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Last night I watched Mission Impossible in the kitchen of the priests’ house. I’d spend all day at the rally, and was happy to have a quiet night, warming up some frozen pepper poppers and quesadillas in the darkness of the kitchen. Little experiences of normalcy like that…they feel good. I can gorge on unhealthy food, watch a movie, and fall asleep like every other guy in their twenties.

Yesterday afternoon I gave a talk on virtues. You don’t here that word much anymore: virtues. Fortitude, prudence, justice, and temperance are the virtues that shape all virtues. You may not recognize their names, but you like it when you see them in action.

Fortitude is the strength of mind that allows one to endure pain or adversity with courage. If can rely on someone with fortitude, because they won’t bail when things get tough. Prudence is being wise and cautious with even practical matters. Prudence helps us make good decisions that make the present and the future better.

Justice is making sure everyone gets taken care of, giving people the dignity they deserve. Do we even know what dignity is anymore? Temperance is always moderating the indulgence of the natural appetites and passions. It seems like some people will only temper their appetites once they’ve already gone broke, gotten fat, or gotten caught. A nation of gorging individuals can’t be that healthy in any way.

Random. In between talks, I hid out in a classroom away from the gym. I laid on the floor and looked out the blue sky. The carpet was hard, just like when I was in the fifth grade. I don’t remember so many cool posters though. In fifth grade, I never would imagine I would’ve been in a classroom again, but this time as a growing-up kid of MTV.

This flight is so boring I could go crazy. But instead, I am pretending I am on Mission Impossible. This guy sitting next to me is actually a double agent, and the flight attendant just slipped something in his coffee. He’s nervous but he doesn’t know I know. When this plane lands, I’ll follow him to the baggage claim. He’ll grab what he thinks is his bag. I’ll grab what I know is his. The night has just begun.

St. Francis loved the little birds. How could he not? I am at a coffee shop in north Phoenix, and there are all these itty-bitty birds hopping around, keeping me company. They are look super robots but they are nice.

This place boggles my mind. There are dozens of these ultra-preppy professionals huddles at every table, and I wonder: why are they not at work? They are probably looking at me thinking the same thing. I’m here because I am tired of being at the studio. Thanks to this handy-dandy laptop, I can be here and still get work done.

If I don’t watch it, those birds are going to eat my muffin.

This coffee shop phenomenon—how long will it last? The rapcore/metal music scene is/was so saturated, I felt left out because I was white and hadn’t learned to rap yet. But that’s over, and even Limp Bizkit is going to have to change their sound. There will be a point when you can’t build another Starbucks. You can’t open up a Starbux in the bathroom of a Strarbucks. I don’t hate Starbucks as much as I do full-size SUVs, but then again, I really despise those gluttonous pig wagons.

You know that’s a shame, about rap-rock and coffee shops. I’ve liked rap rock for over eight years now, and the industry grabs onto a good thing and we get too much of it. I’m not a covetous hipster snob who insists on having all cool things for myself, I’m just going to miss that spit and crunch.

I watched Iron Giant tonight. That was a good movie…but definitely a different vibe. I’d say I am feeling emotionally weird right now. I can’t get self-consumed. That’s not good.“Remember, even if it is vacation, traveling is always work.”

I have this weekend off, and I need every second of it. Ugh…then I need to do more work: laundry, get a lawn mower then mow the lawn, get a refrigerator. Then I can start making this house a sanctuary, a place to rest when I am not out trying to save the world.

Matt Maher said that I need to let people love me more. He said I had a very private side.

I am glad I travel every weekend. I want to fight a good fight, and if I was just lounging around entertaining myself every weekend, I’d feel like a waste of talent. These laps around the country will eventually stop. When they do, I’ll be at peace…relief. At times I’ll miss the adrenaline of stepping behind the mic in front of a bunch of soon-to-be-friends.

It’s like in college in the last week of a semester. Come Friday afternoon, it’ll all be over. Saturday morning you’ll sleep in. You have a choice, you wake up that Saturday knowing you gave it all you got, or will you wake up knowing you could’ve given more.

When my life is through, I will be going down throwing fists. I know I write about this a lot, but I have to. It’s an attitude that keeps me going. The challenges never stop, so the attitude has to stay strong.

I am flying over the Rocky Mountains. The snow-covered peaks makes a detour through Salt Lake worth it. I just want to parachute out of this little plane and ski down the mountain like James Bond.

Last night in Orlando, I went clubbin’ through time and cultures at Disney’s “Pleasure Island,” a nighttime hotspot for tourists and bored locals. My friend Toni was my guide for the day, and we started had dinner at Gloria Estefan’s Cuban restaurant called “Bongos.” The meringue band shook the dance floor and boiled in every corner of that place.

We ate plantains and rocked to the pulse of the band whaling on the drums. It was kind of like at the most intense part of Ricki Martin’s “She Bangs.” I felt like I was in Miami again…oh those late nights in Miami. I think I want to be Cuban, but right now I am working on being Mexican. I was black while I was in Harlem.
Toni and I ransacked the Disney Quest, and interactive arcade warehouse. My favorite ride was virtual reality magic carpet ride with Aladdin. Actually, I was a monkey and that was cooler than you’d think.

From there toured the nightclubs on the strip. One nightclub called “Mannequin’s” played techno with rotating dance floor. It was fun, but you couldn’t help but feel like you were on display for the balcony squatters. Having frequented the rave scene long ago, I get embarrassed any time I see someone swinging glow sticks around. Not only that, and the men there didn’t seem to miss the women.  I did, so we left.

The 70’s disco club got a thumbs-up because they were playing New Kids on the Block singing “The Right Stuff.” I grabbed my belt buckle and started swinging my legs like Danny Donny Joe John Jordan. I kicked a lady but she needed to get over it. They had big TV’s playing the video, Donnie chasing a girl with big curly late 80’s hair. Then they played a parade clip when Ferris Bueler sang “Twist and Shout.” What a fun song! I thought the walls were going to break open that place was so stacked with people. You know, I’ve been to some of the hottest nightclubs around the country, and that’s cool. I love cool vibes and glam and all, but there’s no substitute for having fun.

(We are flying over a big canyon right now, though I wouldn’t call it “grand.”)

I prayed in a chapel that could’ve been from the year 2040. The walls were windows slashed up like a Jackson Pollock painting. They were frosted different textures and tossed the light around the room. Kneeling down looking to crucifix, I forgot about the 300 teenagers I was there to speak to. It was so wonderful to get lost in prayer.

I was in Orlando to give a talk to the youth of the diocese. The day was long, but the people made it worth it. The teens were so hungry for intimacy…for truth beyond the whims of the day. I gave them all I have. It was so nice to see my cousin Christina there. We’re all growing up.

What a crazy weekend! I am so tired…I only slept a couple hours last night. We’re flying over north Phoenix now. Soon we’ll barrel to left and sweep into the desert.

I couldn’t have weekends like this all the time, but it happy they happen once a week.

Society evolves, and not always for the better. Maybe it’s that some parts of every society in history are evolving towards goodness. Then there is the evolution of society that doesn’t seem to get better, but no one minds because they forget what goodness was like.

What’s going on with dating? Marriage? Happiness?

Though some kids got married in high school, most got married in college. That wasn’t too long ago. Here in 2003, marrying that young seems ludicrous. But back then “waiting till my thirties to get married” seemed like a miserable wait for no reason. Today, it’s like it becomes more and more “cool” to wait till you get older to get married. But I don’t believe that crap. That mentality is a response from a society of individuals who never got to know themselves in their youth, and had to waste all of their twenties wearing out their selfish lifestyle. Sleeping around and buying things didn’t make them happy, so they quick get married while they can still have kids that they’ve worked so hard not to have.

On the bus ride from the parking lot to the airport, I noticed this guy had on a wedding band. Then I looked at the old lady sitting next to him, and she had a wedding ring as well. Oh wow…they have someone waiting for them when they get back. I’ve never noticed wedding rings. When do you get those?

In high school, I devised a perfect plan for happiness. I would meet my girl when I was a senior in college, and she would be a junior. This way we could get married after we graduated and then I would finally give the gift of my virginity. I’ve been waiting along time for you girl!

I figured God would reward me for my patience and purity. It’s silly to think that God would play by my rules, even if I think they are fair rules. (I have been waiting a long time!)

I may not get married for several years. For the first time in my life, I am at peace with that. I live a life–a rush–being a pencil in His hand. It’s a rush I never expected, much less planned for. I am thankful God is not a wish-granting genie like so many people make Him out to be. By God’s grace, I will follow His path, not my own.