Maximillian Amadeus Banzai (banzai) wrote,
Maximillian Amadeus Banzai

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Realizing that, just like so many other things, this journal is backlogged: what I write about today is two days old, and a fair amount of territory has been covered between now and then. Not that I'm a stickler for documenting every moment and detail; just that there are a few twists and turns I don't want to forget. Hope to get up to speed soon, as reading won't allow anyone to really see how I'm doing now. There are exceptions to this rule, of course.

Anita O'Day is 83, a jazz great from when jazz was great. Seeing her perform on Wednesday evening was an incredible experience. She rarely had the ability to make it through a song, losing her place and getting confused. Her voice cracked, no longer able to hold a tune. Yet her playfulness and spirit shone through, as did the desire of her trio to honor not only her talent, but also who she was. During breaks they played video of her performances from the 40s onward, and as I watched her perform live, I could page back and see all those past times. Beautiful. We are bearers of the image of God—heaven help us should we ever forget because of age, ability, or any other triviality.

My PowerBook took a nosedive Wednesday night (details here for the curious), throwing a significant wrench in the remainder of the week. Made me aware of two reliances. The first, on the computer, is obvious. The second is on myself, probably to the point of idolatry. My frustration level was the tip off: the only logical reason for me to be so intensely irritated is if I expected everything to work perfectly and to be able to make everything work perfectly if it didn't. Only God can meet those expectations. I'm not Him. Scary to see how subtlely and deeply I built that image of myself. If I keep doing that, there's no doubt it will be painful when He breaks down the idol, both for the sake of His glory and out of His love for me.

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