Up until a few years ago, Ash Wednesday and the start of the Lenten Season wasn't that big of a deal to me.
I think I gave something up for Lent during my senior year of college, but I didn't fully appreciate or understand the significance of Lent until I moved to New York and worked at a church that followed the liturgical calendar. I'm thankful that my church there--and now the one I attend in Hollywood--both follow this traditional church calendar.
Observing the seasons of the faith throughout the year has since proven to be a wonderful element of worship for me.
The receiving of ashes last night--a public affirmation of the Savior's work in my life: past, present, and future.
The fasting from something I rely too heavily upon--a refocusing of my desire and dependence towards the Creator and Giver of all good things.
The meditation, solemnity, and repentance (has any other word made people squirm as much as this? I know I cringe a little to utter it) that mark the next forty days--a period of preparation that ultimately leads way to, and heightens the contrast with, the jubilation and thanksgiving that accompany Easter.
Which is, if you ask me, a pretty good way to approach and anticipate that glorious Resurrection Sunday.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
70. A less-than-ideal career move.
I'm not entirely proud of my year and change spent working at Starbucks.
In fact, I'm really not proud of it at all, if we're being honest here.
Don't get me wrong: I think it's a great company that treats its employees quite well, and there are many talented, intelligent, and inspiring individuals working as baristas (or "partners") in the ten gazillion Starbucks around the world.
But for me, it was certainly not the career move I'd envisioned making at the age of 26. Especially after having earned a degree from the somewhat reputable University of Southern California, working in a law school for several years, and teaching overseas.
It was a forced hand: with no car in Los Angeles, a pair of extremely unreliable bus lines servicing my neighborhood (I quickly quit my first job here, in part, because the 8 mile commute often took two hours--TWO HOURS!--on these lousy buses), and a string of spectacular rejections from nearby production studios where I'd hoped to work (a network that rhymes with "Rickelodeon" comes to mind), I took a barista gig at a Starbucks just a few blocks from my apartment. And ate a huge slice of humble pie in the process.
I won't say that I hated every minute of it. Just every other minute.
Consider: the 4:15 AM start times, the standing in a single spot for 6-8 hours a day (the managers--quite wisely--kept me away from making drinks as much as possible, so I was stationed at the register for about 85% of the time), the interactions with rude customers that would always seem to overshadow the pleasant interactions with 20 other wonderful customers, and the complete sense of mortification and humiliation that overtook me every time someone I knew from USC or elsewhere would enter the store.
But. Six months after my last Starbucks shift, I find myself grateful for the things I gained from my time as a partner.
The relationships I formed with my co-workers.
The relationships I formed--however cursory they may be--with many of the customers.
I visited the old store the other day. The official reason was to "get out of the house and get some work done," but in truth, it was primarily to visit some of my old co-workers and friends that have started working there since.
But in addition to seeing my friends who were working behind the counter, I ended up saying hi to a dozen or more of the store's regulars, folks from the neighborhood whom I otherwise would never have met. The local NBC weatherman. The oddball veterinarian we all call "Doc." The sweet old man who manages construction work for one of the movie studios. The shy girl who works at the beauty parlor next door. The priest at a nearby Catholic parish. The former pro wrestler who's missing half a pinkie (no joke).
Wonderful, fascinating, beautiful people.
And last night, a group of partners--both current and former--got together to see off one of our old co-workers, who's embarking on a new adventure that will take her to Texas. I got to visit with friends I hadn't seen in ages, and we spent the evening catching up, laughing at embarrassing anecdotes about each other, and enjoying a chance to sit down at a nice restaurant and let someone else do the thankless task of serving the food and drink.
Wonderful, fascinating, beautiful people.
I've mentioned it once before, but that gig--and the relationships with so many people that grew out of it--gave me a sense of familiarity and belonging in this neighborhood.
If I ever feel isolated or alone, I know a trip to my old store will quickly remind me of the many people I know here. I dare say that not every person living in this so-called City of Angels has such a connection with their corner of the city.
In fact, I'm really not proud of it at all, if we're being honest here.
Don't get me wrong: I think it's a great company that treats its employees quite well, and there are many talented, intelligent, and inspiring individuals working as baristas (or "partners") in the ten gazillion Starbucks around the world.
But for me, it was certainly not the career move I'd envisioned making at the age of 26. Especially after having earned a degree from the somewhat reputable University of Southern California, working in a law school for several years, and teaching overseas.
It was a forced hand: with no car in Los Angeles, a pair of extremely unreliable bus lines servicing my neighborhood (I quickly quit my first job here, in part, because the 8 mile commute often took two hours--TWO HOURS!--on these lousy buses), and a string of spectacular rejections from nearby production studios where I'd hoped to work (a network that rhymes with "Rickelodeon" comes to mind), I took a barista gig at a Starbucks just a few blocks from my apartment. And ate a huge slice of humble pie in the process.
I won't say that I hated every minute of it. Just every other minute.
Consider: the 4:15 AM start times, the standing in a single spot for 6-8 hours a day (the managers--quite wisely--kept me away from making drinks as much as possible, so I was stationed at the register for about 85% of the time), the interactions with rude customers that would always seem to overshadow the pleasant interactions with 20 other wonderful customers, and the complete sense of mortification and humiliation that overtook me every time someone I knew from USC or elsewhere would enter the store.
But. Six months after my last Starbucks shift, I find myself grateful for the things I gained from my time as a partner.
The relationships I formed with my co-workers.
The relationships I formed--however cursory they may be--with many of the customers.
I visited the old store the other day. The official reason was to "get out of the house and get some work done," but in truth, it was primarily to visit some of my old co-workers and friends that have started working there since.
But in addition to seeing my friends who were working behind the counter, I ended up saying hi to a dozen or more of the store's regulars, folks from the neighborhood whom I otherwise would never have met. The local NBC weatherman. The oddball veterinarian we all call "Doc." The sweet old man who manages construction work for one of the movie studios. The shy girl who works at the beauty parlor next door. The priest at a nearby Catholic parish. The former pro wrestler who's missing half a pinkie (no joke).
Wonderful, fascinating, beautiful people.
And last night, a group of partners--both current and former--got together to see off one of our old co-workers, who's embarking on a new adventure that will take her to Texas. I got to visit with friends I hadn't seen in ages, and we spent the evening catching up, laughing at embarrassing anecdotes about each other, and enjoying a chance to sit down at a nice restaurant and let someone else do the thankless task of serving the food and drink.
Wonderful, fascinating, beautiful people.
I've mentioned it once before, but that gig--and the relationships with so many people that grew out of it--gave me a sense of familiarity and belonging in this neighborhood.
If I ever feel isolated or alone, I know a trip to my old store will quickly remind me of the many people I know here. I dare say that not every person living in this so-called City of Angels has such a connection with their corner of the city.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
68. "And summers turn so fast, like everything I knew..."
I've mentioned my propensity to play--on exclusive repeat for days and days on end--particular songs that have managed to capture some beautiful kernel of truth that speaks to--and for--my spirit.
Well, surprise, surprise: it's happened again.
See, there's this band I just met.*
Loney, Dear--the electro-pop brainchild of Swedish songsmith Emil Svanängen--opened for the magnificent Andrew Bird last Wednesday.
And while I thought Andrew Bird was spell-binding, I have to say: I think Loney, Dear's music grabbed me in a more immediate and captivating fashion.
I hate to be the sap-addled chump that says, "Their music, like, totally spoke to me, man." But that, essentially, is what happened.
Nowhere was this connection more immediate, poignant, and compelling than on the song "Summers," a number with a haunting, achingly beautiful melody line that Svanängen taught the Orpheum audience to sing along to in spine-tingling fashion.
So buying the band's second (and newly-released) album--Dear John--was a complete no-brainer after Wednesday night. But I didn't expect "Summers" to so thoroughly engross me.
It's a wistful song, full of longing, full of regret. I'm still trying to make out the lyrics (Google has utterly failed me in attempting to discern what Svanängen is singing in his Swedish-tinged vocal), but what I'm hearing sounds, so far, like nothing short of a pitch-perfect encapsulation of the confusion, desire, and Ecclesiastical sense of fleetingness that factor quite prominently into the days leading up to my 28th birthday.
Unlike the role played for me by The National's "So Far Around the Bend," there's no life lesson to be gleaned here, no moment of moral clarity. "Summers" simply affirms and expresses the feelings and thoughts I have--a strange sort of musical intercessor, perhaps. It connects.
Well, that, and it's just brilliant, beautiful pop goodness.
*Jeez...how often have I uttered a variation of that statement, only to have it result in disastrous consequences? It's a good thing the same generally isn't true of musical infatuations.
Well, surprise, surprise: it's happened again.
See, there's this band I just met.*
Loney, Dear--the electro-pop brainchild of Swedish songsmith Emil Svanängen--opened for the magnificent Andrew Bird last Wednesday.
And while I thought Andrew Bird was spell-binding, I have to say: I think Loney, Dear's music grabbed me in a more immediate and captivating fashion.
I hate to be the sap-addled chump that says, "Their music, like, totally spoke to me, man." But that, essentially, is what happened.
Nowhere was this connection more immediate, poignant, and compelling than on the song "Summers," a number with a haunting, achingly beautiful melody line that Svanängen taught the Orpheum audience to sing along to in spine-tingling fashion.
So buying the band's second (and newly-released) album--Dear John--was a complete no-brainer after Wednesday night. But I didn't expect "Summers" to so thoroughly engross me.
It's a wistful song, full of longing, full of regret. I'm still trying to make out the lyrics (Google has utterly failed me in attempting to discern what Svanängen is singing in his Swedish-tinged vocal), but what I'm hearing sounds, so far, like nothing short of a pitch-perfect encapsulation of the confusion, desire, and Ecclesiastical sense of fleetingness that factor quite prominently into the days leading up to my 28th birthday.
Unlike the role played for me by The National's "So Far Around the Bend," there's no life lesson to be gleaned here, no moment of moral clarity. "Summers" simply affirms and expresses the feelings and thoughts I have--a strange sort of musical intercessor, perhaps. It connects.
Well, that, and it's just brilliant, beautiful pop goodness.
*Jeez...how often have I uttered a variation of that statement, only to have it result in disastrous consequences? It's a good thing the same generally isn't true of musical infatuations.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
67. "Towards a more mirthful inbox."
About a month ago, a frequently-cited associate of mine ended an e-mail with the above sign-off line.
And in doing so, he started a chain reaction of brilliant, biting, and hilarious e-mail correspondence amongst 10 of the funniest guys on the planet.* And me.
It's all related to a previously-mentioned wager. But really, it's an excuse for the 11 of us to engage in written tom-foolery with one another--and in the process, exercise one of the most time-honored tools in the repertoire of mano a mano communication: the witty retort.
And for what it's worth, several of the guys could be professional retorters. If there was such a profession.
Seeing as how it's a confidential discussion, I'm contractually bound to refrain from divulging details from the conversation. But know that some of the biggest, loudest laughs I've had in the past year--or ever--have come from reading this e-mail thread.
So, as far as I'm concerned, any day in which at least one or two messages are added to this thread of sophisticatedly-sophomoric e-mails is a good day. Even if everything else about the day in question has been downright lousy.
Towards a more mirthful inbox, indeed.
*These 10 guys also happen to be ten of my favorite people on the planet, so I might be a tad biased. But probably not far from the truth.
And in doing so, he started a chain reaction of brilliant, biting, and hilarious e-mail correspondence amongst 10 of the funniest guys on the planet.* And me.
It's all related to a previously-mentioned wager. But really, it's an excuse for the 11 of us to engage in written tom-foolery with one another--and in the process, exercise one of the most time-honored tools in the repertoire of mano a mano communication: the witty retort.
And for what it's worth, several of the guys could be professional retorters. If there was such a profession.
Seeing as how it's a confidential discussion, I'm contractually bound to refrain from divulging details from the conversation. But know that some of the biggest, loudest laughs I've had in the past year--or ever--have come from reading this e-mail thread.
So, as far as I'm concerned, any day in which at least one or two messages are added to this thread of sophisticatedly-sophomoric e-mails is a good day. Even if everything else about the day in question has been downright lousy.
Towards a more mirthful inbox, indeed.
*These 10 guys also happen to be ten of my favorite people on the planet, so I might be a tad biased. But probably not far from the truth.
Friday, February 20, 2009
66. Concert Co-Attendees
I saw a TON of rock shows while I lived in New York.
It's a habit I formed pretty much from the get-go: having arrived in NYC on September 18th, 2003, by October 6th I had already seen two concerts (back-to-back R.E.M. shows, natch). And I continued on at a fairly regular clip all the way up until I left on October 31, 2005, seeing something like six shows during my last month in New York.
I attended some phenomenal shows during those years, and have some fond, fond memories of many of the performances.
But with the exception of a handful of shows, I went unaccompanied.
It was always a weird, sad feeling. I'd look around and see everyone else at the show talking with their friends, and would end up feeling overwhelmed by an acute sense of loneliness; I just didn't make that many friends with people who enjoyed the same kinds of music as I did (and always felt way too awkward trying to initiate conversations at the shows).
So I can say without hesitation that one of the biggest blessings in returning to LA is that I have friends here with whom I can attend concerts. In fact, I can't remember seeing a rock show here that I didn't attend with at least one other friend (usually Shelvy or Austin, but Jonathan, Tim, Lauren, and others have recently joined me as well).
In the last two nights I've been able to see two tremendous indie rock acts: the majestic Andrew Bird at LA's Orpheum Theater on Wednesday night, and the glorious pop psychedelia of Of Montreal out in Pomona last night.
And I'm sure I would've absolutely loved both shows if I had gone solo. But the experiences were just that much more fulfilling and enjoyable because I had friends to share them with.
...
And now--because I'm always up for an excuse to post music--here's but a sample of the surreal stage antics that take place during an Of Montreal show (in both instances in which I've seen the band live, this song, in particular--the ebullient "A Sentence of Sorts in Kongsvinger"--has turned the entire audience into a bouncing blob of euphoria, which, sadly, you don't quite get to see in this clip):
It's a habit I formed pretty much from the get-go: having arrived in NYC on September 18th, 2003, by October 6th I had already seen two concerts (back-to-back R.E.M. shows, natch). And I continued on at a fairly regular clip all the way up until I left on October 31, 2005, seeing something like six shows during my last month in New York.
I attended some phenomenal shows during those years, and have some fond, fond memories of many of the performances.
But with the exception of a handful of shows, I went unaccompanied.
It was always a weird, sad feeling. I'd look around and see everyone else at the show talking with their friends, and would end up feeling overwhelmed by an acute sense of loneliness; I just didn't make that many friends with people who enjoyed the same kinds of music as I did (and always felt way too awkward trying to initiate conversations at the shows).
So I can say without hesitation that one of the biggest blessings in returning to LA is that I have friends here with whom I can attend concerts. In fact, I can't remember seeing a rock show here that I didn't attend with at least one other friend (usually Shelvy or Austin, but Jonathan, Tim, Lauren, and others have recently joined me as well).
In the last two nights I've been able to see two tremendous indie rock acts: the majestic Andrew Bird at LA's Orpheum Theater on Wednesday night, and the glorious pop psychedelia of Of Montreal out in Pomona last night.
And I'm sure I would've absolutely loved both shows if I had gone solo. But the experiences were just that much more fulfilling and enjoyable because I had friends to share them with.
...
And now--because I'm always up for an excuse to post music--here's but a sample of the surreal stage antics that take place during an Of Montreal show (in both instances in which I've seen the band live, this song, in particular--the ebullient "A Sentence of Sorts in Kongsvinger"--has turned the entire audience into a bouncing blob of euphoria, which, sadly, you don't quite get to see in this clip):
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
65. Post-Valentine's Day Bliss.
The deeply-discounted prices on all the various V-Day candies post 2/14.
Seriously. For this lover of all things sugary and sweet, it's a beautiful sight.
64. Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name.
A group of my co-workers and I have started a Tuesday night tradition: a post-class rendezvous at Tin Horn Flats, a great little dive bar in Burbank at which we've already bonded with the owner and waitstaff.
I love having a fun group of coworkers to go out with again, and love that we've found a great little spot to commiserate at after finishing our three hour SAT class.
I love having a fun group of coworkers to go out with again, and love that we've found a great little spot to commiserate at after finishing our three hour SAT class.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
63. Inspiration in the face of defeat.
I don't want to delve to much into it tonight, but--the way things stand right now--there's a very real possibility that the documentary project I've devoted the last two years of my life to is coming to an end.
And not in a very satisfying manner, to say the least.
It's caused all sorts of negative feelings to surface: anger, fear, frustration, resentment, defiance. But, above all, heartbreaking sadness.
The truth is, if this does indeed go down, I have no idea what I'm going to do next. Not that that's a bad thing--perhaps a good exercise in reaffirming my faith in God's providence is exactly what I need at this point. But it's certainly going to make it a lot more difficult to respond to that already-tough question for me (in particular) to answer: "So, what do you do?"
But in the midst of all this, I had several encouraging conversations with friends last week, conversations that seemed like glimpses of very real opportunities to possibly pursue.
One such conversation was with my friend Jon. We chatted for over an hour last Wednesday, and while I won't get into the details of our conversation, I will say this: for the first time, some of the crazy business ideas that have been floating around in my head these past few years--which include (but are not limited to): web start-up companies, non-profit educational organizations, furniture concepts, novelty restaurants--don't seem to be so unreasonable or crazy after all. And in the case of some of these ideas, the starting point--an ever-elusive concept for me--doesn't seem quite so unattainable anymore.
That's not to say that this sense of inspiration does away with all the aforementioned feelings of despair and defeat. But it is giving me something to possibly look forward to--a small ray of sunlight peaking out through the dark clouds of calamity and confusion that currently shroud my thoughts and vision, if you will.
And not in a very satisfying manner, to say the least.
It's caused all sorts of negative feelings to surface: anger, fear, frustration, resentment, defiance. But, above all, heartbreaking sadness.
The truth is, if this does indeed go down, I have no idea what I'm going to do next. Not that that's a bad thing--perhaps a good exercise in reaffirming my faith in God's providence is exactly what I need at this point. But it's certainly going to make it a lot more difficult to respond to that already-tough question for me (in particular) to answer: "So, what do you do?"
But in the midst of all this, I had several encouraging conversations with friends last week, conversations that seemed like glimpses of very real opportunities to possibly pursue.
One such conversation was with my friend Jon. We chatted for over an hour last Wednesday, and while I won't get into the details of our conversation, I will say this: for the first time, some of the crazy business ideas that have been floating around in my head these past few years--which include (but are not limited to): web start-up companies, non-profit educational organizations, furniture concepts, novelty restaurants--don't seem to be so unreasonable or crazy after all. And in the case of some of these ideas, the starting point--an ever-elusive concept for me--doesn't seem quite so unattainable anymore.
That's not to say that this sense of inspiration does away with all the aforementioned feelings of despair and defeat. But it is giving me something to possibly look forward to--a small ray of sunlight peaking out through the dark clouds of calamity and confusion that currently shroud my thoughts and vision, if you will.
Friday, February 13, 2009
~ A Brief Intermission ~
I know, I've been bad about posting this week. Which is a shame, 'cause there's been plenty to be grateful for this week.*
And--to make matters worse--starting today, I'll be something of a technological transient for a while. No desktop to call my home.** I'm not worried, but for now it means I may not get to post as regularly as I would like.
So, brief intermission starting...yesterday! Go get yourself something from the concession stand, and hurry on back for the remaining 5/6ths of the picture.
*Which would include, among other things, the birthday of another dear, dear friend, Ms. Alexandria Scott!
**Yes, yes, I do have an iPhone, so technically, I'm not without my own little plot of computing real estate. And I've posted from it before. So like I said, I'm not too worried.
And--to make matters worse--starting today, I'll be something of a technological transient for a while. No desktop to call my home.** I'm not worried, but for now it means I may not get to post as regularly as I would like.
So, brief intermission starting...yesterday! Go get yourself something from the concession stand, and hurry on back for the remaining 5/6ths of the picture.
*Which would include, among other things, the birthday of another dear, dear friend, Ms. Alexandria Scott!
**Yes, yes, I do have an iPhone, so technically, I'm not without my own little plot of computing real estate. And I've posted from it before. So like I said, I'm not too worried.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
[An addendum to #62]
After finishing the last post an hour or so ago (which, in case you weren't sure, is intentionally backdated to yesterday; I'm trying in vain to keep up with the one post per day rule I set for myself), I spent a few minutes listening to the two songs posted on that old music myspace page of mine.
While I'm fairly proud of "Driver 8" (save for the lousy vocal), the other recording posted there is downright heart-melting. It's my 4th grade class in Iraq; I taught them to sing "Hallelujah (Your Love is Amazing)" for music one day, and within the hour, they were singing it so well--and so passionately!--that we decided to record it.
So, have a listen if you dare. Methinks it's pretty sickeningly adorable.
While I'm fairly proud of "Driver 8" (save for the lousy vocal), the other recording posted there is downright heart-melting. It's my 4th grade class in Iraq; I taught them to sing "Hallelujah (Your Love is Amazing)" for music one day, and within the hour, they were singing it so well--and so passionately!--that we decided to record it.
So, have a listen if you dare. Methinks it's pretty sickeningly adorable.
Monday, February 9, 2009
62. A chance to play music again.
I'm slowly starting to play the role of "musician" again, after a very long hiatus.
It was one of the main reasons I moved to NYC: to lead worship for my church there (along with starting up a "contemporary" evening worship service*). But in my spare time, I'd play gigs around the city with my band, and spend time writing and recording songs (most of which aren't very good, but still).
Then I felt called to move to Iraq and teach.
I brought my guitar, and surprisingly enough, got the chance to play for people fairly often. I became the de facto worship leader for our small "church" services (in which many of the city's international aid/missions workers communed for weekly fellowship), played for a larger Easter service that was done mostly in Kurdish (a surreal moment, that), and taught and played music for the 4th, 5th and 6th grades at our school.
I planned to return the following fall and run the school's entire music program. So I left my guitar in Iraq while I traipsed around Europe and then returned home for the summer.
Problem was, I didn't go back that fall. It wasn't in the cards, apparently.
I moved back to NYC that fall, and while there, managed to record some songs with borrowed instruments, including one of my favorite personal recordings, a cover version of R.E.M.'s "Driver 8," that can still be found on my way-defunct music myspace page. But as soon as it seemed like I might try to pursue music in NYC again, I once again preempted myself by moving to LA.
I was in LA for nearly a year before I finally returned to Iraq, and subsequently brought my guitar back.
The guitar, sadly, has been sitting in the corner for much of the year hence.
Last summer, though, I got a renewed taste of performing. My friend David leads an improv workshop for his church, and invited me to come play music for the musical improv segments of a show they were performing on the Fourth of July. It was a blast--partly because of the challenge presented by doing improv--and the group, I'm glad to say, was pleased with my work.
I've since been asked to come back and do musical improv with David's group a couple times, including last Wednesday night. I've also started collaborating with Jonathan, who's working on a musical about time travel. Recently I've been playing both my guitar and my piano (fine, Casio) with a lot more regularity.
I gotta tell you: it feels really nice.
I don't know if music is in the cards for me. Truth be told, I don't know what is in the cards for me; I feel incredibly lost and confused at this moment, unsure of where to focus my creative energies. But. I had an epiphany a few weeks ago in which I realized I should actually give music a shot while I'm in LA. I realized that I haven't fully pursued it as a creative outlet because I've been held back by crippling fear.
So I figure: give it a shot, right? What do I have to lose?
I love music; I love listening to it, writing it, playing it, recording it, discussing it, and just having it as a major element of my life. And the chance to play, write, and perform--even if in limited doses--has done my heart some real good as of late.
*I hate the term "contemporary worship service." But it was basically a low-key worship service featuring a full-on rock band. So...what else would you call it? Incidentally, one of the things I love about my church here in LA is that the worship sets feature many of the songs that we used to play for our worship service, and that, too, does my heart some real good.)
It was one of the main reasons I moved to NYC: to lead worship for my church there (along with starting up a "contemporary" evening worship service*). But in my spare time, I'd play gigs around the city with my band, and spend time writing and recording songs (most of which aren't very good, but still).
Then I felt called to move to Iraq and teach.
I brought my guitar, and surprisingly enough, got the chance to play for people fairly often. I became the de facto worship leader for our small "church" services (in which many of the city's international aid/missions workers communed for weekly fellowship), played for a larger Easter service that was done mostly in Kurdish (a surreal moment, that), and taught and played music for the 4th, 5th and 6th grades at our school.
I planned to return the following fall and run the school's entire music program. So I left my guitar in Iraq while I traipsed around Europe and then returned home for the summer.
Problem was, I didn't go back that fall. It wasn't in the cards, apparently.
I moved back to NYC that fall, and while there, managed to record some songs with borrowed instruments, including one of my favorite personal recordings, a cover version of R.E.M.'s "Driver 8," that can still be found on my way-defunct music myspace page. But as soon as it seemed like I might try to pursue music in NYC again, I once again preempted myself by moving to LA.
I was in LA for nearly a year before I finally returned to Iraq, and subsequently brought my guitar back.
The guitar, sadly, has been sitting in the corner for much of the year hence.
Last summer, though, I got a renewed taste of performing. My friend David leads an improv workshop for his church, and invited me to come play music for the musical improv segments of a show they were performing on the Fourth of July. It was a blast--partly because of the challenge presented by doing improv--and the group, I'm glad to say, was pleased with my work.
I've since been asked to come back and do musical improv with David's group a couple times, including last Wednesday night. I've also started collaborating with Jonathan, who's working on a musical about time travel. Recently I've been playing both my guitar and my piano (fine, Casio) with a lot more regularity.
I gotta tell you: it feels really nice.
I don't know if music is in the cards for me. Truth be told, I don't know what is in the cards for me; I feel incredibly lost and confused at this moment, unsure of where to focus my creative energies. But. I had an epiphany a few weeks ago in which I realized I should actually give music a shot while I'm in LA. I realized that I haven't fully pursued it as a creative outlet because I've been held back by crippling fear.
So I figure: give it a shot, right? What do I have to lose?
I love music; I love listening to it, writing it, playing it, recording it, discussing it, and just having it as a major element of my life. And the chance to play, write, and perform--even if in limited doses--has done my heart some real good as of late.
*I hate the term "contemporary worship service." But it was basically a low-key worship service featuring a full-on rock band. So...what else would you call it? Incidentally, one of the things I love about my church here in LA is that the worship sets feature many of the songs that we used to play for our worship service, and that, too, does my heart some real good.)
Sunday, February 8, 2009
61. A lasting legacy at USC.
I'm not gonna lie. I had a pretty remarkable four years at the incomparable University of Southern California.
To wit: I spent two years playing tenor sax in the renowned Trojan Marching Band (which, incidentally, performed with Radiohead on "15 Step" at tonight's Grammys!), spent countless hours creating content for the school's TV/webcast station (including a year as host--ooh, slightly-embarrassing link!--of the university's award-winning interview show), interned at two high-profile television networks, was inducted into the university's top honor society, welcomed thousands of incoming students to the university as both an Orientation Advisor and Coordinator, took the University President's über-selective leadership class, and won the title of "Mr. USC" (essentially, the school's version of Homecoming King) during my senior year.
I say all of that not so much to brag (OK, well, maybe a little), but rather to underscore the significance of the statement I'm about to make:
The most rewarding and meaningful thing I did in my kinda-ridiculously-awesome college career was--far and away--to help start up the USC chapter of a Christian fraternity, Alpha Gamma Omega.
Yesterday we celebrated the eight year anniversary of our chapter's charter. Which is slightly mind-blowing; it certainly doesn't feel like it's been eight years.
Oh, but what a difference those eight years have made, both for me personally, and for the fraternity.
When our journey started nine years ago (we started in January 2000, spending the first year as an AGO "colony"), I was a freshman at SC. Still a bit wet behind the ears, but slowly getting the hang of the whole "college" thing. And though I'd already made some great friends, the other 10 guys who were my co-laborers in starting AGO quickly became my best friends. Even now, nine years later, I share a room with one of those guys, and am in near-daily contact with several others.
And even apart from those 11 initial founding members (five more joined us later in the year, for a grand total of 16 founding members), the guys in my life whom I consider to be my closest friends are almost exclusively AGO brothers.
More than a place to make friends, though, AGO was also vital to my personal growth. I learned a lot about leadership, humility, accountability, and sacrifice in the 3.5 years spent building the fraternity. I was given opportunities to deal with finances, mentor younger guys, lead Bible studies, run business meetings, plan events, and--yes--spend time with the fairer sex (I mean, we were a fraternity, after all).
As for the fraternity itself? Well, it's grown into something pretty amazing, succeeding beyond our wildest dreams. And at a pretty remarkable clip, too.
When we started, we'd hold meetings in dorm rooms and empty classrooms on campus. Del Taco was the first caterer, so to speak, of our Monday Night dinners/meetings; we eventually started cooking our own meals (which, truth be told, was probably not quite the step up from Del Taco that we'd imagined), and found a semi-permanent spot on campus to hold weekly meetings.
From the get-go, we had approached USC administrators about the possibility of university recognition, an already-arduous process due to the USC Greek System's formidable standing as one of the nation's best. It was even more difficult for us, though, as an organization whose raison d'être was to be a visibly Christian house on Greek Row. At one point in our talks, the university administrators even warned us of the unlikelihood of their ever granting us official university recognition.
So in those halcyon years of 2000 and 2001, we were pretty much relegated to renegade status, flying just under the radar of all but those who knew us AGO brothers personally. We put together a few events with other Greek houses, but there wasn't any sense that we were a legitimate fraternity. Nor did it seem likely that our frat would amount to much of an influential presence on campus.
But we grew, both in terms of the numbers of guys who joined, and in terms of our influence and standing on campus. By the time I graduated--having spent the final year as the chapter president (which was truly one of the greatest honors I've ever had)--we had somewhere in the vicinity of 40 active members. We'd also started building a real presence on Greek Row, even though we were still an unofficial student organization. We'd paired up with an established sorority on campus to win Songfest, the school-wide song-and-dance competition, in my junior year--an amazing feat, considering it was our first time out (as well as--again--that pesky issue of not-being-university-sanctioned). And in my senior year, a bunch of us took over a converted house on Greek Row, creating something of an actual, physical AGO presence on the Row.
It wasn't much. But it seemed like we'd come a long ways in three and a half years' time.
Since then, though, the fraternity has simply exploded. Our numbers have grown. The diversity of our guys has broadened. And the influence on campus has grown and grown and grown.
AGO received the thing that we founders had fought so hard for--official university recognition--within a year or two of my graduation. An official induction (and warm welcome) into the inter-fraternity council soon followed. As did an actual house on the Row. Our guys started winning "Greek Man of the Year;" the house, "Fraternity of the Year." We stacked up an unprecedented string of four consecutive Songfest wins.
Like I said, our fraternity has come along a lot further--and a lot faster--than we possibly could've imagined.
So it was a real treat to stop by the house yesterday afternoon to celebrate with the guys. I met guys whose membership numbers are in the 150's (for what it's worth, mine is #7). I met guys nearly ten years my junior who are in my "family" line. And I chatted with dozens of guys, all of whom know me as "one of the founding fathers" (they treat me with a certain reverence and awe, which is nice, until they soon realize how undeserving I am of such obsequiousness).
And in the course of all, I just felt incredibly, incredibly humbled. I had a hand in starting this wonderful, thriving, blessed organization. And it's a legacy I am so incredibly proud to have left at USC.
To wit: I spent two years playing tenor sax in the renowned Trojan Marching Band (which, incidentally, performed with Radiohead on "15 Step" at tonight's Grammys!), spent countless hours creating content for the school's TV/webcast station (including a year as host--ooh, slightly-embarrassing link!--of the university's award-winning interview show), interned at two high-profile television networks, was inducted into the university's top honor society, welcomed thousands of incoming students to the university as both an Orientation Advisor and Coordinator, took the University President's über-selective leadership class, and won the title of "Mr. USC" (essentially, the school's version of Homecoming King) during my senior year.
I say all of that not so much to brag (OK, well, maybe a little), but rather to underscore the significance of the statement I'm about to make:
The most rewarding and meaningful thing I did in my kinda-ridiculously-awesome college career was--far and away--to help start up the USC chapter of a Christian fraternity, Alpha Gamma Omega.
Yesterday we celebrated the eight year anniversary of our chapter's charter. Which is slightly mind-blowing; it certainly doesn't feel like it's been eight years.
Oh, but what a difference those eight years have made, both for me personally, and for the fraternity.
When our journey started nine years ago (we started in January 2000, spending the first year as an AGO "colony"), I was a freshman at SC. Still a bit wet behind the ears, but slowly getting the hang of the whole "college" thing. And though I'd already made some great friends, the other 10 guys who were my co-laborers in starting AGO quickly became my best friends. Even now, nine years later, I share a room with one of those guys, and am in near-daily contact with several others.
And even apart from those 11 initial founding members (five more joined us later in the year, for a grand total of 16 founding members), the guys in my life whom I consider to be my closest friends are almost exclusively AGO brothers.
More than a place to make friends, though, AGO was also vital to my personal growth. I learned a lot about leadership, humility, accountability, and sacrifice in the 3.5 years spent building the fraternity. I was given opportunities to deal with finances, mentor younger guys, lead Bible studies, run business meetings, plan events, and--yes--spend time with the fairer sex (I mean, we were a fraternity, after all).
As for the fraternity itself? Well, it's grown into something pretty amazing, succeeding beyond our wildest dreams. And at a pretty remarkable clip, too.
When we started, we'd hold meetings in dorm rooms and empty classrooms on campus. Del Taco was the first caterer, so to speak, of our Monday Night dinners/meetings; we eventually started cooking our own meals (which, truth be told, was probably not quite the step up from Del Taco that we'd imagined), and found a semi-permanent spot on campus to hold weekly meetings.
From the get-go, we had approached USC administrators about the possibility of university recognition, an already-arduous process due to the USC Greek System's formidable standing as one of the nation's best. It was even more difficult for us, though, as an organization whose raison d'être was to be a visibly Christian house on Greek Row. At one point in our talks, the university administrators even warned us of the unlikelihood of their ever granting us official university recognition.
So in those halcyon years of 2000 and 2001, we were pretty much relegated to renegade status, flying just under the radar of all but those who knew us AGO brothers personally. We put together a few events with other Greek houses, but there wasn't any sense that we were a legitimate fraternity. Nor did it seem likely that our frat would amount to much of an influential presence on campus.
But we grew, both in terms of the numbers of guys who joined, and in terms of our influence and standing on campus. By the time I graduated--having spent the final year as the chapter president (which was truly one of the greatest honors I've ever had)--we had somewhere in the vicinity of 40 active members. We'd also started building a real presence on Greek Row, even though we were still an unofficial student organization. We'd paired up with an established sorority on campus to win Songfest, the school-wide song-and-dance competition, in my junior year--an amazing feat, considering it was our first time out (as well as--again--that pesky issue of not-being-university-sanctioned). And in my senior year, a bunch of us took over a converted house on Greek Row, creating something of an actual, physical AGO presence on the Row.
It wasn't much. But it seemed like we'd come a long ways in three and a half years' time.
Since then, though, the fraternity has simply exploded. Our numbers have grown. The diversity of our guys has broadened. And the influence on campus has grown and grown and grown.
AGO received the thing that we founders had fought so hard for--official university recognition--within a year or two of my graduation. An official induction (and warm welcome) into the inter-fraternity council soon followed. As did an actual house on the Row. Our guys started winning "Greek Man of the Year;" the house, "Fraternity of the Year." We stacked up an unprecedented string of four consecutive Songfest wins.
Like I said, our fraternity has come along a lot further--and a lot faster--than we possibly could've imagined.
So it was a real treat to stop by the house yesterday afternoon to celebrate with the guys. I met guys whose membership numbers are in the 150's (for what it's worth, mine is #7). I met guys nearly ten years my junior who are in my "family" line. And I chatted with dozens of guys, all of whom know me as "one of the founding fathers" (they treat me with a certain reverence and awe, which is nice, until they soon realize how undeserving I am of such obsequiousness).
And in the course of all, I just felt incredibly, incredibly humbled. I had a hand in starting this wonderful, thriving, blessed organization. And it's a legacy I am so incredibly proud to have left at USC.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
60. Rain, rain, you're okay.
As I've mentioned in the past, the weather in LA doesn't change all that often. So it's quite a welcome change of pace when the skies open up and the rains come down.
True, LA doesn't entirely know how to handle the change-up pitch--freeway traffic slows to tortoise-like speeds, surface streets turn into small rivers--but it's still a nice break from the norm of perpetual sunshine.
This week's deluge once again proved the age-old axiom: "It never rains in Southern California / but girl, don't they warn ya? / It pours. Man, it pours."
(Yes, the astute reader will notice that I've posted a link to this video in the past--see the post I linked to in the first paragraph--but it's quite apropos of this post. Wouldn't you agree? Incidentally, I first heard this song during my freshman year at USC--in a fantastic lecture that explored various songs about LA--and every time I hear it, it brings me back, for a moment, to that wide-eyed 19-year old iteration of myself, a newly-transplated Angeleno who had yet to entirely understand what Hammond means when he sings with such melancholy, "It pours. Man, it pours.")
True, LA doesn't entirely know how to handle the change-up pitch--freeway traffic slows to tortoise-like speeds, surface streets turn into small rivers--but it's still a nice break from the norm of perpetual sunshine.
This week's deluge once again proved the age-old axiom: "It never rains in Southern California / but girl, don't they warn ya? / It pours. Man, it pours."
(Yes, the astute reader will notice that I've posted a link to this video in the past--see the post I linked to in the first paragraph--but it's quite apropos of this post. Wouldn't you agree? Incidentally, I first heard this song during my freshman year at USC--in a fantastic lecture that explored various songs about LA--and every time I hear it, it brings me back, for a moment, to that wide-eyed 19-year old iteration of myself, a newly-transplated Angeleno who had yet to entirely understand what Hammond means when he sings with such melancholy, "It pours. Man, it pours.")
Thursday, February 5, 2009
59. A partner in crime.
Today is the 27th birthday of a friend, confidant, encourager and challenger, funny-bone tickler, collaborator on ideas both brilliant and not-so-brilliant, political sparring partner, associate in LA concert-going, inspiring fellow world-traveler/humanitarian, diehard Trojan, adversary in ridiculous bets (including the Great Wager of '09), and partner in Polar Bear Swimming...
...the incomparable Austin Flack.
As you can tell, he's kind of a big deal in my life.
Happy birthday, friend.
...the incomparable Austin Flack.As you can tell, he's kind of a big deal in my life.
Happy birthday, friend.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
58. Birthday plans in place!
I rarely make a big deal about my birthday.*
Every major birthday celebration I've ever had has been due to someone else putting something together on my behalf; otherwise, I have been loath to do anything to commemorate the passing of another year in my life. I've always felt a little odd about the notion of me throwing a party to celebrate...me.
But something snapped in me this past year, and I realized, well, to quote Stuart Smalley: I'm good enough, smart enough, and goshdarnit, people like me!
So I decided: I'm throwing myself a freakin' birthday party this year.
It took a while to figure out what I would do to celebrate. I knew I wanted a big party to which I could invite (and fully interact with) lots and lots of people, so going to a restaurant was out (too small/constraining). And since I'll be working pretty much non-stop that week and the two weeks that follow, I couldn't plan any major outings or trips (the thought had crossed my mind to take a group of friends back to Nevada for a camping trip).
And then it dawned on me--I'd combine a couple of party ideas I've been toying with for a few months now.
Idea #1: About nine months ago, I read this fascinating NY Times article on a gustatory phenomenon known as "Miracle Fruit." Essentially, these small berries from West Africa alter your taste buds for a couple hours at a time, rendering foods that normally taste sour or bitter as sweet. So people in NYC buy a bunch of these berries and throw "flavor-tripping" parties where guests get to try all varieties of food and drink while under the influence (of sorts) of this weird little berry.
So I found a supplier (I know; there's really no way to not make this sound like I'm buying drugs), and decided that my 28th birthday will be a "flavor-tripping" party. But that's not all...
Idea #2: As I've mentioned before, I am slightly obsessed with both the Guitar Hero and Rock Band video game franchises. As a former (and possibly future) member of a rock band, these games speak my language. Not to mention, I'm actually pretty good at both (as opposed to, say, any iteration of Halo, Grand Theft Auto, or NCAA Football).
So a friend will bring over his XBOX and various accoutrements, and we'll make it a Rock Band party as well.
I've even thought to make it a NCAA Basketball Tournament-style "bracket" party, where we'll determine the best-tasting food eaten under the influence of Miracle Fruit as well as the best Rock Band band. That might a bit too structured, though.
Either way, I'm genuinely excited. It's nice to feel good enough about myself to want to throw a little shin-dig for my birthday this year (last year was another story). And I have a feeling that it could be a pretty memorable experience for all in attendance.
*Which, in case you need to know for some unknown reason or another, is the last day of February, save for leap years.
(And no, I get asked about it all the time, but I was born in 1981, so I was exactly 365 days too late to possibly be a Leap Year Baby. A fact that has haunted me my entire life.)
Every major birthday celebration I've ever had has been due to someone else putting something together on my behalf; otherwise, I have been loath to do anything to commemorate the passing of another year in my life. I've always felt a little odd about the notion of me throwing a party to celebrate...me.
But something snapped in me this past year, and I realized, well, to quote Stuart Smalley: I'm good enough, smart enough, and goshdarnit, people like me!
So I decided: I'm throwing myself a freakin' birthday party this year.
It took a while to figure out what I would do to celebrate. I knew I wanted a big party to which I could invite (and fully interact with) lots and lots of people, so going to a restaurant was out (too small/constraining). And since I'll be working pretty much non-stop that week and the two weeks that follow, I couldn't plan any major outings or trips (the thought had crossed my mind to take a group of friends back to Nevada for a camping trip).
And then it dawned on me--I'd combine a couple of party ideas I've been toying with for a few months now.
Idea #1: About nine months ago, I read this fascinating NY Times article on a gustatory phenomenon known as "Miracle Fruit." Essentially, these small berries from West Africa alter your taste buds for a couple hours at a time, rendering foods that normally taste sour or bitter as sweet. So people in NYC buy a bunch of these berries and throw "flavor-tripping" parties where guests get to try all varieties of food and drink while under the influence (of sorts) of this weird little berry.
So I found a supplier (I know; there's really no way to not make this sound like I'm buying drugs), and decided that my 28th birthday will be a "flavor-tripping" party. But that's not all...
Idea #2: As I've mentioned before, I am slightly obsessed with both the Guitar Hero and Rock Band video game franchises. As a former (and possibly future) member of a rock band, these games speak my language. Not to mention, I'm actually pretty good at both (as opposed to, say, any iteration of Halo, Grand Theft Auto, or NCAA Football).
So a friend will bring over his XBOX and various accoutrements, and we'll make it a Rock Band party as well.
I've even thought to make it a NCAA Basketball Tournament-style "bracket" party, where we'll determine the best-tasting food eaten under the influence of Miracle Fruit as well as the best Rock Band band. That might a bit too structured, though.
Either way, I'm genuinely excited. It's nice to feel good enough about myself to want to throw a little shin-dig for my birthday this year (last year was another story). And I have a feeling that it could be a pretty memorable experience for all in attendance.
*Which, in case you need to know for some unknown reason or another, is the last day of February, save for leap years.
(And no, I get asked about it all the time, but I was born in 1981, so I was exactly 365 days too late to possibly be a Leap Year Baby. A fact that has haunted me my entire life.)
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
57. Bringing the whole family together.
My mom and dad both grew up--for the most part--amidst the mosquitos, Scandinavians, 10,000 lakes, and -67 degree winter temperatures of Minnesota.
After they got married, they moved as far away from all of that as they could. Which is where they raised me: amidst the legalized prostitution, gambling, nuclear waste, and 117 degree summer temperatures of Nevada.
Most of our extended family stayed in Minnesota. We got back that way about every two years as my brother and I were growing up, but since graduating from high school (now nearly 10 years ago...mercy), I've only been back to Minnesota once.
That's the one thing I've really missed out on in my life: having all my relatives--grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, first cousins once removed, etc--in close proximity. Especially my uncles. I'm pretty sure that I would be super-close with my uncles on both sides of my family were I closer in proximity to them; some of them are the funniest individuals I know, and every last one of them is a great guy.
So you can imagine how much good it's doing my heart to see Facebook bringing me in closer proximity--of sorts--with my long-lost family members.
My mom's side of the family, in particular, has started signing up en masse--in the last week or two, I've added three uncles, two aunts, and several cousins to my list of friends on facebook. I also have a handful of second cousins from my dad's side of the family on there as well.
It's made me realize how much I miss all these folks, but more than that, it's made me so very grateful. I now have a place where I can interact with much of my extended family on a much more consistent basis.
And, it doesn't involve schlepping out into -67 degree weather.
After they got married, they moved as far away from all of that as they could. Which is where they raised me: amidst the legalized prostitution, gambling, nuclear waste, and 117 degree summer temperatures of Nevada.
Most of our extended family stayed in Minnesota. We got back that way about every two years as my brother and I were growing up, but since graduating from high school (now nearly 10 years ago...mercy), I've only been back to Minnesota once.
That's the one thing I've really missed out on in my life: having all my relatives--grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, first cousins once removed, etc--in close proximity. Especially my uncles. I'm pretty sure that I would be super-close with my uncles on both sides of my family were I closer in proximity to them; some of them are the funniest individuals I know, and every last one of them is a great guy.
So you can imagine how much good it's doing my heart to see Facebook bringing me in closer proximity--of sorts--with my long-lost family members.
My mom's side of the family, in particular, has started signing up en masse--in the last week or two, I've added three uncles, two aunts, and several cousins to my list of friends on facebook. I also have a handful of second cousins from my dad's side of the family on there as well.
It's made me realize how much I miss all these folks, but more than that, it's made me so very grateful. I now have a place where I can interact with much of my extended family on a much more consistent basis.
And, it doesn't involve schlepping out into -67 degree weather.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
56. One of the most inspiring people I've had the pleasure to know in some capacity.
Joining several gazillion other people around the world, I watched with several friends tonight as the Pittsburgh Steelers picked up the franchise's 6th Super Bowl trophy in a 27-23 victory over the Arizona Cardinals.
Now, if it were under normal circumstances, I wouldn't really have a dog in that fight. I don't have any particularly strong connections to either Pittsburgh or Arizona. If anything, I probably would've rooted for the underdog Cardinals.
But these weren't normal circumstances. Not for me, at least.
An acquaintance from my days at USC plays for the Steelers, so I had to root for him and his team.
But to merely say that Troy Polamalu plays for the Steelers is akin to saying that Picasso painted a few pictures. In six seasons with Pittsburgh--since going as the 16th overall pick in the NFL draft--Troy has become a bona fide superstar, a defensive powerhouse who anchors a pretty tough Iron City defense.
That, and his madman's mane of hair that flows out from behind his helmet makes #43 a pretty recognizable--and ominous--figure to anyone who's seen even a few minutes of a Steelers game.
What I love about Troy, though, is the fact that he's not only a stellar, almost-certainly-Hall-of-Fame-bound football player, but also an all around amazing individual. While he comes off as a wildebeest on the field, off the field he's about the nicest individual you've ever met. Incredibly soft-spoken and humble. Generous with both his time and his money (my friend Chana is a Pittsburgh native, and has told me how much Troy's visits to her oft-hospitalized brother mean to her family). A dedicated husband and newly-minted father.
And--probably most encouraging for me, personally--he's an incredibly devout Christian, who takes his faith as seriously as anyone I've ever met.
I got to know Troy in a limited capacity while at USC: we were in the same writing class our junior year. But after class one day, we got to talking, due, in part, to the fact that we discovered that we shared the same faith (but also, if I'm being honest, because I was kinda starstruck). From that point on, we would often talk after class, often kicking around the idea of visiting each others' campus ministries (which sadly never actually happened).
In fact, one of my favorite memories from that spring was when--walking home from a different class one day--I saw Troy sitting on a bench in Alumni Park. He waved me over, inviting me to grab a seat and chat for a while before his next class. I don't remember what we talked about, but I do remember how incredibly gracious, humble, and friendly he was; that one of the biggest stars of the USC football team would invite a no-name guy like me to shoot the breeze with him for a while was so impressive and unexpected. But that's always how Troy seemed to be.
I lost touch with him pretty much after our Senior Year (this photo was taken after our Senior year Homecoming game), but I've been closely following his remarkable career in the NFL. I love that he's become such a tremendously successful NFL player. And I consider myself incredibly blessed to be able to say that I have known this amazing individual.
Congrats on earning your second Super Bowl ring, Troy. I am so incredibly proud of you!
Now, if it were under normal circumstances, I wouldn't really have a dog in that fight. I don't have any particularly strong connections to either Pittsburgh or Arizona. If anything, I probably would've rooted for the underdog Cardinals.
But these weren't normal circumstances. Not for me, at least.
An acquaintance from my days at USC plays for the Steelers, so I had to root for him and his team.
But to merely say that Troy Polamalu plays for the Steelers is akin to saying that Picasso painted a few pictures. In six seasons with Pittsburgh--since going as the 16th overall pick in the NFL draft--Troy has become a bona fide superstar, a defensive powerhouse who anchors a pretty tough Iron City defense.That, and his madman's mane of hair that flows out from behind his helmet makes #43 a pretty recognizable--and ominous--figure to anyone who's seen even a few minutes of a Steelers game.
What I love about Troy, though, is the fact that he's not only a stellar, almost-certainly-Hall-of-Fame-bound football player, but also an all around amazing individual. While he comes off as a wildebeest on the field, off the field he's about the nicest individual you've ever met. Incredibly soft-spoken and humble. Generous with both his time and his money (my friend Chana is a Pittsburgh native, and has told me how much Troy's visits to her oft-hospitalized brother mean to her family). A dedicated husband and newly-minted father.
And--probably most encouraging for me, personally--he's an incredibly devout Christian, who takes his faith as seriously as anyone I've ever met.
I got to know Troy in a limited capacity while at USC: we were in the same writing class our junior year. But after class one day, we got to talking, due, in part, to the fact that we discovered that we shared the same faith (but also, if I'm being honest, because I was kinda starstruck). From that point on, we would often talk after class, often kicking around the idea of visiting each others' campus ministries (which sadly never actually happened).
In fact, one of my favorite memories from that spring was when--walking home from a different class one day--I saw Troy sitting on a bench in Alumni Park. He waved me over, inviting me to grab a seat and chat for a while before his next class. I don't remember what we talked about, but I do remember how incredibly gracious, humble, and friendly he was; that one of the biggest stars of the USC football team would invite a no-name guy like me to shoot the breeze with him for a while was so impressive and unexpected. But that's always how Troy seemed to be.
I lost touch with him pretty much after our Senior Year (this photo was taken after our Senior year Homecoming game), but I've been closely following his remarkable career in the NFL. I love that he's become such a tremendously successful NFL player. And I consider myself incredibly blessed to be able to say that I have known this amazing individual.
Congrats on earning your second Super Bowl ring, Troy. I am so incredibly proud of you!
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