Author: Kevin Carver

Short Story: Reality Ace
A prologue to a short story I’m writing. Happy Short Story Saturday!!! (I just made that up). Warning: Rough language.

Prologue: Reality Ace

There’s no such thing as reality. Reality TV, that is. Viewers assume—we want them to; if not, we’d be on welfare—cameramen show up and start following strangers, like assholes.

No, no, honey. There’s contracts and lighting, and scripts. Have you ever seen a producer without a script? Me neither. When a producer’s involved you can bet there’s going to be a script. It’s going to be fake; that’s what you pay for—entertainment. It’s an industry, baby, and we don’t leave shit to chance.

A jungle, a deserted island, a cooking contest, it doesn’t matter. Reality TV is no better, no different than professional wrestling (sometimes, wrestlers wear more clothes); we know the winner (you know we do), and we know the outcome (you’ve got to know).

That’s what I do. Ace Jordan. I produce outcomes.

CBS, I started there. Every two years some new hotshot out of UCLA film studies guns for your job. So I ended up at NBC, but what did they know? Nothing, it turns out. A year later I moved on to basic cable with two offers: “Heels on the Hills,” (for lovers of rich, white suburban wife drama), and “Ghost Walk,” a run of the mill ghost hunters program.

I chose “Heels” for the paycheck, but it cancelled after three episodes. Pulling some strings, I found myself on the set of “Ghost Walk” as a location scout.

The show’s main producer, Jerry, told me the first season was filmed entirely in a studio. By season two the network asked him to branch out. 

“A real circus act,” says Jerry and it’s true. We’ve filmed in abandoned state hospitals and creaky old cabins—the locations, I find them all. It’s a shit job, but it’s mine, and I take it seriously. That’s the only way to get ahead: take your shit-job seriously.

Our indomitable hosts, Michael, Brad, and Aisla, are as good as any I’ve seen. On TV they’re touched, thrown down, and spoken to by entities. People ask me if I ever get scared while filming on location. I tell them that, often, we retake cuts due to crew laughter. Everything’s staged.

And honestly? Brad deserves an Oscar.

Tomorrow we head to Upstate New York, a little town outside of Rochester. (The worst part of canceling “Heels” and gaining “Walk” was the move from Los Angeles to New York. I’ve got a mouse-hole for an apartment, costing me what a three bedroom in the Valley did). There’s this old abandoned house in Pittsford I found—empty for nearly thirty years, the city is tearing it down—it’s perfect. We’re claiming it as the site of a 1942 family murder in Pennsylvania (that never happened) and interviewing fake neighbors for hire.

Ghosts are as fake as a Food Network cooking contest and I know the winner, the outcome. All I need is a paycheck and a way out, a way back to the Emmys.

Just give me a way out.

Kevin & Megan: With a Vengeance

My third wedding anniversary is today! Oh man. Three years, can you believe it? Time flies. It seems just like yesterday Megan and I got hitched at the Coeur d’Alene Kroc Center and rode off together on a moped scooter.

“Don’t crash,” she said.

“No promises.”

To celebrate lucky number 1095 (in days), we’re biking the Hiawatha Trail, grabbing dinner in the bustling metropolis of Wallace, Idaho, and—if time allows—seeing a show at the Sixth Street Melodrama.

Broke, jobless, and parent-in-law basement squatters (we’re “basement people” now), we decided to forgo anniversary gifts this year. But shhh, don’t tell her. I’m surprising her still: in two weeks, we’re driving to Rochester, New York where we’ll live for two years.

“Happy Anniversary!!!”

I love my wife. I do. I love her more each day and each year. We’ve stuck it out. She’s seen the worst of me and has suffered through. I’ve lived through her macaroni and cheese.

Together, we make a good team—Team Us.

We talk and laugh and fight. We have inside jokes, and words and phrases of words that make no sense; in public settings, I sometimes forgot I shouldn’t use them.

Strong and independent, beautiful and full of grace, my wife is a wonderful woman who I learn from every day. Thanks for the memories, adventures, and stay-in nights.

I’m looking forward to a few more.

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Our love is here to stay.

Open-Mic Church

I’ve had a vision to start a church for a little while, a vision which I share with my Brother-in-Law. As of right now, we call it Open-Mic Church.

The format is simple:

Meetings revolve around a timed, open-mic sharing time (think TED talk), loosely facilitated by dedicated Elders. No paid staff and no owned building… no emo worship band.

A weekly topic will be given in advance for the Body to meditate, pray, and live over. Sign-ups will then be first-come, first-serve with a two-week-in-a-row speaking limit (to encourage different voices). Members can fill their time with teaching, singing, Q & A, performance, liturgy, whatever.

To encourage commitment and community, only members can participate, though participation isn’t required and anyone can come.

Open-Mic Church—not a replacement of the current system, but an alternative, a bridge—will be a place for change; a place for people to learn, argue, and interact with one another; a place where the average church goer can impact more than just a pew cushion.

That’s the vision in a nutshell.

Moving Forward

I had church today. Over coffee, with a friend, it was great. We met at a cafe and spoke about Jesus. We encouraged one another, challenged each other.

Struggles were confessed and visions were deciphered.

Although I was tired, grumpy, and a little hungover—the “Highlife” is not all it’s cracked up to be—today’s meeting was just amazing.

My friend spoke some truth that woke me up.

With this church thing, I get to the point of giving up—thinking Open-Mic will never happen, wondering if it even needs to. Then, I run into someone, like my friend, who reminds me that movement starts with action, not words.

I talk with other believers who lack an identity or connection in the modern church, and like me, thirst for it in a new and vibrant way. They remind me that the vision isn’t mine alone. That I’m just a small part of the puzzle, shaped uniquely for the Kingdom of God.

Moving For Ward

I’m fairly certain my vision of Church wont change the world. I don’t think it needs to. There’s a lie going around, telling people my age that if your faith doesn’t impact millions, then it’s not worth having or sharing.

I’d disagree. I’d say faith is best when it’s personal.

Relationships are more important than status. Find two or three people and pour yourself into them, and them to you. Small and personal grassroots ministries, I believe, are a lost art and the only way back to Acts 2.

I’d love to see more of that. Let’s get back there.

If 20 or 30 people can find a home, can find a Body, at Open-Mic Church (or whatever it will be called), then that’ll be fine. Maybe, 20 or 30, or 2 or 3, or one friend at a cafe, is all who I’m called to impact.

I guess we’ll see.

 

I’d love to get some feedback on the Open-Mic idea. What do you think?

A Hoarder’s Hors d’oeuvre: The Battle of Stuff

How do you spell “stuff” backwards? Well, that’s an easy one! It’s ffuts… as in, “Ah ffuts, I have way too much stuff!”

We all do it. Accumulating unnecessary junk is as American as a DVR taping of Storage Wars.

“Stuff happens,” they say, and no one knows how. One day we check the garage and scream for help. In response, neighbors run to our aid to buy our picture frames on the front lawn.

“Will you take thirty cents?”

Consoling the Consolidating 

My wife and I just got back from a short stint in California. We’ll soon undertake a thirty-five hour road trip across the United States from Coeur ‘d Alene, Idaho to Rochester, New York—where we’re moving to.

We’re here in Idaho, our pseudo homebase, to situate the stuff we left behind. Our goal is to fit all of our belongings into one car load—specifically, a traveled Toyota Prius. No big deal. What did we leave behind? One, two boxes?

“Storage,” I heard my Mother-in-Law say.

“Storage?” I asked.

“Storage.”

“But… that’s impossible.”

Not impossible. Totally embarrassing. We had more ffuts than we realized.

A Hoarder’s Hors d’oeuvre 

People naturally respond to their upbringing in one of two ways: unapologetic acceptance or spiteful opposition. I hate stuff; I always have. It weighs you down and gets dusty. No thanks.

The house I grew up in was dominated by stuff, my Grandmother and her books and antiques and collectables. She isn’t a hoarder, by any means, but she’s getting there.

Pre-med is a good term.

In truth, my grandmother is a wonderful woman with a heart of gold, and I’ll be forever grateful of the upbringing I was given. That said, she could stand to get rid of one or two, or twelve or fourteen, boxes.

My wife had a similar upbringing. When we married, we agreed stuff would never be an issue. To us, clutter is a symptom, a sign of disease, and a storage-unit the sickness.

When I heard the s-word the other day, my stomach turned.

Genesis to Exit Us

The storage unit took two full truck loads to unload. Good Lord. 

Rummaging through, I opened a “childhood box” and found my old Sega Genesis. I smiled, remembering my ten-year-old self playing “Sonic.” I soon realized the cables, controllers, and games we’re all missing. In true hoarder fashion, I’ve been holding on to a useless Sega Genesis console for 16 years.

Why? Why would I hold on to this? I could’ve sold it for $20 ten years ago; the other day, I literally placed a $2 sticker on it.

The worst part? It didn’t even sell. I still have it!

Senti-MENTAL

We excuse ourselves by labeling “sentimental value” on junk that doesn’t matter. We then identify this junk as ourselves, equating it to a limb, and say, “How could I ever throw that away?”

Yes, some things worth holding onto—priceless, family heirlooms come to mind—but the Sega Genesis console, or the WWF flag from the toy wrestling ring, probably deserve a second look.

I spoke to my brother in-law the other day about this issue. Eventually, Buddhism and the act of “letting go of material possessions” came up. We also spoke of Jesus. To me, the principle of “letting go” seems just as Christian as it is Buddhist.

Jesus talked about living for each day, like the sparrows. He told people—not everybody, I know—to get rid of their stuff, to not worry. He spoke about having two cloaks and giving the other one away.

It’s time to come to terms.

It’s time to come clean.

It’s time to get rid of my ffuts.

God knows I’m no Saint, and I’ve got my own ffuts to work out, but…

Seriously, what’s up with all the cloaks, people? More importantly, does anyone want a Sega Genesis console? My price just went down.

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Your thoughts?

A Thick-Skinned Grin: My Reply to Your Response

Blog comments are a lot like yard sales, everyone puts in their two pennies.

(no?)

Blog comments are like yoga classes. It’s easier when no one knows your name.

(how about…?)

Blog comments are like crack. Writers lick lips, cry, and/or squeal at the sight.

(I tried. I’d like to see you come up with a blog comment joke!)

Getting Freshly Pressed was a big deal, but that sense of accomplishment didn’t even come close to the affirmation I received from the commentators of my last post, Professional Christians (and Other Oxymorons).

In that post, I spoke of my (and many others) discomfort over the some of the Church’s spending habits. I also shared my distaste for full-time, salaried positions—taking a stance but also looking for feedback and alternate perspectives.

The post came out fine. Sometimes I can clearly articulate the feuding religious thoughts in my head, other times not so much. Truth be told, it was the response of my reader community that made the experience so rewarding; I was absolutely floored by the vibrancy and the willingness people had to speak on such a tough topic.

Hey everyone, thanks for sharing, relating, and arguing. It means a lot.

Most readers were nice and understood the idea of a friendly, academic argument. There’s always that one unnecessary, negative comment that sticks; with each post, I think, I’m growing a thicker skin.

Here’s some highlights: 

-Regarding comfortable, salaried positions, people on both sides of the argument used the Bible—and Paul—to authenticate their position.

-I heard from an Atheist, a Mormon, a Vicar, a pastor’s kid, retired/former ministers, to name a few.

-I was praised, insulted, exhorted, and challenged.

-Anna from http://cannopener.wordpress.com/ gave an interesting comment about the connection between the apostle’s reaction to the pouring perfume on Jesus’ feet and my reaction to the church’s spending problem. I’m glad she brought it up; I think I might write a post about this in the near future.

A few stand-out quotes:

“I have to say that spending time on a Sunday with a cup of coffee, my kids safe in a bright, clean nursery, in a comfy chair really is something I crave, it has filled my tanks and made me excited to go to a church.” From http://thesisterslice.com/

“Go out and build yourself a great church. Then when people start complaining at you, you’ll have some context for what you wrote here.” Brian from http://www.fromnoahtohercules.com/

“Your post is part of the reason that I am Atheist. “Give us money so we can pray for the poor!”. Umm, what? Never makes sense…” Chuck from http://crowrath.wordpress.com/

“I’m tired of the “presentation.” Tired of the “show.”…  I simply want a church that provides a place for community and truly helps believers.” http://cognicide.wordpress.com/

“I come from a family of “professional” ministers. I’ve seen first hand just how taxing a job the pastorate can be, mentally, emotionally, even physically. I can tell you, it’s worth a salary…” Ian from http://churchified.wordpress.com/

“The full-time salaried, sit at Starbucks, read books and be on social media promoting yourself,/your service/your church./your good deeds pastor is nowhere to be found in Scripture.” BL from http://brianlen.wordpress.com/

“I was already fully committed to following God and trying to make a difference in the world in my previous job, but now I’m able to give all of my time and energy to facilitating that happening at the church I lead… ” Andy from http://baldvicar.wordpress.com/

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Bernadettes-Art-Photography/196062867074019

Today’s featured image is a drawing by my friend, Bernadette. Click the link to see her other great work! https://www.facebook.com/pages/Bernadettes-Art-Photography/196062867074019

The conversation is still going on. What are your thoughts?

Interns Come and Interns Go

Check out this Music Motive blog by my Uncle (and ex-boss) about Your’s Truly. Way to make it even harder to leave guys!

musicmotive805's avatarMusic Motive

As the co-owner, director, and founder of Music Motive, most people assume that I make all the decisions, create all the programs, and know everything it takes to make this boat float. It’s true that, like most small business owners, I am multi-talented. I can unclog drains, get the internet to work, do some bookkeeping (ugh), design a flyer, hang a shelf on the wall, repair a snare drum, manage social media, teach a music lesson, or even write a blog [this is actually my first blog] all in a day’s work. The truth be known, I do not do it alone. [I know you must be shocked.]  My co-owner wife, Stefanie, and I have a brilliant staff that contributes greatly to our program.

This blog is about an intern who recently came and went, Kevin Daniel Carr. Before coming to Music Motive, Kevin, who is originally from the Central Coast, spent…

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