work was or how life is going. Occasionally, we'll have one of those long heart-to-heart conversations that make me so appreciative for my friend and his acceptance of me for exactly who I am. The photo you see here was taken by Charlotte on my graduation day, and it's one of my favorite pictures because it has so much joy. 

As a bonus, here's Matt and I performing "Ocean Avenue" by Yellowcard. (We always joke that our side project is called "The Pink Ponies of Destruction," although we can never agree on who came up with the name). We recorded an entire album back in 2008 of just him and I, messing around with songs on the acoustic guitar and congas. It's not the best mix or the highest quality, but it's how we always joke that we're gonna end up; just us two, goofing off acoustically.

Post a picture of yourself along with 10 facts.

1. Despite what some may believe, my Harry Potter fandom has not diminished over the last few years; it has simply changed. During my high school years, I was prone to be spotted in one of many different Potter-related shirts, lining up at 4 PM for a midnight book release and earnestly debating the various scholastic merits of the novels with stubborn lit professors. My general perspective on the books has matured; instead of viewing them as an obsession or something to constantly defend against ignorant criticism, I simply embrace them for their personal significance to me and my journey through life. Nothing thrills me more than the thought of eventually introducing my children to Rowling's magical world and getting to watch from a distance (with a twinge of jealousy) as they experience the magic for the first time.

2. I would estimate that I operate on around 3-4 hours of sleep per night, with occasional power naps after several consecutive days of little sleep. It's nothing I can change; trust me, if you've got a suggestion, I've already tried it (or considered it but deemed ideas such as "skillet to the head" to be not worth the trade-off). It's pretty much just normal for me at this point, and I use it to my advantage. I accomplish the vast majority of my homework past midnight, and I make myself available for any late-night phone or internet conversation, no matter how random. The night is my time for peace.

3. People have asked before how I remember to wear my glasses all the time, since I'm essentially never seen without them. My response is simple: I can't operate a motor vehicle without them, I can't write or read without them, I can't get dressed properly without them (some would argue I can't do this with them either, but that's neither here nor there), and I can't really play the guitar without them (I can, but when I attempt to start singing, the art of finding the microphone becomes significantly more difficult). My glasses are just a part of me; I've had them since I was two years old, and I don't even consider them to be anything but a basic need for survival, like you value your legs or the air we breathe. 

4. I am a gigantic sports nut. With the exception of soccer (which sucks), I will sit down and watch pretty much any sports-related event as long as there is a storyline I can attach myself to. I'm an obsessive baseball fan who has recently grown attached to hockey, enjoys football, casually watches basketball (more college than pro), and can be found watching golf, tennis, volleyball, racing (all types), and pretty much any other competitive event. I can even get into the World Cup. (Soccer fans - I respect your love of the sport, but I compare it to fans of Rosie O'Donnell; I'll never understand you, and frankly I just don't want to). Give me two evenly matched teams and a few compelling story-lines, and I'm good to go. Nothing in this world tops live baseball. Absolutely nothing.

5. I play in a band called The Frontrunner, and I love it. Sometimes I hate it, like when I have to spend tons of money and/or expend large sums of energy for little to no reward, but I still wouldn't trade it for anything. It's about the love of music and the passion for interacting with people, and that's it. It's not about fame, fortune or recognition - it's about love. 

6. I will not trust you immediately. It's nothing personal, but I'd say the list of people I trust completely sits at two right now, and it's not going to grow anytime soon. It's just how I am - I'm quick to get to know someone, and I love that feeling of staying up late talking with a new person, just exchanging facts, stories, random thoughts, and everything in-between. But those inner-most details; the ones that really go towards the heart of a person, I'm just not going to share until I really feel like I can trust you completely. I've been burned before, and so I've become more defensive. I definitely try to live as an open book, because I see no point in regret or shame for things in the past that you can't change. But I value trust and loyalty above all else, and so it takes me a significant amount of time before I feel comfortable investing those qualities into someone else.

7. I have a bizarre mind. This is going to sound completely insane (and possibly drug-induced, which I swear it's not), but I have worlds that exist in my mind - fictional, vast adventures with detailed characters who are constantly changing and living out various fantasies and interactions. Some of them relate to real people, while others are probably an odd mash-up of my own imagination and various fiction I've consumed over the year. If you ever spot me randomly daydreaming or zoning out, there's a reasonable chance I'm toying with one of these internal story-lines. It's strange, because I don't feel like I always control them or even have editing power. Sometimes I'm in charge, and other times it's like watching a movie. 

8. I haven't been to church in about nine months, and people are really starting to give me crap for it. One friend does her subtle hints; "I'm going to [insert church here] tomorrow and I think you'd really like it. When can I pick you up?" Another friend has been sweet about it, but seems to believe that I'm choosing not to go because I need some sort of issue that I can rebel against. Another is just downright judgmental and nasty about the entire thing. The beauty is that I'm as content as I could possibly be right now with my walk of faith. My strength and passion for Christianity and the powerful message of love and saving grace has never wavered, but I'm forcing myself to challenge everything right now. So many people walk through life completely blind, following without a single tinge of curiosity as to the journey that led them to these all-knowing conclusions. I refuse to live like that, becoming another talking head or private-school cookie sheet filler who makes moronic statements with no factual backing, simply because they were blindly led to the edge of the cliff by the "vengeful God" who commands some sort of pseudo-slavery. I love and trust my Savior, and that's enough for me. My journey will take the time it needs.

9. Last summer, I was gone for eight days on what was supposed to be a summer job with Group Workcamps Foundation. It was a position I desperately wanted and had to work tremendously hard to achieve. I came home eight days after leaving, because I couldn't handle it. It is without a doubt the single most unresolved issue I struggle with to this day, mostly because I've never really talked about it. It's weird - I'm one of the most open people you'll ever meet; if you want my thoughts on depression, suicide, sex, drugs, God, anything really, I'll gladly give you mine and hear yours in return. But for some reason, I just can't talk about this one. I think it's because I know I quit. I don't consider myself a "quitter," but in the dictionary sense of the word, I "quit." It was a bad time, and I did what I had to do to take care of myself. But it's still the biggest question mark left I struggle to comprehend. 

10. I could give you a million guesses, and you'd never figure out my favorite movie.

I've been seeing all of the "30 day photo challenge" entries on Facebook recently, and I really like the concept. However, I have zero interest in using a platform like Facebook for an introspective activity that might actually hold some value. So, I've decided to do it here. The beauty of using my long-maintained and largely undiscovered blog is that I'll be able to elaborate more thoroughly and with less restraint on each photograph. Within the constraints of reason, you'll get my complete and honest thoughts on the history behind each photograph(s) and why I chose that particular picture/person. I'll try to limit myself to one photo per day, but I'm not going to try too hard; if an entry needs multiple pictures, I'm going to use multiple pictures. I'll post the link to each entry on Twitter, and that will be the extent of my self-publicity. So for those of you who still subscribe or visit here occasionally, enjoy. I'll post the first entry later today. 

I knew the answer to the question before I asked it; of course I'm completely crazy to continue subjecting myself to this. Oddly enough, that doesn't bother me.

Tonight, we get to play "why is this photograph amazing?"

Taken by my old friend Jen (who happens to be one of my few remaining Xanga holdouts), it features yours truly performing at a concert in late 2004 with my high school Christian punk-rock band, Solitary Imperfection. Click here for the photo. Observe, first of all, that I'm not wearing shoes. This is one of those few times that you'll see a "rock concert" played on church sanctuary carpet, so I obviously decided to take the opportunity to kick my shoes to the side. Second, enjoy how absolutely stupid my entire wardrobe looks. I definitely hit the "giant pants" phase pretty badly; I remember Zach's protests of envy when I returned from Kohls with my first pair of "baggy jeans" (which happened to be a pair of absolutely dreadful jeans/shorts combination that had zip-off attachments at the knees, allowing the garment to convert from particularly ugly jeans to particularly ugly and vaguely illegal capris). You can't see the back of those jeans, and you're better off that way - they featured an absolutely horrific eagle that covered the entire left butt region. I'm wearing a Harry Potter shirt (I owned no less than fourteen at one point in high school) and a Harry Potter hoodie (you can't see it, but it features the Hogwarts logo on the back). However, for some reason I seem to think that it looks "cool" to wear the hoodie so it's slightly off my shoulder, giving me the "punk" look in my Kohls jeans, Hot Topic Harry Potter shirt and hoodie, and shoe-less feet. The hair, of course, has become the stuff of legend - yes it's true that my high school nickname was in fact, "Nappy Roots." It's nowhere close to the longest point in this photo; I believe I had close to an additional six inches of hair when I decided to cut it all off. I'm playing my first electric guitar- a Squier Strat that came in the standard beginner pack that snot-nosed amateur musicians have purchased since before the dinosaurs existed. You can't even see the rest of the band, and it's better that way - I'd be here for hours explaining just how ridiculous we really were. 

But here's the beauty, and it's what I'm trying to get people to understand - I wouldn't have it any other way. Every person had those years, where it seems like the mere thought of allowing a friend (or - gasp - potential significant other) to see visual evidence of that era is an occurrence that should be avoided at all cost. Enjoy my awkwardness, share a laugh or two with me, and return the favor with pictures and stories of how ridiculous you looked in grade school, middle school, high school, or any other time period of particular strangeness (or "nonconformity," as you probably referred to it at the time). There's nothing wrong with letting yourself turn a little red and enjoy remembering what life was like. Do I look completely ridiculous? Of course I do. But did I have a positively fantastic evening that night, just letting loose and enjoying good clean fun with friends and bandmates? You can be sure I did.

It goes towards the larger idea I mention frequently to those who ask; I don't believe in regret. I don't say that to be cliché or obnoxiously motivational; I really mean it. Guess what? About a year ago, in the span of a few months, I was interested in two different girls. I look back now at those months and honestly wonder what in the hell I could've possibly been thinking. But I wouldn't change the way it happened, because it would be a waste of time to even entertain the possibility. It can't happen. It's an age-old riddle. Say if you had a lover that was lost in a tragic accident, and you were given the opportunity to go back in time and change one event. Would you save your lover's life, or would you prevent September 11th? It's an impossible question to answer, and there's an easy reason why - it has no answer. It is a question with no answer, because it represents a scenario that is completely impossible to ever achieve, and thus impossible for us to comprehend within our own mind. Regret is useless, because it involves the desire for something that is completely impossible, and that is to affect the past. Regret is inherently damaging, because in its most basic definition it involves dwelling in the past (which can't be changed) and avoiding the present (which can be changed). If you find yourself afraid to re-examine and embrace who you were at one point in your life, remember that the most important thing we can do as human beings is learn from the past. It's the classic textbook phrase - those who ignore history are destined to repeat it. If you ignore the person you used to be, because you may not feel particularly comfortable embracing that person, you're going to wake up at some point and realize that you can't embrace any portion of your history, because you've been avoiding it the whole time. 

In the end, it's just a picture; a snapshot of a less complicated moment that was really just some kids having fun. And that, my friends, is why that picture is amazing. 

For the first time in probably five years, I deleted an entry tonight, about 5 minutes after I posted it. I love this place and the secluded nature of my posts, but it was probably too straight-forward and obvious to be thrown into the public forum that is the Internet. I've had absolutely no inspiration to write anything of substance here over the last week or two, and I think that trend is probably going to continue for quite some time. I might not bother sleeping tonight; I'm in one of those strange moods where I'm more prone to watch a terrible late-night comedy on Netflix or re-watch a game from the 2005 White Sox World Series title than I am to actually try and sleep for a bit. Ironically, it's how I deal with frustration; I force myself to go over the situation so many times in my own mind that it keeps me awake for no apparent reason. My mind shuts down when it feels like it, and I essentially have no control. I do enjoy the dark though; there are few things I like more than lying in bed with random noises in the background. One of the best rooms I've ever slept in has an air conditioner that makes random noises on no apparent schedule, and I love it. As long as nothing sounds like creaking stairs, I'm good. 

I know I've made promises, both to you and to myself, but I'm finding them almost impossible to keep. Evidently, so are you. Shouldn't that tell us something?

Also, random thought; I am terrible at college applications. Seriously, I'm absolutely miserable. I lose interest so easily, especially when I'm working with an online application. I know it doesn't make sense, but it just happens; I find myself diligently completing all of the random information they want, and then all of a sudden I'm on Facebook or Twitter enjoying more mindless pursuits. 

Final thought, to someone who won't see this (I don't think): I'm glad you responded when I reached out. I don't believe your explanation for a second, but I don't really care either. Sometimes a friendship just feels natural, and I think rekindling ours (even after this long) is something I'd love to do. Let's just start it on the basis of truth. 

I'd be content never to smell another onion ring. Thanks, generic restaurant service job! Money is nice though. Money pays for college... if I ever finish applying!

It saddens me to see a decent person completely destroy their life for no apparent reason. Ask me and I'll share the story I'm referring to, because it's a tad personal for public discussion (and it happened while at work). Suffice it to say that yesterday was one of my more interesting shifts, to say the least. 

Some exciting things to share: The Frontrunner hits the studio March 11th to record our new CD, which is tentatively scheduled for a June 11th release date. I've been spending several hours recently going over lyrics and song structure, making sure we're 100% ready to hit the ground running when we finally get in the studio. We're also working on a release tour that will hopefully run from Tennessee to New York, as long as we can string together enough locations to make it worth the time and money. So far we're getting a pretty positive response from reps and booking guys, so I'm optimistic. New shirts are in the works, as well as some of those trendy bracelets everyone seems to love these days. As always, we're just going to keep working hard and see where it gets us.

I miss everything about our strange friendship (or whatever you want to call it). I've reached for my phone countless times this week to share a strange incident or frustrating moment, only to remember that I'll have to direct such communication elsewhere. It sucks, and there's no point in wasting words by rambling on here; I still wish it was different. I've written much more within the confines of my private entries, but for the sake of public consumption (in other words, still essentially no one), I'll just say this: I have no idea what your mind has been like this week, but if it's been anything like mine, you've been going a little crazy too. 

I'm considering having my finger re-broken in order to allow it to heal properly this time. I'm also considering getting contacts. Is it strange that the second of those scares me significantly more than the first?

I want to start out with a story, which will eventually help to both make my point and indulge my inner egotist who enjoys hearing himself talk, even if it doesn't involve hearing or talking.

A few years ago, I was newly single and out at wedding of a friend. I spent most of the evening hanging out at the "guy table," mostly because there weren't any other options. Most anyone I may have wanted to dance with was there with a partner; this is, until I spotted a stunner. Sitting at a table on the opposite end of the room, she was talking with what appeared to be her grandmother (elderly relative, etc), and did not appear particularly enthralled at the prospect of continuing said conversation. The guys had been joking with each other about dancing with a stranger, but no one had gone beyond the plotting phase. As I sat there occasionally faking a laugh, my absolute favorite slow dance song started playing; "At Last," by Etta James. It wasn't even the sub-par Beyoncé version; it was the classic, slow ambling song that I find mesmerizing. I stood up, walked across the room quickly, and sat down in the empty chair to her right. The exchange went exactly like this. "Excuse me, pardon my interruption; (pause here to flash a charming smile at her grandmother/elderly conversation partner), but I noticed you from across the room, and I can't help but think that you're the most beautiful girl in the room. Would you like to dance?" She paused, smiled, and responded with a yes. We danced, exchanged contact information, and nothing ever came of it. We weren't a match, and that was fine. I had a fantastic night, and my circle of absentee-testicle friends repeats the story to this day. 

So what's the point of sharing such a tale of bravery and intestinal fortitude? (This is your cue to respond with "to brag." To which you would be slightly correct. But not entirely!) No, in fact, the point of such a story goes towards a larger point that happens to be on my mind tonight, and that is the concept of desperation. I find it relevant this evening (morning?) for a variety of reasons. I happen to see a few friends, two in particular, who are so desperate to find something or someone that they hurl themselves into the first situation that presents itself, without a moment's pause to consider the potential consequences. And here's where I come to the dilemma. Is that a bad thing?

Back in high school, one of my closest friends was a beautiful, popular girl; she was president or captain of everything. (Well, everything academic; athletics would've probably killed her). But she was the closest thing you could find to that stereotypical movie girl, and we happened to grow close in spite of our differences. However, she had sworn off high school dating and dating in general for the time being, due to a combination of feeling it was a waste of time at that particular age and also from a nasty breakup that had occurred a few years prior. Pardon my candor, but a jaded and determined woman is the closest thing you'll ever find to an immovable object. So, despite my repeated attempts to get her to re-think her stance, (for my own benefit, of course), she refused to re-enter the primitive world of dating, and when defending her decision, she would frequently state this perspective: "I'll just end up getting hurt." 

It's a fair point. I've had my share of ugly fights and less-than-amicable breakups, and I haven't even dated as much as a lot of people my age have. I've willingly inserted myself into situation where the likely outcome is not in my favor, and almost every time, it ends up exactly the same way; I'm frustrated and upset because I let myself become vulnerable again. And yet, I don't necessarily see it as a problem. That's where the line exists, and it's essentially impossible to actually draw. (Can you tell I love adverbs? Lovely adverbs. Heh). My desperation is quantitive, in that I find myself willing to take chances, make mistakes, and get messy, but only because I really did learn from Ms. Frizzle that things don't always turn out the way you plan, but you can always learn from them. (Yeah, I just used the Magic School Bus to make a point about my philosophy towards love. I both apologize and appreciate your applause). I've written about this before on here, and I'll return again to my central point; when you build yourself a model of the person you want to be with, and then try to match it with the people you meet, you'll just end up alone or unhappy, because no person you create in your mind can possibly measure up to the incredible reality of meeting someone who you love for their imperfections as much as their perfections.

Here's my ultimate point, and it's neither simple nor short. Desperation exists in multiple forms, and many of them directly contradict each other. Being "desperately in love" can mean you're willing to do anything for someone, or it can mean you're willing to do anything for someone in order to find the someone that you eventually will want to do anything for. That actually makes a lot of sense if you stop and read it over, I promise. Plunging into a marriage or plunging into an alternate reality that only exists to indirectly brag on social networks are all the same because you're not being desperate for yourself; you're making yourself desperate in order to catch someone else's attention. 

I've always found it fascinating that manufactured situations can eventually blossom into love. Blind dates, arranged marriages, online chats, they can all eventually bring a relationship to the same bliss as the storybook romance of star-crossed lovers who happen to cross paths on a moonlight night on a balcony in France. This evening's "Chuck" featured an attempt at proposing gone wrong, multiple times, but it eventually reached the right message. It doesn't matter where you are, as long as you've got the girl. Maybe I've just become a rambling television-saturated idealist, but I reject the notion that asserting the qualities a potential life partner must have and than eliminating all who don't possess such qualities can lead to anything besides a failure to truly experience the thrill of being desperate for ones self. Desperation can be positive, when applied broadly. An EMT fighting to save a life is desperate to keep their patient alive, even if the person was shot by police after committing a horrible crime. But as one of my favorite bloggers pointed out to me tonight, Super Troopers really said it best; "desperation is a stinky cologne." 

So I have I answered my own question? Probably not. All side make valid points. It's natural to have certain characteristics to search for in the person you want to spend your life with. It's logical to avoid certain unknowns, because you might up getting hurt. It's normal to cling to religion or establishment when you're trying so hard to prove that you belong in the adult world. But just because it's logical, natural, normal, etc, doesn't mean it does you any good to abide by those man-made restrictions that essentially mean nothing. Within the boundaries of physical safety, it is always ideal to be a willing participation in a ride that you may not always be able to control. There's a difference between what my friends are doing and what I'm advocating, and this part is actually pretty simple. Embrace the uncertainty and potential heartbreak that can stem from shedding self-righteousness and embracing uncertainty. There's nothing commendable about building yourself a square hole and slamming it on every person's head until eventually one of them fits. Don't waste your time building in the first place; just sketch, and be prepared to erase. That's the perfect desperation; a desperation to be wrong, and yet to be better for it.