A Year of Thanksgiving

85. Two words:

2009-05-06T16:16:00.001-07:00

Itemized. Deductions.

Money is--oh so thankfully--not a major, pressing concern in my life. For the time being, anyway.

Thank you, Uncle Sucker.

84. I'm back in action!

2009-05-05T12:44:00.001-07:00

Wow, I went a whole month without posting? Really? This so-called "year of thanksgiving" is going to end up with more holes than the plotline of a recent comic book prequel movie (zing!).*

But I digress.

Regardless, I'm back! And so thankful for the fact that I've been on a real upswing. Everything just seems to be going incredibly well for me lately, and the past week or so has seen me in a constant state of near-giddiness (and in some cases, outright giddiness).

I feel energized. Kinetic. Frenetic. Manic, even. I have a new idea ever minute. A new possibility every hour. A new friend (or twenty!) every day. Things are moving, pieces falling into place, life--if only but for a spell--seems to make sense right now.

Get this: I'm even loving LA right now. When do I ever say that?

That said, the pendulum may (and likely will) swing to the other side any day now. So I'm doing my best to get things done and enjoy every second of this life-high.

In the coming posts, I'll share some of the specific reasons for my current state of euphoria (I want to spread this out, y'know? I might even have enough 'thanksgivings' to get me to post #100). But first, one of the major reasons, and the impetus behind my renewed blogging:

A friend hooked me up with an awesome new computer...for free!

If you'll recall, I had to go without a computer for some time. It's a long story, but essentially I sold it to one my kids in Kurdistan.

So in re-connecting recently with the guys who accompanied me to Iraq last summer, I told them of my sad estate as a technological transient. One of the guys had an immediate solution: he could score me a used iMac, one that--while in pristine condition--was no longer needed at his office.

And just like that, I now have a new--and ridiculously awesome--desktop to call my home!

I'm indebted to my friend Jon. What a great guy; what a blessing he is to me!

*If you still need help, the movie rhymes with "Wolverine."

83. Well said, Mr. CK.

2009-04-01T13:10:00.000-07:00

A friend recommended this recent clip from what we can now term as "Classic Conan" (i.e. when he taped his show in NYC). Comedian Lewis CK offers a pretty scathing (and hilarious) indictment of our culture's amazing lack of perspective when it comes to our various creature comforts.

All I can add is a hearty "Amen!" And hope to catch myself the next time I begin to complain about a minor inconvenience in travel or communication.

Everything is amazing, but nobody is happy. Indeed.

---

I've now been officially iBook-less for five days. I'll post whenever I can, but if you absolutely must have your daily fix of Dave (which raises doubts about your intellectual faculties, to be sure), you can keep up with me on twitter. I'll try to be more thanksgiving-y over there in the meantime.

82. An open letter to my favorite purveyors of iced cream.

2009-03-26T14:14:00.000-07:00

My dearest Ben and Jerry,

Did you ever know that you're my heroes?

Warmly,
dave

P.S. Why, you ask? A silly question, to be sure, but my top four reasons are as follows (other folks' mileage may differ):

1. Half-Baked
2. Karamel Sutra
3. Dublin Mudslide
4. Mint Chocolate Cookie

81. Yes, a "third place."

2009-03-24T10:18:00.000-07:00

I've previously mentioned some of the positive things that came about from a year and a half of thankless work as a Starbucks barista.*

There's another positive aspect, though--one that I'm almost loath to mention because it practically veers into the realm of corporate PR shill-ery.

See, I have this theory that a major component of Starbucks' busines model is predicated on the assumption that the company's ex-employees will become addicted to the coffee during their time as partners. And once they leave the company, they'll actually become daily customers.

It's a brilliant, evil plan, so dastardly that surely it could only have been hatched from deep within the bowels of ~~Hell~~ Seattle.**

I know of its power, because it worked on me. I succumbed. I became a Starbucks junkie, something I'm not altogether proud to admit.

Every day, I go to my neighborhood Starbucks--a good two minute walk from my apartment (a store which, despite that miniscule commute, was not even the one I worked at)--and order my usual: a boring old grande coffee (with room for cream and sugar).

So what's so wondrous about being manipulated through force of habit and addiction to spend $1.85 every morning, you ask?

Well, the truth is, it's become a nice part of my morning routine. And I'm probably not that addicted to Starbucks coffee; I could probably get coffee anywhere and be satisfied. It's really about the people at my neighborhood store--both the folks behind the counter and the regulars who frequent the store--who I enjoy seeing for a brief moment or two every morning.

I like how the store manager always calls me "David" (probably because that's what she saw on all the official staff listings when I was working for the company). I enjoy chatting with the various baristas--the funny Asian guy, the older British woman with a great, quintessentially British name (Moira), the cute redhead, the other cute redhead (yeah, yeah...call it Charlie Brown Syndrome), the guy who lives in my apartment complex, and so on.

Some of the customers still know and recognize me from my time as a barista (my old store is literally 250 yards away), so it's nice to see them and chat with them. With perhaps the exception of the crazy old man who gabs my ear off with long-winded stories that betray some deep-seated anger issues. But even then, seeing him is a bit comforting to me; I would miss him if he was no longer there.

Before my time as a barista, I would usually walk into the store, get my drink (formerly a carmel apple cider--until I came to realize how annoying a drink it is to make), say very little to the baristas, and usually walk out with little fanfare. Not that I was unfriendly, per se; I just didn't feel like I could make friends with people I saw for a minute or two at a time.

But something about wearing the green apron for a season changed me in a small way. Now I know almost every barista at the store by name. I enjoy chatting with them throughout my time at the store (whether for a minute or two or four a few hours), relishing those fleeting moments every day that I get to share with them.

It doesn't seem like they should matter, these fleeting moments of short and simple interactions. But they do. And I'm glad that I can now see this store as a place that offers some semblance of that much-desired sense of community.

*Well, not entirely thankless. I recently became friends with a girl from church who would frequent my store when I worked there, and she sent me a very sweet note the other day, expressing her appreciation for the way I apparently beamed happiness and warmth from behind the counter. Not that I entirely believe that (OK, maybe I do), but it was super gratifying to hear, nonetheless.

**I kid, I kid. Seattle's a great town.

80. No apples for the teacher, but still...

2009-03-19T21:56:00.000-07:00

...I have great students this round of classes.

They're fun, gregarious, interesting, willing to interact with me, and willing to work hard to get their test scores up. And that makes my job a whole lot more enjoyable.

79. A long-overdue musical discovery.

2009-03-18T13:11:00.000-07:00

I have my friend and former bandmate/songwriting partner Thom to thank for an important--and yes, long-overdue--musical discovery I made circa 2005.

Thom, a Brit who had just emigrated to the States with his new (Yankee) bride, gave me a proper introduction to the music of the Beatles.

See, I used to be a Beatles hater. For no reason other than the fact that they were just too damned popular. I would throw around the term "overrated" and refuse to give them a fair hearing.

But Thom gave me a few of their albums and asked me to give 'em a shot. Among those albums: Revolver, Rubber Soul, The White Album, and Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.

I quickly became a convert. And am ever so glad that I've come to see the light. The Liverpoolians' music has since become a regular fixture in my life's perpetual playlist. I'd even go so far as to say that much of my songwriting since 2005 has taken something of a McCartney-esque turn, from a more moody and melancholy sound (influenced primarily by R.E.M. and Springsteen) to something more bouncy and ebullient, if not just a little too schmaltzy and campy.

And since then, Sgt. Pepper's and Rubber Soul have catapulted their way into my top ten favorite records of all time.

So thank you, Thom, for showing me what a stubborn fool I had been and introducing me to a quartet of songwriters / musicians that, quite frankly, I had no business ignoring for so long.

78. Things that are fun:

2009-03-16T23:23:00.000-07:00

(In no particular order, but primarily based on empirical, real-life experience from the last few days)

- Rock Band. Have we discussed this yet?

- St. Paddy's Day parties with lots of friends, lots of green, lots of Guinness.

- Mustache March (which I, sadly, have not participated in yet; but seeing as how it's been three days since I last shaved, were I to choose to participate, I'd be well on my way to a full-grown beard in about 11 days--give or take a day--which I could then fashion into a mustache of my choosing for a self-imposed very limited time only.)

- Teaching the kids at Sunday School. Even though it means I have to miss the church service (and, to be perfectly honest, I was pretty cranky about having to miss my time of fellowship and worship this week), it's time well-spent. Kids remind me to be young and silly, especially when I need it.

(To wit: we discovered that the plastic IKEA trash makes a great djembe, and we rocked out a massive drum solo on it...until we inadvertently smashed a hole into it, ending our short-lived careers as drum circle-ists, and dashing whatever hopes we may have had of trying out for STOMP.)

- Wedding receptions. Don't get me started on weddings (they dredge up some serious fears in me, i.e. that I'm never going to see the day come for me), but this particular one I attended was simple and stunningly beautiful--the ceremony, at a little cove of gorgeous Pacific Ocean-front serenity in Malibu. An absolutely inspiring and heart-warming event. The reception involved food and dancing--both of which I enjoy immensely.

- Discovering new joints in LA, and new friends as well. The Griffin and The Bigfoot Lodge both won their ways into my heart this weekend with their charm, their unpretentious nature, and the fun/attractive/interesting clientele they attract. Plus, the Bigfoot serves this one drink with a flaming marshmallow on top--so you know it's gotta be a fun place!

- Starting a new Twitter-fad. Or so I hope. Look for it soon, Twitterinos: I call said fad Vanity License Plate Hunting.

(What? I'm a simple man. A simple, strange, man.)

- This crazy board game I played a few weeks ago with some friends.

- Tickling the polyurethanes. That is, my keyboard. Lots of interesting and fun little ditties have been produced in the last two weeks, most of which will never see the light of day, but still!

- Dreaming up the next big adventure of '09 with Austin: Hawaii. I've never been!

- Dreaming up the next big venture of my life with Jon: a start-up company. I've never done!

- Lots of sleep after what's been an insane ~~week~~ month of work. And an insane amount of fun, as it seems after re-reading this post.

77. In-apartment laundry facilities.

2009-03-13T13:40:00.000-07:00

And not just in the apartment complex. I literally mean in my apartment. For free (save for the water, power, and Snuggle costs).

I cannot tell you how wonderful not needing to hoard quarters constantly has been.

Though, to be sure, every one of my living situations since college has been the same way: in-home laundry facilities for the past five-and-a-half years! So really, this is just a continuation of such remarkable good fortune.

I hope the next place I wind up continues this streak of free washer and dryer usage. I hope I hope I hope.

76. iPhone apps are the haps.

2009-03-11T13:44:00.001-07:00

I'll get around to writing a big gushy post about the iPhone at some point, seeing as how the little bugger really has been something of a revolutionary device for my everyday life.

But for now, allow me to express my gratitude and appreciation for several of the third-party iPhone applications that have done wonders for me in the past few weeks. I'll list two in particular for which I'm extremely grateful.

I've recently starting twittering up a storm, thanks in part to Sarah's prolific example. That, and thanks to the switch I made from a less-than-bearably-lame iPhone Twitter app to a great (and free!) one called TwitterFon. Now it's one of my most-commonly used apps; 'cause, y'know, I have some weird fascination with the daily minutia of Shaquille O'Neal's life.

Productive? Maybe not. Addicting? Quite.

(The whole Twitter explosion in the past few months has been an interesting thing to witness, I might add. And I'm not quite sure what to make of it, other than to just try and keep up.)

I've also been doing a lot of songwriting in recent weeks, thanks to the various music-related opportunities I've been given lately--namely, my nascent musical partnership with Lauren. The iTalk app has been a fantastic app in this regard, as I can record song ideas I plunk out on the keyboard and then send them to her via e-mail.

And it's a nice way for me to listen to basic song ideas and chord progressions over and over in the car and come up with melody lines and lyrical concepts.

(None of which are really any good, mind you, but still.)

75. Long days of work.

2009-03-10T14:04:00.000-07:00

It's a crazy week of work for me.

Sunday was a 12.5 hour day. Yesterday I had to squeeze six hours of tutoring and 1.5 hours of driving into six hours. Wednesday I'll have to squeeze eight hours of tutoring and 1.5 hours of driving into...seven hours.

That's the one downside of SAT tutoring: on the week before the test, you're required to pull off metaphysically-impossible feats of scheduling. Considering high school students only have a small window of time outside of class in which they can meet for two hours, it's a rather tall order.

I told someone yesterday that it's times like these when I equate being an SAT tutor to being in the Mafia: you get the job done, no matter what you have to do, no matter how many deals with the Devil you have to make.

And anyone who sees me this week gets to hear my tired lament about what a physically exhausting and stressful week it is.

But: I'm working. And getting paid rather nicely for it.

And that's a tremendous blessing considering the troubling state of economic affairs we find ourselves in, now knee-deep into 2009.

So I'll probably continue to whine, moan, and complain about the insanity of the week. But I know full-well that it could be worse. A lot worse.

...

In some not-so-thanksgiving-like news, regarding my absence from this blog for the past five days or so: my computer is now officially in a comatose state. So, as I mentioned a few weeks back, I may be taking something of an on-again/off-again hiatus while I secure a reliable source of computing and internet access (the iPhone--for all that I love about it--is admittedly not the world's greatest blogging tool, so I've been reticent to update from it).

That has certainly added to this already-stressful week.

I promise I'll try to keep up with some semi-consistent posting, though.

74. 'Cause they're so much fun to write on:

2009-03-05T00:39:00.000-08:00

Dry erase boards.

Seriously. One of my favorite things about my teaching gig.

(What? Can't a guy write about something that's not so knock-your-socks-off, oh-my-gosh-my-life-is-kinda-awesome-sometimes once in a while? Huh? Can't he?!?)

(Also: more photos from the party are popping up over on Facebook.)

[Photographic evidence to back up #73.]

2009-03-03T01:14:00.000-08:00

73. A wonderful birthday.

2009-03-02T17:39:00.003-08:00

I had 75 people show up to my birthday party on Saturday night.

Seventy-five people. That still kinda blows me away.

The Miracle Fruit, the Rock Band, the great location that I thankfully managed to score just a few days prior (no way could 75 souls have squeezed into my apartment!), and the wonderful cast of amazing characters from various parts of my life here in LA: it was all unbelievably great.

And that's not just my opinion; it seems to be the overwhelming consensus amongst the attendees. That, too, is a source of immeasurable happiness for me--that my friends had a good time, made some connections with one another (silly as it sounds, I love seeing my friends become facebook friends with each other), and enjoyed the strange new experience of "flavor tripping" with me.

I'll post pictures once I receive them from the various folks who took 'em.

What an evening. What a blessed 28-year old I am.

72.5 A hard-fought year, 2.

2009-03-02T17:22:00.000-08:00

(I apologize in advance: it's a long one.)

Where was I? Oh, right. My year at age 27.

When I turned 27 last February the 28th, I was a complete wreck. Still reeling from the emotional fallout from the end of the relationship that brought me back to LA; still reeling from the untimely end of my car just three weeks earlier (which, in a deliciously ironic twist, happened on my way to shoot a scene for the VW doc in which I was to dramatize my life in LA before the Bus, roaming the city sans car).

The only thing that brought me any joy was watching the new season of "LOST" unfold on TV every week.

It didn't get much better for a while. I was working like a madman (mostly tutoring, though also still as a lowly barista). But all of the money I made had to go towards rental cars--rental cars needed in order to keep working (again, such delicious irony). Plus, my credit score was about as high as a hockey game score, and debts were stacking up. I was on a sinking ship, financially-speaking.

Relationally, it simply wasn't happening, either--and that didn't vary much throughout the year. I got stood up on what would've been my first "official" date in well over a year. Then my therapist tried to set me up with one of her other clients--which was not only pretty obscenely unethical, but also wound up as another notch in the ol' rejection belt (nice form of therapy you got there, lady).

And about 9 different girls (including my most recent ex-girlfriend) got engaged over the course of the year, most of whom I'd had at least a passing interest in over the years. Nine! Like salt in the wound, it was.

The VW documentary, the project I'd committed myself to staying in LA for--despite the difficulty with which it now took me to muster up the passion to work on--went from tenuous but positive progress for much of the year, to where it's at now: a near standstill.

And on top of all that: my guy lost the election.

So in a lot of ways, it was a pisser of a year, so to speak.

But, somehow I managed to make it through. And in the midst of all the frustrations and setbacks, some wonderful things came about for me:

- I worked my way up through the ranks of my company (thanks in large part to my parents' help with the whole car situation), so that within a year of my hiring, I was--and still am--considered one of its top three teachers. While SAT prep is not a long-term career option--I liken it to an actor waiting tables--it's still extremely gratifying to be considered "the best" at what you do, and this company has, by and large, shown me a lot of appreciation and support to that end.

- I was able to return to Iraq for a few weeks, work with my former students, visit with old friends, and just commune with my little adopted corner of the globe once again.

- I got to visit four amazing global cities that I've always wanted to see: London, Vancouver, Istanbul, and Copenhagen.

- I went to many concerts over the year, seeing many of my favorite bands on the planet right now, including: R.E.M., The National, Of Montreal, Spoon, Coldplay, Modest Mouse, MGMT, The Broken West, Andrew Bird, Fleet Foxes, Bon Iver, and Phosphorescent.

- I found a church home in LA, which has been a source of many remarkable blessings, not the least of which is the amazing group of friends I've made there.

- And perhaps most importantly, I was able to get much of my financial house in order. I haven't made it out of the woods just yet, but I've made a lot of progress and expect to continue doing so.

So maybe 27 wasn't an amazing year in any particular sense, but a lot of wonderful things still came my way. And perhaps the overarching theme of this year in my life is that I managed to tough it out when the odds (mostly financial) were kinda stacked against me. And that's something to be proud of.

It was a good year of growth and maturation. Which isn't to say that now, at 28, I'm the epitome of adulthood: my room is still as messy as it ever was, I'm neglecting work that needs to be done (including the work of cleaning up after my monster party from Saturday...but more on that later), and I bought both breakfast and lunch from nearby eateries instead of cooking for myself.

But I'm thankful for the growth that I have witnessed in myself. And am hoping that at 28, I will reap some of the benefits of this growth and the hard work that enabled it.

72. A hard-fought year, 1.

2009-03-01T08:24:00.000-08:00

(Originally written on February 27th. Not posted until now because I've been running around like a madman these past few days.)

Today is my last day as a 27-year old.

I'm not sure how I feel about it yet, except to say that it was a hard-fought year, and that I'm proud I made it through.

It certainly wasn't the year I envisioned having at 27. Granted, no year since college has turned out like I'd envisioned--for better or for worse--but still, 27 was a weird one in that I'm not quite sure how to define it.

The other years--perhaps because there's now some distance and the objectivity that comes from hindsight--are easier to define. Each has a clear storyline, a theme, a sense of direction and movement.

Twenty-three was hard because I was still adjusting to post-college life, adjusting to life as a New Yorker, and adjusting to the void in my life left in the wake of the demise of the relationships with my two closest friends. But in the end, it turned out to be a pretty amazing year, due, in part, to my blossoming relationship with the City of New York.

Twenty-four was a beautifully strange year in which I fulfilled several long-standing dreams: namely, to play in a bona fide rock band, and to teach overseas.

Twenty-five was split between my relationship with the people of Northern Iraq and my relationship with a girl back home. In the end, the girl won, and I moved from Iraq back to New York, and from New York back to LA to be with her.

Twenty-six was a continuation of the relationship with the girl, which led me towards a wild new journey with a documentary project featuring the VW Bus I bought on eBay for roughly $800. When the relationship with the girl ended, I moved all of my energy and focus into the documentary project; but, seeing as how the two were inextricably linked in my life, I'd subconsciously lost the will to continue on with the project, a realization I've only come to accept in recent months.

So that brings us to this past year. Which I'll talk about in the forthcoming Part 2.

71. The liturgical calendar.

2009-02-26T12:33:00.000-08:00

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.

70. A less-than-ideal career move.

2009-02-25T23:54:00.000-08:00

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.

69. Friends who bake.

2009-02-24T01:11:00.000-08:00

Enough said.

68. "And summers turn so fast, like everything I knew..."

2009-02-23T01:42:00.000-08:00

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.

67. "Towards a more mirthful inbox."

2009-02-22T10:01:00.000-08:00

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.

66. Concert Co-Attendees

2009-02-20T00:53:00.000-08:00

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):

65. Post-Valentine's Day Bliss.

2009-02-18T17:03:00.000-08:00

~~One of my favorite things~~ My favorite thing about Valentine's Day:

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.

2009-02-18T01:54:00.000-08:00

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.

63. Inspiration in the face of defeat.

2009-02-17T01:15:00.000-08:00

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.

~ A Brief Intermission ~

2009-02-13T11:38:00.000-08:00

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.

[An addendum to #62]

2009-02-10T12:31:00.000-08:00

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.

62. A chance to play music again.

2009-02-09T23:55:00.000-08:00

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.)

61. A lasting legacy at USC.

2009-02-08T22:42:00.000-08:00

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.

60. Rain, rain, you're okay.

2009-02-07T23:52:00.000-08:00

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.")

59. A partner in crime.

2009-02-05T15:34:00.000-08:00

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.

58. Birthday plans in place!

2009-02-04T00:31:00.000-08:00

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.)

57. Bringing the whole family together.

2009-02-03T02:20:00.000-08:00

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.

56. One of the most inspiring people I've had the pleasure to know in some capacity.

2009-02-01T23:12:00.000-08:00

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!

55. Dear Italy:

2009-01-29T11:11:00.000-08:00

Thank you for the many, many wonderful things you have given to the world, including--but not limited to--gnocchi, chianti, and caffè lattes.

Oh, and Pavarotti, Vespas, bocce ball, and the Popemobile, for that matter.

Please know that I fully intend to visit you sometime soon to thank you in person.

Ciao bella,
dave

54. One of my favorite things, period.

2009-01-28T14:15:00.000-08:00

Hot showers.

And after living in a region where a combination of hot water, good water pressure, and clean water was something of a rarity, I'm all the more thankful to be in a place where I can have a good, hot, refreshing shower pretty much whenever I want.

I already had one this morning. But I'm kinda tempted to take another one right now.

53. From Kurdistan with love.

2009-01-26T23:51:00.000-08:00

I got the sweetest package in the mail the other day.

It was a Christmas gift from one of my kids in Kurdistan; she gave it to one of our school's American staffers who returned to the U.S. for the holidays and in turn mailed to me once she returned Stateside.

The gift? A plush (read: Beanie Baby-esque) toy puppy with wings. Weird, but very endearing.

Even more endearing, though, is the incredibly sweet letter this student of mine wrote. Though a bit of a troublemaker when I had her in my 5th grade math and music classes, this girl has always been a real sweetheart to me (when I was back in Northern Iraq in 2007, she and a group of her friends invited me to lunch at the American-style cafe in town for Pepsi, pizza, "humburgers," and "Kantaqi," aka Kentucky Fried Chicken).

My favorite part of the letter:

"God bless you and your family and ohh Dear God give Mr. David a cute wife and two beautiful childs, a boy and a cute girl!! We love you ♥"

I miss and love these kids so much, and often feel the pangs of guilt over not being able to be back over there in a long-term capacity. I often feel a sense of shame when I think about my kids; that I've let them down, that they might perceive my absence as an indicator of some unwarranted antipathy towards them.

Nothing could be further from the truth, of course; I love my Kurdish kids dearly and think of them on a daily basis.

Which is why getting a wonderful little surprise like this package does my heart so much good. Despite my fears and thoughts to the contrary, I can know that they're thinking of me as well.

52. "Music can noble hints impart."

2009-01-25T23:29:00.000-08:00

Music can noble hints impart,
Engender fury, kindle love,
With unsuspected eloquence can move,
And manage all the man with secret art.
--Joseph Addison

Here's a random trivia fact about me: I'm one of those weird breeds of music obsessees, in that when a song inextricably lodges itself into my psyche, I will invariably play that song on continuous repeat for at least a good hundred times or more.

It happens every couple of months. Somehow, a song can manage to connect with and speak to me in some loftier realm of abstract understanding (a realm to which music is the seemingly lone access point for me), and I simply won't be able to listen to it enough.

It happened again this week.

"So Far Around the Bend," a new song by one of my favorite bands of late--The National--was leaked to the internet as part of a month-long promotion for what looks to be a fantastic new benefit compilation, Dark Was the Night.

I discovered it on Tuesday, which was--for all intents and purposes--a very trying day for me on a personal level. I was doing work at a nearby coffeeshop when I downloaded the track. And listened. And listened. And listened some more.

Musically, it's a bouncy, upbeat track with lush, sentimental instrumentation--a bit of a departure for the Brooklyn band, perhaps--but still very understated and full of yearning, two common elements in The National's work that have indelibly drawn me to the band.

And then the bridge of the song enters. A carefree, almost rapturous refrain: "And there's no leaving New York."

Given the context of the lyrics, the line could possibly be meant as a bit of a downer (as in, the protagonist who's "so far around the bend" is never gonna get to leave NYC). But given the glorious exuberance of the instrumentation at that moment, I can't imagine that line representing anything but a certain lovestruck giddiness. That particular line grabbed me and compelled me to listen to the song again and again.

And after repeated listens (even an hour or so later, now in the car and fighting traffic on the 405), it nailed me: a bit of moral clarity that the song's music and lyric, together, had unearthed in me. It was as if I were living out a scene in a cheesy Hallmark Channel movie, a moment in which the main character of the film finally comes to a profound realization of his true love:

I belong in New York City.

It's something I've known pretty much since I left for LA at the end of 2006, but more and more, I've grown to feel sort of resigned to the fact that I'll be in LA indefinitely.

But hearing the song--and the line that forms the emotional core of it--brought out in me the strong emotions I have for the City that Never Sleeps: wonder, joy, love, inspiration. Sentiments long-since buried under the layers of complacency and stagnancy I've built up from living in LA for two years now.

I need to be back in New York. I don't know when that will be, but I've been re-inspired to make it happen sooner rather than later.

(And hopefully, I can inspire some of my friends to make the move with me; I love NYC, but I've grown quite attached to some of the folks I share life with here in LA.)

What a prescient song. So far around the bend, indeed.

And for what it's worth, it's Sunday and I still haven't stopped listening to it on perpetual repeat.

51. You know it's a good day when...

2009-01-25T03:25:00.001-08:00

...you've only been in your apartment long enough to eat a pizza for lunch (Pitfire!) and take a quick power-nap.

I find that I'm most content with life when my apartment's primary function is to be the place I lay my head at night (or even briefly during the day). A good day, for me, is one in which I'm out and about for most of it.

And with that, I'm going to bed. It's 3:30, and I need to get up in 6 hours for church. Another busy day awaits, and I'm excited!

50. Going back to the island.

2009-01-22T23:34:00.000-08:00

After eight months of waiting around, wandering aimlessly in the proverbial desert with nothing to live for, my life was once again re-enriched last night with the return of my favorite television drama.

Which is a weird (if not slightly-hyperbolic) statement, because--save for the show that has had a remarkable influence in my life--I don't really get all that excited about TV shows.

Then again, LOST is not your typical TV show.

I didn't expect--nor even want--to jump on the bandwagon. I missed the first three seasons, which, when dealing with a serial drama such as LOST, means something of an uphill battle for the late entrant.

But during the hiatus between seasons 3 and 4, I got caught up on the first three seasons--thanks to the brilliant concept of TV show season DVDs (simply one of the best ideas of the past 10 years), and my friend, former roommate, and LOST-sherpa, Jonathan.

It didn't take long before I was hooked on the show about a group of plane crash survivors marooned on a mysterious island.

The show's constant barrage of plot twists and turns make for maddeningly engrossing suspense. The layers of meaning and the ever-growing mythology that surrounds the show make for constant theorizing and great conversation with other fans of the show.

But it's the show's characters--characters we've come to know and love for four seasons now--who make the show the wonderfully engaging and irresistible bit of entertainment that it is. (For what it's worth, my favorites are: Sawyer, Desmond, Ben, Locke, Juliet, and Kate...though probably just because she's hot.)

It's the perfect little bit of escapism, and I'm glad to have it back in my life. I'll be quite sad to see the saga come to a close in roughly 16 months from now.

49. "Hail to the chief, he's the chief and he needs hailing."*

2009-01-22T09:56:00.000-08:00

(This post was intended for Tuesday, January 20, 2009.)

OK, one more political thought, and then I'm moving on to more important matters in my book.

That inauguration was something, wasn't it? What a powerful and historic moment to witness, even for those of us who didn't vote for Barack Obama. What a wonderful and profound progression this country has made in just over 40 years since the passage of the Civil Rights Act. What a lovely ceremony it was.

And yes, what a hat, Aretha.

I love the pomp and circumstance of the presidential inauguration (and not just this one in particular, but in general). How it serves as a celebration of our enduring experiment in democracy. How it reminds of our country's founding ideals. How it represents--and has represented for our nation's entire (albeit relatively short) history--a peaceful transfer of power from one political party to another, a notion that is still very much an oddity throughout much of the world.

I'm always reminded of that last aspect when the cannons are set off for the 21-gun salute. For all of the shortcomings of American governance (and believe me, I know there's a lot), it's still quite a marvel that regime change--so to speak--in our government isn't accompanied by military coups or the like.

I attended the inauguration in 2004 (guess that's not too hard to admit now that the cat's out of the bag). It's something I recommend everyone do at least once in their lives. Some friends and I attended several of the inaugural balls, witnessed the swearing-in, watched the inaugural parade, and had a grand ol' time as we nearly froze to death during a chilly January week in Washington, D.C.

So I'm grateful for the presidential inauguration; for the significance it carries with it every four years, but also for the added significance of this particular one on January 20, 2009.

My heartfelt prayers and well-wishes are with the new president.

*The title of this post is courtesy of the 1996 comedy My Fellow Americans

48. Thank you, #43.

2009-01-21T15:20:00.000-08:00

(This post was intended for Monday, January 19, 2009.)

I generally don't like to discuss politics.

It's not that I don't like politics. I do...in fact, I love following politics. But I find that my views are in the clear minority amongst my peers here in LA (and in NYC). And though I enjoy and appreciate robust, thoughtful, and civil discussion, my few forays into political discourse have usually been greeted with a sort of knee-jerk reaction of dismissive condescension ("How can you be so stupid to support politician X or policy Y?") or insults, both of which only serve to preempt any meaningful and open-minded sharing of ideas and beliefs.*

I say all of that to preface the statement I'm about to make--a statement which I know full-well is shared by a infinitesimal minority of Americans--in hopes that you won't belittle me or think entirely less of me or my intellectual capacity for holding this belief.

(Deep breath...here goes nothing:)

I'm thankful for George W. Bush.

(Wow...that wasn't so bad, after all.)

Yes, he's been far from perfect; yes, his administration has made its share of mistakes; and yes, there's plenty of reason to differ about the prudence of some of his decisions. But on the whole, I think he's done an admirable job, one that I contend will be given a much fairer and favorable assessment as time passes.

Again, I know: it's a tremendously uncommon viewpoint--one that an even smaller number of people who actually hold it are likely to admit in public--but I know I'm not entirely alone in holding such an uncommon belief.

I appreciate his courage in these unexpectedly tumultuous and trying times; his willingness to make many difficult and unpopular decisions; his integrity and class in the face of rabid, relentless, and unprecedented character assassination (has anyone else in history been so frequently and unfairly compared to Hitler?); and his unsung work as a humanitarian. Considering he's the guy about whom it was once famously and glibly--and again, quite unfairly--said "doesn't care about black people," Bush has actually done more to alleviate suffering in Africa than any other American president.

(And if that's not quite enough for good ol 'Ye, Bush did appoint the first African American to be the country's top diplomat to the world, and then followed him up by appointing...the first female African American to the post. It's entirely possible that a President Obama may not have come about in 2009 if the country hadn't gotten used to Secretaries of State Powell and Rice these past eight years.)

I'm grateful for George W. Bush, and for his service to our nation. And it's my hope that others--who, while perhaps glad to see an end to his controversial administration--can take even just a moment to think charitably about the man.

Thank you, and God bless you, President Bush.

*This, of course, is not the case across the board; I have had numerous heated yet respectful discussions with one of my closest friends who views things from the opposite side of the political spectrum.

Getting more and more behind, I know.

2009-01-21T03:23:00.000-08:00

Sorry, I know--I'm now a few days behind in posting. It's been a couple of weird, incredibly trying days, and though I know exactly what I plan to write about for yesterday, today (well, technically yesterday now, which makes the first yesterd...ah, never mind), and tomorrow, I just haven't had the energy. Or the words, really (and I don't want to do a disservice to the several posts I have in mind).

I'll get to it, though. Promise. Very likely tomorrow, as it should be a pretty chill day, by and large.

In the meantime, your prayers are coveted and much-appreciated. Drop me a line if you want to know the reasons why.

47. Emerging

2009-01-19T03:04:00.000-08:00

I think one of the best feelings an individual can experience is when he finally emerges from an illness that's been plaguing him for even a few days.

In some cases (especially a cold), the illness can dissipate so slowly and stealthily that you don't even initially recognize that it's more or less gone.

But when you do, oh, what joy! What invincibility you once again feel! What boundless possibilities for the future! I can actually get things done this week! I can be social!

(Well, if it weren't for the limited financial resources...and that pesky, recently-recurred melancholy that apparently didn't get the "cease and desist" memo from a few weeks back.)

Updated: I take that back. Being sick didn't really stop me from being social. Just responsible.

46. The cure for what ails you*, in two words:

2009-01-17T23:47:00.000-08:00

Rock. Band.

*And by "you" I mean "me." But probably you as well.

45. I think I'm really starting to figure out my "type."

2009-01-17T02:32:00.000-08:00

In no particular order:

Super-sweet. Gregarious. Full of warmth and charm. In short, a real people-person.
But. Also full of sass, spunk, moxie. A bit unpredictable. A bit adventurous.
Intellectual, but not intimidatingly so.
Selfless and caring. Deeply compassionate. Motivated to help others whenever possible.
A creative type. A dreamer. Someone who can inspire me and be inspired by me.
Absolutely, breath-takingly beautiful. Both inside and out.
A total romantic. Someone who'll never grow tired of me opening the car door for her.
Patient. Gracious. Relatively unswayed by material possessions.
Someone who prefers to take the road less-traveled by.
(A road which, hopefully, runs through NYC at some point.)
Someone who loves knowledge, good food, spontaneity, people, and--above all--God.

(I think that about covers it. It's nice to finally have a pretty good idea...or so I think. Now, the obvious questions: 1. Is she even out there? and 2. If she is, what would she possibly see in a guy like me?)

44. Considering the events of the day...

2009-01-15T22:36:00.000-08:00

...I'm quite thankful for the required pre-flight safety demonstrations on commercial flights throughout the world.

Annoying as they can be, those announcements/demonstrations surely helped to avert tragedy today.

A P.P.S. to the open letter to Steve Jobs

2009-01-15T15:46:00.001-08:00

All kidding aside, get better soon, Steve. The world would not be the same without you.

Yours truly,
A long-time admirer

43. Comic relief

2009-01-14T23:17:00.001-08:00

I had one of the worst days in recent memory today.

I won't get into the details, but it was a terrible day on so many levels: emotionally, physically (I'm sick...again), career-wise, work-wise (yup, I consider the two unrelated), etc. One of those days when it seems like the universe is just conspiring against your very existence.

So thankfully, when the tension and stress of the day reached its apex at approximately 6 pm, God did what He so often does in situations like these:

He provided some comic relief; both at my expense, and for my benefit.

(I will warn you in advance; the forthcoming story might be a little too much personal information for some of you. You've been warned...or enticed.)

So I was sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the way out of town to give a presentation for work. The freeway was as slow as I've ever seen it--my iPhone's Google Map was telling me it would take 2 hours to go 18 effing miles. There was no way I was going to make it to the presentation on time, and--since it had already been a terrible, terrible day for me--the stress of knowing I would be late for an important event due to the awful (and unexpectedly slower-than-usual) traffic just made me absolutely livid.

I pulled off the freeway and started taking surface streets, expecting those would be much quicker. Except the surface streets were backed up too. I couldn't win. There was no way I'd get there on time, so now I was on damage control, hoping to make it there not too terribly late.

I had already been driving for two hours, and had polished off a 24 oz. Citrus Stinger from Robek's at the start of the journey. So I was dying to use the bathroom at this point, but knew I had to race to the school and thus didn't have time to stop for a pee-break. I kept soldiering on, traffic still as ridiculous as ever, until I realized that my bladder was about to burst.

So being the stubborn yet resourceful individual that I am, I decided to take care of business then and there. While driving.

I waited 'til I got to a stoplight so that I could focus on one thing at a time. I looked for a receptacle to use; the Robek's cup was the first thing I saw so I grabbed it, removed the lid, and attempted to position myself properly in order to work out the logistics of this rather Sysyphian task. I didn't have much time, and--being a tall guy--didn't have a whole lot of room to work with, so I stayed basically seated, managed to get the two intervening layers of clothing out of the way, and started to position the cup in a way so that gravity would be working with me, not against.

(All of this, mind you, is without any real care or concern for potential onlookers in the vehicles on either side of me. At this point, I needed to do what I needed to do.)

I couldn't get into a good position, though, lest I sit higher up and completely expose myself to my fellow motorists. So I kept toying with the cup, looking for the best angle to place it at, since I couldn't hold it at a perfectly 90º angle.

And just as I figured I'd found a decent-enough angle, I felt it:

A cold glob of the Robek's smoothie that had remained in the bottom of the cup spilled out all over my business.

And then the light turned green.

So I drove with the Citrus Stinger (thankfully not an entirely-accurate name) in my pants for a good minute, until I managed to find a napkin from the backseat, clean myself off, and continue on in the awful traffic.

But pretty much from that moment on, the day got a lot better. I mean, it couldn't have gotten any worse, right? I pulled off the road a few minutes later to use the cup in a more upright position, and then continued on to the event, which, as it turns out, everyone was late in getting to, so I wasn't in trouble at all.

In truth, I think it was just what I needed to relieve the tension of the day: a moment to laugh at myself. 'Cause once a bad day just gets to be that absurd, then it's almost no longer a bad day.

It becomes a bit comical as well.

42. An open letter to Steve Jobs.

2009-01-14T10:04:00.000-08:00

Steve,

Hey! Former Apple employee / iCult clergyman Dave here. Lovin' the iPhone 3G so far--nice work with that! I was a bit hesitant to jump on the iBandwagon at first, but I'm glad I capitulated; it's definitely one of the best things ever! And that Shazam application? Outta control, man...outta control.

But all glowing comments about Apple products aside, I'm actually writing to gush over another one of your brainchildren:

Pixar.

Last night I re-watched Ratatouille with a friend who's on her way to Paris for a week or so, and man oh man, that movie totally brings you to the City of Lights. Visually, it's absolutely stunning--as are all Pixar flicks--but it's also so good at transporting you into the sensory-laden world of food that you begin to taste the sumptuous food in your mind. And not only that, but it's so imaginatively well-written; you fully buy into the absurd notion of a rodent--a rodent!--becoming a master chef in one of Paris' top restaurants.

Top notch, man. Really, truly scrumtrulescent.

And that's not even my favorite Pixar film; it's probably behind The Incredibles and Monsters Inc. for me. I loved Wall*E, and I hope it gets a Best Picture nod this year.

But really, as far as I'm concerned, Pixar can do no wrong.

So, just know that whatever formula you stumbled across in that maniacal and manic brain of yours, well, it's working. Please don't ever stop making films like these. I swear my animation allegiance to you guys--I've sworn off Shrek and all the other Dreamworks dreck for good. And if you and Disney are ever at odds again, you know whose side I'll be on (and it's not the side with the stupid mouse as the corporate spokesperson).

Sincerely yours,
A tremendous fan

P.S. All fanboy raving aside, I was actually quite heartbroken to hear about one of the new features in iMovie '09. Turns out your team of crackpot Cupertino geniuses included an "animated map" feature, which is something I've been devising in my head for a year or so now. And, ironically enough, just days prior to the iMovie '09 unveiling, I'd made friends with some folks who might've been able to help me get the project off the ground. But noooooo, you and your technocratic thugs had to come and steal that idea from right underneath me. Well, I'm not through with my idea yet, and if I can get some funding and find someone who knows how to program in Javascript, I'll be coming after you, Steve-o. Just you wait, fruit man.

41. We go waaaaaay back.

2009-01-12T23:41:00.000-08:00

I did a massive cleaning of my side of the room this past week, the sort of cleaning that turns up objects that have gone missing for years (among some of the items I found: a gift card for Guitar Center, a book I meant to read about 8 months ago, the Beach Boys' "lost" album SMILE, and Jimmy Hoffa).

I also thumbed through several notepads I'd held on to (as we've already established, I'm a bit of a packrat, and notepads are ripe with juicy, mundane details about everyday life). One of the notepads contained a pretty cool page I'd almost forgotten about.

It's a handwritten list of names copied from a website that has since inexplicably disappeared from the internet. The website was an extensive genealogy of the Cloud* family (my mom's family) in America; the page I'd hand-copied from the site was a generation-by-generation accounting of my own ancestors, dating back to 1502.

I mourn the disappearance of the website from whence this list came, but I'm very glad to have rediscovered this page in my notebook. I've always been a bit fascinated with genealogy--whether my own or others'--as it provides a very humanizing and personalizing element to the cold, hard facts of history; a clear picture of how close we are to events we consider to be in the ancient past.

In my case, I've come to find that I'm only five generations removed--meaning my mom's grandfather's grandfather--from Nathaniel Cloud, Jr., who fought for the Union Army in the Civil War; his grandfather, very likely, fought in the Revolutionary War. You only need to go several generations further (a total of 11 from me) to find William Cloud arriving in America with William Penn, sometime around 1660.

(1660...that's nearly 350 years ago. Kinda blew my mind when I first saw that. It still kinda does.)

I don't think there'll be any trouble keeping accurate and detailed records of genealogy from this day and age on. If anything, our descendants will have too much information about us. ("Whoa...did you know Great-Great-Great-Grandpa Dave once enjoyed something called 'Guitar Hero'? He mentioned it on his blog once." "Guitar Hero? Blog? What are those things?" "Uhh...I have no idea. Probably something necessary for his survival in such a primitive society.")

But it's a pretty cool thing to currently be able to trace my family tree back several hundred years--considering the incomplete and often scarce records from the 19th century on down.

Not everyone can say that. (Not that anyone is particularly dying to say that.)

*Truth be told, I've often toyed with the idea of using "Cloud" as my last name in a pseudonym, swapping it in for my weird, oft-mispronounced/misspelled Swedish last name.

40. Awareness

2009-01-11T23:52:00.000-08:00

Tonight our church screened a documentary film about the rampant human trafficking that exists in the world today.

The film was--I'm sad to say--not very well done* (high on production value and shameless self-promotion, very little in the way of narrative, pacing, focus, and overall cohesion), but the subject matter was powerful enough to transcend the weak filmmaking. In the end, the film succeeded in its primary goal: to raise awareness about the sex-and labor-slave trafficking industries, including those operating right underneath our noses here in the good ol' US of A.

I came out of the screening mindful of several things to be grateful for.

As I alluded to in my bad haiku from a few nights back, I am incredibly, inexplicably fortunate to have been born into a pretty enviable set of circumstances, when compared to others throughout the world and throughout history. Seeing the scenes of young children forced to work as soldiers, slaves, or prostitutes--and knowing that I will never, ever know anything remotely similar to those horrific life experiences--made me remember just what an incredibly favorable hand I have been dealt.

I'm grateful, too, that there are people who--having been dealt the same hand as I--are actively working to bring an end to human-trafficking, including an inspiring group of such people within my church. I'm glad they created the opportunity for me and many others to see a film like this; it certainly opened my eyes, whereas before I didn't really think slavery was all that big of a deal anymore. (Turns out, it's even worse now than it was in the 19th century.) As I drove home tonight, I started to think about the potential human trafficking that takes place in my neighborhood; I started to consider my patterns of consumption (food, clothing, electronics, etc), and wondered how much these patterns cause me to unknowingly contribute to the misery of others.

Not that any of this can or will change overnight, but I'm thankful for having been made aware of this tragic issue, and now knowing about it, can decide what I should do in my own sphere of influence to help put an end to human trafficking.

As G.I. Joe used to say, "Now you know, and knowing is half the battle."

*I will say that--among the numerous interludes featuring performances by well-known rock bands (as well as...the director of the film)--I was blown away by a rendition of Radiohead's "Exit Music for a Film" as performed by members of Nickel Creek.

39. A new year's resolution (of sorts).

2009-01-11T00:17:00.000-08:00

It's late, so I don't necessarily feel up for teaching a lesson in semantics. Which is fine, since most of my readership (which means all three of you) would likely not learn anything from said lesson that you didn't already know.

But. When I say this post is about "a new year's resolution," I say "resolution" to mean "resolve; to be resolute." Not quite the same as the way we've come to understand the word as it is traditionally associated with New Year's (which, for me, would be as follows: res•o•lu•tion--noun: 1. a promise made to myself for the umpteenth year in a row that this year, this year, I'll actually get into the gym on a consistent basis and put on a good 15 pounds of muscle...only to invariably give up by mid-March.")

I'm coming into 2009 with a greater sense of determination than I had in 2008.

Maybe it's due to the fact that I made good on my promise to do something unique on the first of the year, and ended up jumping into a freezing cold body of water in an amazing Canadian city I'd never been to before. I don't want to use the term "empowering" to describe the event, 'cause that would be obnoxiously over-the-top. But it did allow me to immediately start the year off with a sense of accomplishment, however small as it may have been. The bet made on New Year's Eve certainly hasn't hurt, either; in that case, I know that I absolutely have to make good on the task set before me, because, hey--money's on the line.

Combine those events with some recent conversations and readings, and the result has been a great overall feeling about the new year. Even just ten days in, I've noticed that I'm being more proactive and assertive, procrastinating slightly (very slightly) less, and expecting to make 2009 a very productive and successful year both personally and professionally.

Contrast that with a year ago: I came into 2008 on a real emotional low--despondent, severely depressed, filled with a numbing sense of meaninglessness. And, as I came to realize the other day, that ominous sense of debilitation sort of carried on throughout the year. I basically let the year "happen" to me. I didn't take charge of anything, really; whether it was in dating relationships, in my living situation, or in my various creative endeavors, I passively allowed things to happen to me--good, bad, or otherwise--without any real motivation to change my circumstances whenever I could.

Looking back, it was a difficult year, but also--quite likely--a necessary year. Having gone through it, I'm now ready to have a year that is--in many ways--quite unlike it.

So in the past few days, I've finished a massive cleaning of my room, taken small but significant steps forward on a few creative projects I've been toying around with for a year, stepped outside my comfort zone and ended up meeting some great new folks, and re-dedicated myself to completing the VW documentary. And on Monday, I'm hitting the gym...for reals.

I honestly don't know if the current surge of energy and drive will last. I hope it will, but I also know myself well enough to know that the slightly-manic yin of my personality eventually gives way to the slightly-depressive yang.

But even if the depressive side eventually comes to the fore, it's very possible that I may have found the resolve that I lacked for much--if not all--of last year. And for that, I'm incredibly grateful.

Maybe next January 1st, I'll walk on hot coals.

38. That's the way we do in the age of Web 2.0.

2009-01-10T03:14:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite things in life happens to be meeting new people.

(I'd say this happens for me on a fairly regular basis, though not as often as I'd perhaps like.)

I especially enjoy meeting people at friends' parties, as was the case tonight.

And--I kinda hate to admit it--but nowadays, the thing I love almost as much as (or perhaps as much as) meeting new people?

The facebook-adding that invariably takes place after the event.

37. To those of us from USC, he's simply known as St. Pete.

2009-01-09T01:32:00.000-08:00

Tonight, as the BS-riddled debacle that is the BCS produced yet another somewhat-dubious national champion in NCAA college football* (oh, right: congrats, Gators), I'm going to say a few words about a man I am tremendously grateful to be associated with through my standing as an alumnus** of the University of Southern California:

Pete Carroll.

See, when I first enrolled at USC, Trojan Football had fallen on hard times. We were a traditional college football powerhouse whose glory days had long since become a thing of the past. In fact, my freshman and sophomore years were downright embarrassing for us Trojans--two of the worst seasons the school has ever had. The only redeeming factor was that in both years we beat our cross-town rival--ucla--salvaging otherwise-pathetic football seasons.

But then Pete Carroll was hired to take the reins of the program. And after that (well, and a shaky first year), everything turned around. My senior year, we finished the season 11-2, and were ranked 4th in the nation upon demolishing Iowa in the Orange Bowl.

And since then, we've never ended a season ranked lower than that.

In the span of six years, we've won a pair of national championships and have come this close to winning or playing for the national title in several other years. Under Coach Carroll, USC has indisputably been the most dominant football team of the 00's, creating a hegemony that has made our school's "glory days" a thing of the present...and foreseeable future.

But that might not be what I love most about Pete Carroll. I love that he's such a joy to behold; his every step on and off the field is filled with an infectiously-enthusiastic, fun-loving, and kinetic energy that is very likely unparalleled by that of any other football coach, ever.

After watching our ridiculously lopsided victory in the Rose Bowl last week, Austin and I spent hours singing the praises of St. Pete. Talk of him possibly being the "best college football coach ever" is now moot--a foregone conclusion, we decided; the real debate now should be whether or not Pete Carroll is the "greatest American ever."

Consider the following pieces of evidence from a recent "60 Minutes" broadcast, which showcase not only Pete's success as USC's coach, but also some of his extraordinary work off the football field:

I am incredibly proud to be associated with this guy. The Trojan Family is so very fortunate to claim such a talented, upbeat, and, yes, boyishly good-looking individual as one of our one.

*No, I'm really not bitter. Under the current system, Florida is the rightful National Champion. I'm just pretty sure that--outside of Gainesville--you'd be hard pressed to find someone who doesn't truly believe that there's still some unfinished business from this season of college football. Florida, USC, Utah, and maybe even Texas could all make a case for being the #1 team in the country at this point. That certainly wouldn't be the case if a playoff system was created...

**Not to mention, I had the distinct pleasure of interviewing him on my college talk show back in the day.

36. Creature comforts - another bad haiku.

2009-01-08T01:53:00.000-08:00

Warm with health and greens
Room and car and friends, secure
Lucky one percent.

(Sometimes nothing overly amazing happens in a given day. Which is good, because there are a lot of unremarkable things to be thankful for, and they need to get some love on this blog at some point.)

35. On travel:

2009-01-07T00:34:00.000-08:00

“Travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living."
-- Miriam Beard

"No one realizes how beautiful it is to travel until he comes home and rests his head on his old, familiar pillow."
-- Lin Yutang

34. Well, I do happen to come from Nevada.

2009-01-06T00:28:00.000-08:00

I love a good wager, bet, or dare made with a friend.

Now, I'm not one to bet on sporting events. Or dogfights. (Or even catfights, for that matter.)* I'm talking about bets or dares that have purpose and meaning behind them; ones made between friends with the intended goal of pushing one another, challenging each to improve in some aspect of life.

Maybe we Americans should replace our tired old New Year's Resolution with a New Year's Challenge. Or New Year's Wager. I--like most people, I'm sure--am terrible at keeping resolutions. I rarely break a 30% completion rate. But that might well change if I have someone challenging me and holding me accountable for my performance (often with a monetary reward/punishment as added motivation).

As mentioned before, Austin and I made up one such wager on New Year's Eve, and promptly invited our friend Jonathan to join us in the yearlong bet (he gladly agreed). It's a bit preposterous, I suppose, but it'll be a good motivator for the three of us. Without going into any of the salacious details, I will say that $50 is potentially on the line each month for the three of us, and if that doesn't motivate me to improve in a particular area of life (told you, I'm not revealing it), I don't know what will.

Plus, a ridiculous bet is a LOT of fun, both to plan out and to carry out. Austin and I probably laughed our heads off for a good hour--and several more since--as we drafted up and discussed elements/rules to include in our Bet of 2009. And I can imagine we (along with Jonathan) will have many more hours of enjoyable--if not playfully heated--discussion throughout the year.

Maybe come the end of the year, I'll let you know what the bet is. If you're lucky, that is.

* I have been known, however, to bet on the occasional card game and presidential election once in a while.

33. Diff'rent strokes (sorry, not the actual TV show).

2009-01-05T01:32:00.000-08:00

I went to a church today that was interesting--and quite a bit different from the ones I've called home.

I like the experience of going to other churches. Even if I don't entirely agree with their theology or focus, it's good to see the way other Christians do things.

And I guess this is a good value for life in general: to explore places, people, food, activities, and ideas that are quite unlike those you're used to. Because you will always end up learning something.

32. For sharing a portion of the journey with me.

2009-01-03T23:12:00.000-08:00

If there's one thing about the nature of life that I've learned over the last five or six years, it's that God puts people in our lives for certain reasons and certain seasons (I know; that rhyme scheme sounds way too much like a pastor's mnemonic sermon device).

The relationships we form throughout our time on Earth are--more often than not--transient and fleeting. The majority of people who play any sizable role in each of our existences will only do so for a (relatively) short period of time, save for the small handful that will be lifelong fixtures.

While I once found this to be an incredibly disheartening reality, I've since found the silver lining: God brings people into our lives for very specific and significant reasons--usually to bless and encourage us along the way.

So I've learned to take a certain bittersweet joy in knowing that I have been blessed by the friends, colleagues, mentors, and yes, girlfriends, who--even if our time together was ultimately short--have been there to serve as fellow sojourners, sharing a portion of life's journey with me.

I'm thankful that during all of 2006 and much of 2007, I had one such fellow sojourner who walked very closely with me; who continually provided me with encouragement, support, and love as I made my way through some very difficult and oft-confusing paths. I'm thankful for the things I learned from her, and that in her I had someone whom I could love, protect, and serve. I'm grateful that we were attracted to the goodness and beauty we found in each other, and were able to inspire more of it in one another.

Even though much of what transpired in our post-relationship phase was quite difficult and painful for me, I'm ultimately grateful that she played a significant role in my life. And that we were able to share a portion of our respective journeys together.

And so, on this day that she becomes a wife, I wish her all the best. I pray for peace, hope, and joy for her and her new husband as they continue to sojourn together, now and for as long as they both shall live.

Congratulations, Julie.

31. Inspiration.

2009-01-03T02:00:00.000-08:00

I got a lot of it today:

I hung out with some amazing and talented people. Toured around a stunningly beautiful city (again, Vancouver) and got to see glimpses another awe-inspiring one (Seattle). Enjoyed some great food. Visited an unreal corporate headquarters (Austin and I got a late night tour of the office building his friends work out of--for a little software company called "Microsoft"). Spent the evening seeing amazing talent and creativity being used in wonderful ways. And to top it all off, tonight I'm staying in an insanely cool house just outside of Seattle tonight.

Yeah. I'd say the second day of 2009 kinda knocked my socks off.

30. Now legitimately a day or two behind in posting...

2009-01-01T23:32:00.000-08:00

...but I am SO glad to be in Vancouver! Such a stunningly beautiful city. I'm definitely falling in love with this place.

I'm incredibly glad to have come here for a different sort of New Year's. Because, truth be told, I'm not much of a New Year's person.

See, I've always kinda hated the idea of celebrating the end of one year and start of another. Don't get me wrong--I pretty much love any excuse to celebrate--but the idea of celebrating the passage of time always kind of depresses me. I have a very acute (and perhaps unhealthy) sense that time is fleeting, and so celebrating the end of a given year fills me with a bit of existential dread.

That, and I've always found New Year's Eve celebrations to be utterly predictable and pedestrian--the idea of going to another boring New Year's Eve house party could very well be considered my fifth level of Hell.

So on January 1st of the newly-completed year past, I made a decision: I would forego the traditional New Year's Eve celebration, and in lieu of the ball-drop-watching / champagne-sipping / charades-playing / party-blower-blowing monotony, I would focus on New Year's Day. That, too me, was where the real potential lay. I decided that something exciting should take place on the first day of the given new year; for me, that something would have to involve doing something I've never done before. What better, more symbolic way to kick off the new year than by embarking on a brand new adventure, if even just for the day?

My trip here to Vancouver--a city which is winning me over like crazy, by the way--is that inaugural adventure. Last night's prime activity involved going to a hoppin' restaurant (with, if you'll allow me, a ridiculously gorgeous--and super-friendly!--waitstaff) for some amazing food and drink. Our main conversation over the course of the evening was regarding the details of a bet that Austin and I were making for ourselves in 2009. Fairly chill--kinda the way I like my New Years' to be.

And on today--the first day of 2009--the adventure, the never-done-before activity, involved jumping into the freezing cold water of the English Bay wearing but a pair of swimtrunks. It's Vancouver's New Year's Day tradition: several thousand people strong braved the near-freezing temperatures and residual snow to take part in the city's 89th annual Polar Bear Swim.

It was invigorating. It was a bit comical. And it was definitely something I'm glad to have done, if only because it's something I've never done before.

It wasn't a long adventure--the entire ordeal took about 20 minutes (which gave us enough time to catch the second half of USC's resounding victory in the Rose Bowl). And it wasn't particularly adventurous, at least not for me. But it's a start: a great start to the new year, and the start of what I hope will become a long-standing tradition for myself.

29. The people you share life with.

2008-12-31T04:53:00.000-08:00

I helped one of my best friends pack up and move today.

Tony--who I met during my days at USC--and his wife Carrie are moving back to his hometown of San Jose to be closer to his family as they prepare to have their first child, due in June. I spent much of the day helping him lift heavy furniture and load up the U-Haul, which they'll set out in tomorrow morning (or later this morning, rather).

Helping a friend move is, as the late, great Mitch Hedberg used to say, not as easy as helping a friend stay put ("I just go over to his house and make sure that he does not start to load his [stuff] into a truck."). I certainly would have preferred to have helped Tony stay put; in addition to its more difficult nature, helping a friend move is perhaps one of the most bittersweet favors you can do for someone. You're glad to help them, to be there to see them off as they venture out on the next leg of their journey--but it's not something you necessarily relish doing.

I know Tony is doing what's best for him and his family, but I'm sad to see him go. He has been a constant and steadfast source of inspiration, encouragement, and companionship in the two years since he called me up and invited me to move back to LA to live with him and Charlie (one of my other best friends).

I could probably bore you to tears by listing the myriad reasons why I'm thankful to have had Tony as a near-everyday presence in my life these past few years. So I'll just list five of my favorite reasons:

5. His impeccable sense of style and fashion--which, even though he's let me borrow clothes from time to time, hasn't really rubbed off on me (that's ok, as my good taste in music hasn't rubbed off on him, either).

4. As my workout partner, he's encouraged me to get into the gym way more often than I would have if left to my own devices (it's sad, but when he moved to a different apartment complex six months ago, I found myself going to the gym less and less, until my muscles nearly atrophied back to the shapeless mush they once were).

3. His strong work ethic and discipline, it staggers.

2. Our many long evenings of soul-baring conversation--whether over In-N-Out burgers, glasses of wine at Miceli's, over a game of pool, during a workout session, or at the batting cages--in which we would just share about the victories and defeats of life (which usually boiled down to two specific areas of life: work and girls).

1. The inspiring way Tony lives out his faith: the seriousness with which he approaches his daily spiritual walk, his integrity and honesty, and the tremendous amount of time he spends in prayer and supplication. Again, it staggers.

(Even at just five items, that's a pretty enviable list of qualities, wouldn't you say?)

And so, I write this on the last day of 2008, knowing that the start of a new year is supposed to fill one with a sense of optimism and anticipation. And while I am excited for 2009, I'm also welcoming the new year with the disheartening realization that something significant will be missing from my day-to-day experience in this new year.

I will miss you, my friend.

28. The 'Rents Are Alright.

2008-12-29T23:49:00.000-08:00

I've got a pretty amazing set of parents, I must say.

They're just so incredibly supportive and selfless, always ready and willing to help me out whenever necessary (and even when unnecessary). They've helped me stay afloat in several would-be capsizing scenarios this past year (which were, not surprisingly, financial), but they even look to help me out in the simplest of ways as well (a couple cases of Mountain Dew Code Red whenever I come home, an extra sandwich at lunch yesterday, help scanning a photo this morning).

I know I don't tell them nearly enough, but they're pretty wonderful.

27. A People of Thanksgiving

2008-12-29T01:13:00.000-08:00

Going back to my home church in Nevada is always quite the experience for me.

For starters, it's a very intimate church setting; the congregation never exceeds 40 people, much smaller than my home church in LA. Because of that, it's also ridiculously informal--conversations amongst the congregates are commonplace during the church service itself.

Sure, I grew up in this church, but returning for a Sunday morning worship service never fails to provide a healthy dose of culture shock, reminding me that I'm no longer in slick, image-conscious, youth-oriented Hollywood. On one hand, it's a bit aggravating for me ("Can't they actually plan out a worship service for once instead of winging the whole thing?" I often think); on the other hand, it's a bit refreshing.

But it can also be downright inspiring: my home church is filled with people who utterly put me to shame in their ability to give genuine, heartfelt thanks.

A portion of the service is always devoted to the sharing of praises and prayer requests, and as was the case today, the worship leader opened the time by suggesting that everyone take a moment to think about some of the blessings they've experienced over the past year. What followed was a wonderful few minutes in which a litany of praises--both great and small--was lifted up: an elderly woman beating cancer, a drug addict making significant progress in staying clean, families able to reunite for the holidays, job stability in tumultuous economic times, a working vehicle, a good school system.

I must say, I was extremely impressed and encouraged by the faith and gratitude on display this morning.

It's not that I'm not grateful or thankful; after all, the whole point of this blog is to ruminate on the things--both great and small--for which I'm grateful. But I find that I tend to allow the disappointments of life to overshadow the blessings.

I mean, here we are, days away from 2009, and though I know that 2008 brought with it so much for me to be grateful for, I can't help but feel like the year was one giant letdown, of sorts. Certainly one might make the case that, for me personally, 2008 was indeed a disappointment on a number of fronts (relationally, occupationally, creatively, and just with my life direction in general). But in doing so, one might neglect to see what a year of growth, challenge, and increasing stability it was for me.

Despite the difficult and trying circumstances that the past year has often found us in (or perhaps in spite of them), there is still so much to be genuinely grateful for. I'm glad today brought with it a chance to see a real exercise in thanksgiving, a practice I give a lot of lip service (or should I say, *ahem*, blog service) to, but in truth still have a long, long way to go in fully understanding.

26. Sometimes that Y-chromosome is a Real Godsend, 1.

2008-12-28T00:45:00.000-08:00

Total amount of money I spent on haircuts in 2008: $40.

(That's roughly $20/haircut. Which isn't to say that my hair was only cut twice in '08--just twice by professionals. During the summer, I shaved my head, a low-maintenance and low-cost luxury that I consider myself incredibly lucky to be able to take advantage of.)

25. An Open Letter to Kohl.

2008-12-27T00:14:00.000-08:00

Dear Kohl,

You wouldn't know me from Adam, but I just wanted to drop you a quick line to say, "Nicely done on that store of yours."

See, although I was born and raised in rural Nevada--which means Wal-Mart, Target, and JCPenney's loomed quite large in the retail experience of my formative years--I've since, sadly, become a bit of an urbanite snob.

Oh sure, I still drop by the local Target* or Best Buy now and then, but I do so with an air of haughty disdain, as though I have debased myself by mixing with the bourgeoisie suburbanites of LA County ("There's no way this store could possibly carry the new Bodies of Water album; no one who shops here would have the faintest clue as to who they are," or so goes the arrogant line of thinking when I peruse these stores for music).

And when it comes to clothing, I'd much rather go to the independent boutiques...or, failing that, stores like H&M that, at the very least, have the veneer of haute couture.

So you can imagine how I felt in the two or three instances when I dropped in to one of your stores. Until today, that is.

I walked in with my family--having literally just dismissed the store as a "poor man's Target,"--and found myself immediately drawn in to a rather sizable and (to my pleasant surprise) decent men's section. When it was all said and done, I'd picked out a hat, some jeans, and a diamond-print** sweater (2009 is apparently going to be the year my style either goes really geek-chic or goes waaaaaay retro, like back to the 40's--I haven't really decided which yet). That, and I almost picked up a great USC t-shirt...but the price wasn't to my liking, even with the Black Friday II sale pricing.

All that to say: Kohl, it's a long way from Fifth Avenue, but I gotta tell you, I like the cut of your store's jib.

Sincerely,

A Slightly-Reformed Shopper

P.S. Is Kohl your first name or your last name? I didn't really take the time to figure it out beforehand, so I just blindly assumed it was the former. I'll feel slightly stupid if it actually is the latter--if that is indeed the case, feel free to add a "Mr." to the several times I address you in this letter. I may be a retail snob, but I do have some manners.

*This is actually a little bit of a white lie. I quite love Target, actually, and don't mind a stroll through Best Buy now and then. I was just using a little--what's that called? Oh, right--artistic license.

**I've also been informed that the kids apparently call this "argyle."

24. "For unto us a child is born."

2008-12-25T23:24:00.000-08:00

I have so many things to be thankful for on a day like today.

Getting to spend time with the fam. Good friends, some of whom I even heard from today (including my closest Iraqi friend!). Gifts, food, financial stability, winter-y weather, the chance to come home for a week, lots of great TV mini-marathons (I think I just got myself hooked on "House, M.D."--such a good show!), the collective lip service we pay to the notion of "peace on Earth, goodwill to men"...all that jazz.

But at the heart of all of the fun and festivities of the day, I, we, remember the little boy born in a lowly stable, around back behind an inn in a quiet outpost village. His birth, a divine paradox: seemingly insignificant, and yet profoundly seismic and monumental.

Like a child who takes a quick, dismissive look at a newly-opened present and, with brow furrowed, tosses it aside, asking, "That's it?", I often find that I, too, am not fully-appreciative of this wondrous gift. Chalk it up to my lack of maturity and understanding, my own selfish desires and sense of what's "best" for me, my inability to get past the simple, unflashy packaging.

The truth is, I all too often go for the flashy, the gimmicky, the promises of countless hours of fun--only to find that in the end, they don't ultimately provide lasting contentment and joy. All too often, I forsake the gift of gifts and look for other things to fill the void. And even on a day such as this--with all the gifts, and family, and food, and TV--it's easy to forget the remarkable life-, world-, universe-altering event we commemorate, an event that renders us forever changed, and forever renewed.

My hope is that I will mature to the point that I never again look at the gift and ask, "That's all?" But rather, that I would continue to approach this day with an ever-growing understanding and appreciation of the significance it holds.

It truly is a day for thanksgiving. For reasons both great and small, sure, but ultimately: because it is the birthday of a King.

23. One Solitary Life.

2008-12-24T23:24:00.000-08:00

"He was born in an obscure village, the child of a peasant woman. He grew up in another obscure village, where He worked in a carpenter shop until He was thirty. Then for three years He was an itinerant preacher.

He never had a family or owned a home. He never set foot inside a big city. He never traveled two hundred miles from the place He was born. He never wrote a book, or held an office. He did none of the things that usually accompany greatness.

While He was still a young man, the tide of popular opinion turned against Him. His friends deserted Him. He was turned over to His enemies, and went through the mockery of a trial. He was nailed to a cross between two thieves. While He was dying, His executioners gambled for the only piece of property He had: His coat.

When He was dead, He was taken down and laid in a borrowed grave.

Nineteen centuries have come and gone, and today He is the central figure of the human race. All the armies that ever marched, and all the navies that ever sailed, and all the parliaments that ever sat, and all the kings that ever reigned, put together, have not affected the life of man upon this earth as powerfully as this one solitary life."

--J.A. Francis, "One Solitary Life" (originally penned in 1926)

Merry Christmas to all of you. May this Day of Days be a beautiful and blessed one for you and your loved ones!

22. More Love Letters: To the perfect woman.

2008-12-23T23:20:00.000-08:00

(My sincerest apologies to Messrs. Simon and Garfunkel.)

Mrs. Crocker
to the tune of "Mrs. Robinson"*

And here's to you, Mrs. Crocker,
Jesus' birthday treats are what you know (whoa whoa whoa)
God bless you please, Mrs. Crocker
Christmas finds us gladly gaining weight
Hey hey hey. Hey hey hey.

We'd like to know a little bit about your recipes.
We'd like to bake some gifts to give our friends.
Of all the things we have to do around this time of year
Spending time with you could be the very best.

And here's to you, Mrs. Crocker,
Jesus' birthday treats are what you know (whoa whoa whoa)
God bless you please, Mrs. Crocker
Christmas finds us gladly gaining weight
Hey hey hey. Hey hey hey.

Hide 'em in the hiding place so Santa doesn't see
Then we'll have some left on Christmas morn.
Snickerdoodles, peanut blossoms, and some toffee squares
I'd eat a thousand, and still keep coming back to your...

Cu-cucina, Señora Crocker
Jesus' birthday treats, delicioso (whoa whoa whoa)
God bless you please, Mrs. Crocker
Christmas finds us gladly gaining weight
Hey hey hey. Hey hey hey.

Sitting on a sofa poring over your cookbook
Thinking you're about as perfect as they come
It don't matter if you are a made-up corporate shill.
You know the way to this man's heart.

Where have you gone, Pilsbury Doughboy
Your crescent rolls could help us celebrate (yeah yeah yeah)
What's that you say, Mrs. Crocker?
The doughboy's stuff's not up to snuff today.
Hey hey hey. Hey hey hey.

*The actual lyrics, if you so wish to take a gander for comparison's sake.

A postscript to "Love letters."

2008-12-23T02:07:00.001-08:00

Having just written, posted, and now read the last entry, let me just say: I promise to make up for such sap-ridden dross by writing some less-than-treacly posts for the next few days.

Penance for giving in to my sentimental nature.

21. Ghosts of Christmases Past (Or: Why I never throw away old love letters.)

2008-12-22T23:48:00.000-08:00

In a corner in what used to be my bedroom (it's now the guest room, natch), there's a stack of several Rubbermaid tubs. Each of these tubs is filled to the brim with newspaper clippings, stray photos, publications from events I was involved with in high school or college, movie ticket stubs, plane ticket stubs and postcards, and the holy trinity of old-fashioned personal correspondence: cards, notes, and letters.

All of which hold no real economic value*, of course, but do hold tremendous personal value for me. Especially the notes and letters.

Hi. My name's David T. I'm a packrat. A nostalgia junkie. A sucker for sentimentality.

Tonight--as I end up doing every time I come home--I cracked open one of the tubs and rummaged through its contents. This particular one happened to be from 1997-1999, a pretty significant period in my life: the last few years of high school, graduation, freshman year at USC...and the first girlfriend.**

As I dug deeper into the tub, I stumbled across all the old love letters my high school sweetheart and I used to write to each other (or, rather, her letters to me--mine weren't there, for obvious reasons) during our short-lived long-distance romance; the early ones were all handwritten, some were typed, and ones from when we actually started dating in early '99 were printed out. Seems a new type of letter-writing really caught on around that time (something the kids used to call "e-mail").

I read through all the handwritten letters, including the first one in which she said she would come up to Nevada from Arizona and be my date for homecoming (I'm pretty sure that a portion of that letter was memorized verbatim for several years of my life). I breezed through the stack of printed-out e-mails; they contained so many boring details from everyday life, so I basically skimmed for the juicy parts.

I marveled at her beautiful handwriting, smirked at seeing some of her grammatical/spelling issues (considering her age at the time, they were rather minimal), and both smiled and cringed at the over-the-top language, the excessive and reckless use of words such as "forever," "dreams," "best friend," and the grandaddy of 'em all: "love."

We threw a certain three-word expression around like it was a catchphrase from an SNL sketch. Even well before we were officially dating (which, understandably, made for a confusing year of high school). Reading those letters tonight, I found it a bit silly, almost absurd, how often she wrote the well-worn phrase to me. And yet, every time I read the phrase or something akin to it--now nearly ten years after the fact, mind you--a stupid little smile would quietly register across my face.

See, somewhere along the way, I think I forgot what it feels like to be so deliriously, foolishly, head-over-heels in love.

And though this relationship didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell of working out, it's nice to be able to go back now and revisit that place and time when I was a bit more naive and a bit less cynical. When love seemed to render everything else trivial ("All you need is love," as they once sang). When things seemed so damned certain and simple. When I was much bolder in matters of the heart, without the fear of heartbreak constantly holding me back, timid and scared.

Moreover, it was an instructive read. They say your first relationship indelibly shapes future relationships, and through these letters I could clearly see the patterns that emerged: the types of girls I tend to fall for (sassy, smart, and independent), the way I approach relationships (in typical hopeless romantic / overly-obsessive fashion), and the problems I tend to deal with (the perpetual white noise of jealousy and insecurity issues, the start of which I actually managed to pinpoint back to that awkward year with the glibly excessive use of that loaded catchphrase).

It's healthy to spend some time with the past once in a while. Not to dwell on it or wish it was different, but to cherish the happy moments; to see and emulate the faith, hope, and love that we may well have since lost; and to learn from our mistakes.

That's not to say that keeping every ex-flame's letters is a good idea, per se. A few years ago, I brought home a girlfriend who had the misfortune of seeing one of these cards prominently showing out the side of one of these transparent bins, and I in my infinite stupidity and unfortunate lack of sensitivity couldn't seem to understand what the big deal was. There's certainly an argument to be made for tossing old love letters out, and it'll definitely be a consideration once marriage enters the picture.

But I do think there's something worthwhile in holding onto some to serve as reminders: reminders of who we once were, who we've since become (thankfully), and what our hearts were once capable of--and can be capable of again.

*I guess I'm going to have to live an outstanding, noteworthy life, if only so that these objects of my packrattery (or, as I like to call them, my voluminous troves of personal history) can someday be renamed "artifacts" and find a permanent home in a museum devoted to me. At least that's what I tell my dad to keep him from throwing the boxes out every year.

**Epilogue: she got married, something every last one of my exes has gone and done. But we'd remained friends and stayed in touch up until a couple years ago, and then she fell off the face of the earth. To my knowledge, she hasn't joined the known world on facebook or myspace.

20. No place like home for the holidays.

2008-12-22T00:02:00.000-08:00

It's true, you know?

Starting tonight, it's the four of us in my immediate family, together again in the only place I've ever celebrated Christmas: our home in the illustrious "Gateway to Death Valley."

I know not everyone gets the opportunity to go "home" for the holidays, and my heart goes out to those who, for whatever reason, aren't able to make it back home to be with their families during this time of year. And so, in light of that realization, I'm all the more grateful to have had the opportunity to come back home every year, especially these last five in which I've lived and worked in the so-called "real world." It's something I admittedly take for granted, getting to come home and be with my family every 25th of December.

It's nice to be back. Even though I know full well that I'll be bored to tears come the 26th.

(This year's return is made all the sweeter, too, knowing that a year ago, my family was rather unsure as to where we would be spending Christmas '08.)

19. Transferable Skills

2008-12-21T00:36:00.001-08:00

I really didn't want to work today.

I was feeling utterly miserable when I woke up this morning, and though I was able to cancel my two tutoring sessions for the day, I couldn't cancel an SAT workshop I had been scheduled to give.

So I dragged myself out of bed this afternoon, made my way over to enemy territory (ucla's campus), and proceeded to give a 90-minute presentation to a classroom full of high-achieving 10th and 11th grade minority students from all around Los Angeles.

It went over exceptionally well.

I surprised myself; in part, because I didn't think I had it in me to speak for 90 minutes, especially in my sad state of (ailing) affairs. But also because I was able to constantly maintain the high level of energy that I usually have when speaking to a group of people. And because (if you'll allow me to brag a little) I kept the group of students entertained. I landed lots of jokes perfectly--some of which I'd perfected over the past year in my weekly classes, others completely spontaneous, off-the-cuff asides--to the sweet sound of genuine laughter.

It was a good feeling to know that, even hampered by a nagging cough and irritated throat, I can still engage a large group of high school students, get them laughing, keep them interested in what I have to say, and basically speak extemporaneously for an hour and a half and not sound like a complete idiot.

I really enjoy my job as an SAT tutor and teacher. But I like to equate it to waiting tables; as good as I seem to be at it, I certainly don't plan on doing this gig forever. It's really just a job to pay bills while I'm pursuing my real passions. But I like that I'm picking up what I consider to be transferable skills: namely, getting up on a stage, of sorts, and basically performing. I like that I'm learning to engage people, to entertain them, motivate them, inform them, inspire them.

I'm learning to perfect* the art of public speaking.

And as I left the conference today, I got this great little inkling, this little blurred glimpse of the future, this sense that told me: you're going to be using this somewhere down the road, just you wait and see.

Just you wait and see.

*"Perfect the art?" That might be going a bit too far too soon...how about, "Not be a disgrace to the art," first?

18. Seems like a great place to escape to.

2008-12-20T01:14:00.000-08:00

I'm booking a New Year's trip to Vancouver, BC.

Why, you ask? Well, for starters, 'cause I heard it's absolutely stunning. And photos like these only serve to confirm that notion:

(This shot comes from a series of breathtaking shots taken in 2008, as collected by the Boston Globe.)

Vancouver has been, for some time now, the next Great North American city to cross off my list. It just sounds perfect: a bustling, vibrant city intimately enveloped in the beauty and grandeur of its surrounding environs.

I'm in need of a change of scenery, if only for a few days. And Vancouver strikes me as the perfect getaway from LA. From what everyone tells me, I won't be disappointed by it.

It's funny to think how we tend to idealize far-off places. We often set up lofty expectations for what are essentially unknown quantities in our otherwise-known worlds, because, hey, these getaways seem to be the perfect antidotes--the perfect escapes--from the places we're stuck in now. In the song "Boston," the lead singer of (adult contemporary) rock band Augustana sings about leaving California and moving to Boston (he claims--contrary to what TV's Cheers would have us believe--that it's "where no one knows my name"). In Jonathan Larson's rock musical RENT, the young bohemians of New York City's run-down Alphabet City sing of leaving the rats and roaches of the East Village and heading out to Santa Fe (a detail which, when I someday meet Larson in that great big Life Cafe in the sky, I'll have to ask him about: Johnny, I know it's a complete 180º from NYC, but as someone who grew up in the Southwestern U.S., I ask...really? Santa Fe? Why not Santa Barbara?).

I have a few of these (perhaps over-) idealized getaway places myself, places that I'm dying to see at some point in the next few years. Biloxi, Mississippi. Savannah, Georgia. Boston. (Sure, why not?)

And, yes, Vancouver, BC. I'm excited to see if it really is as amazing as I imagine it to be.

17. Of Montreal on Letterman tonight

2008-12-19T03:10:00.001-08:00

Not to take anything away from today's item of thanksgiving, but you should know this wasn't originally my plan for Thursday's post.

See, I had a topic picked out and ready to go (which I'll probably save for tomorrow--tomorrow now being later today). But I've been sick in bed all. day. long. And as such, I've had neither the energy nor the desire to do much writing today.

What I did have energy for, though, was staying up to watch one of my favorite bands--Of Montreal--perform on Letterman tonight.

I saw the band play at the Palladium in Hollywood about a month ago, and let me just say: the show was easily the most bizarre, most surreal stage spectacle I've seen in my entire life. And also one of the most enjoyable concert-going experiences I've ever had.

I could go into further detail, and may do so at some point in the future. For now, though, know that the operative word for oM's stage show is bacchanalia.

A portion of which the nation at large, thankfully, got to see tonight under the lights of the Ed Sullivan Theater. Enjoy!

(For any interested parties, Of Montreal will be playing LA--ok, ok, Pomona--again on February 19th. I'm definitely planning to go see 'em again; anyone care to join me?)

16. The one TV show that I can honestly say changed my life.

2008-12-17T20:36:00.000-08:00

On December 17th, 1989--nineteen years ago today--the FOX network premiered an animated series about a dysfunctional family living amongst their fellow yellow-skinned denizens in an average town in middle America.

400+ episodes, numerous awards, and a feature-length film later, The Simpsons is, incredibly enough, still on the air. And while I consider myself a die-hard fan, I stand firm in my belief that the venerable series is sadly now well past its sell-by date; Homer Simpson and his brood hit their zenith in the mid-90's--from Seasons 3 to 8--and it's been rather painful to watch how far the show has since fallen.

Still, The Simpsons is far and away my favorite TV show of all time.

I started watching the series semi-secretly in '92, against my parents' wishes, of course (funny, I can't think of anyone growing up in the 90's whose parents allowed them to watch the show--seems there was a near-universal parental bias against it). Even at a young age, I was drawn in by the humor, intelligence, and endearing nature of the show. I got it.

And it's true: I can honestly say that watching the show in my formative years helped shape my life. Consider:

1. I learned a great deal about American culture from the show, thanks to its satirical social commentary and constant barrage of references to pop culture and history. I'm sure The Simpsons was never meant to be educational, but I probably learned--and retained--more from watching the show (and subsequently consulting the über-geek websites that dissect the references) than from the various history classes I've taken over the years.

2. A great deal of my sense of humor--and a good bit of my personal lexicon--is derived from The Simpsons. Apart from impacting the way I find and express humor in a particular situation or conversation (which is something I couldn't even begin to explain), the show is, for me, a common point of reference in conversation. The frequent phrase, "That reminds me of this one episode of The Simpsons..." has made more than one friend of mine roll their eyes in tolerant bemusement.

That, and the Simpsonian expressions of "No foolin'?," "Mercy!," "tom-foolery," "scrum-diddly-umptious," "Me fail English? That's unpossible," "Que lastima!," and the distinct sing-song of Nelson Muntz's "Ha ha!" have all permeated my vocabulary over the years.

3. This is where The Simpsons' influence in my life gets downright ridiculous: watching the show, it's safe to say, has led me to where/who I am today.

You see, when I first started watching, I was mesmerized by the sound of Lisa's saxophone in the show opening. So when the time came for me to choose an instrument to learn for 6th grade band, it was a no-brainer.

I played the saxophone throughout middle and high school, which in turn led me to decide to attend USC so that I could play in the vaunted Trojan Marching Band (the idea that I could be a part of this sort of grand spectacle sold me on going to USC). While in the TMB, I met a girl who would introduce me to New York City. I fell in love with NYC, and returned to spend a summer there, which is how I met my future mentor and pastor Doug. Doug offered me the opportunity to come live with his family and work at his church; I took him up on the offer, moving out to the Big Apple immediately after graduating from USC.

Reading one of Doug's magazines one day, I stumbled across an opportunity to go teach at a Christian school in Northern Iraq. So after two years in NYC, I made the move to Iraq. While in Northern Iraq, I started communicating with a girl back in the States via e-mail. When I returned to the U.S. six months later, I decided to pursue a relationship with the young woman, and wound up moving back to LA to be closer to her.

And in preparing to move back to LA, I decided to buy a VW Bus on eBay, a decision which has since resulted in a documentary film project that I and several friends have been working on for the last several years.

So, the way I see it, my entire life's trajectory basically traces back to me sneaking episodes of The Simpsons in the family den back in the 5th grade.

Not to mention the hours upon hours of entertainment I would've had to find elsewhere.

15. It's gratifying to know that I helped him get there:

2008-12-16T23:46:00.000-08:00

I found out today that a student I tutored at the beginning of the year was just admitted to Stanford!

14. "From Detroit down to Houston, and New York to LA..."

2008-12-16T00:54:00.000-08:00

This might sound silly, but I love it when the people in a particular group hail from various parts of the country (and in some cases, the world).

Case in point: tonight, a group of us went out for burgers and beers to welcome our friend Austin back from his trip to Africa. Among the states represented by this handful of USC alumni: Washington, Alabama, New Jersey, Minnesota, Nevada, and well, yes, California.

This was also the case yesterday, when a group of my friends from church got together for lunch after the service: Indiana, Michigan, Colorado, California, Nevada, North Carolina, Kentucky, and Missoura* were all represented.

And for what it's worth, back in New York, the group of twenty-somethings from my small church in Queens represented an even more unique set of homelands: the U.S.--Iowa, Virginia, and Nevada (if you couldn't tell by now, the Silver State is represented by none other than yours truly)--Canada, England, Serbia-Montenegro, Mexico, Peru, France, Japan, even Burma.

You get the idea. I feel pretty blessed to have found community with people who come from here, there, and everywhere.

No reason in particular. It's just a fun thing to think about from time to time: the places we've come from, the people we meet, the ways we learn and grow from interacting with one another.

I suppose that could just be the pilsner talking, though.

*This is how I tend to pronounce the proper name of the Show-Me State, thanks to an episode of The Simpsons, wherein Grandpa Simpson, when asked why an American flag he was displaying only had 49 stars, replies, "I'll be dead in the cold, cold ground 'fore I recognize Missoura."

13. "Baby, I am calling you on that."

2008-12-14T23:01:00.000-08:00

Ladies and gentleman, one of my favorite songs of the year: R.E.M.'s Living Well is the Best Revenge.

A few things to note:

1. For the uninitiated: R.E.M. is my favorite band of all time. So, for what it's worth, I'm inclined to like almost anything they do. There was a lot of hype leading up to this year's release, Accelerate (it was termed by the press as R.E.M.'s "comeback" album), but within seconds of hearing the arpeggiated riff of Living Well... open the album, you just knew the whole affair was going to be a raucous good time.

And it was (and still is, for that matter).

2. As it stands, Accelerate will probably be in my Top 5 albums of 2008. Which means this track--far and away my favorite off the album--is in pretty good standing to be one of my favorite songs of 2008. And probably one of my Top 10 favorite R.E.M. songs of all time.

(Yes, I'm an unrepentant list-maker, especially when it comes to all things music.)

3. While I absolutely love just how much this song kills, musically, I'm pretty sure there's something deeper going on that has really endeared this song to me. And that, in a word, is catharsis.

Let me explain.

"Living well is the best revenge" is a well-known quote by 16th century English clergyman and metaphysical poet George Herbert. R.E.M.'s lead singer and lyricist Michael Stipe took this quote and crafted a rather vitriolic and vindictive lyric around it; my impression is that his intended target was conservative media pundit Bill O'Reilly (Stipe's a rock star, and rock stars are apparently required by law to lay into O'Reilly).

But the words could just as easily be aimed at anyone who betrays, maligns, or mistreats another individual:

It's only when your poison spins
Into the life you'd hoped to live
And suddenly you wake up in a shaken panic...now!

You set me up like a lamb to slaughter
Garbo as the farmer's daughter
Unbelievable...the gospel according to who?
I lay right down.

Now I'm not one to sit and spin
'Cause living well is the best revenge
And baby I am calling you on that.

For me, listening to this song has been extremely cathartic, especially after several instances of feeling incredibly slighted this past year.

Does it make anything better? Does it heal wounds? Of course not. But it allows the listener to channel the anger and hurt, and then, release it...possibly by rocking out to this song with reckless abandon (seriously, I've had more than my fair share of Risky Business moments in the past year).

But more than serving as an outlet for venting bitterness and pain, the song--and the Herbert quote at the center of it--carries with it a clarion call to turn past injustices into good. I suppose one can equate the term "living well" to mean living happily--whether through acquired wealth, power, or simply contentment--but I see it as an issue of character.

Living well seems, to me, to mean treating others right.

And that's what I want to aspire to, especially when I feel dejected or used. I want to channel the energy of those powerful feelings, and allow it to be turned to good. To bless others.

It's a very lofty notion, one that I'll fall short of on every single attempt. But it is the ultimate revenge--or response, rather.

(Though becoming rich and famous probably doesn't seem like a bad form of revenge, either, if we're being honest with ourselves.)

4. Did I mention that this song absolutely kills? Seriously, it's one of the hardest-rocking numbers in the entire R.E.M. canon.

All in all, a fine way for the band to re-introduce itself in 2008, methinks.

Day 12: Can't write. Couch-surfing.

2008-12-14T02:34:00.000-08:00

The plan: come home after a busy day of hanging out with various friends / engaging in various frivolities, and crank out a post on an R.E.M. song that has been an anthem of sorts for me this year.

The actual outcome: after a fun-filled afternoon and an evening spent dancing until the wee hours of the morn, I decided it best to crash at my friends' house tonight instead.

So the essay on Living Well is the Best Revenge will have to wait. In part, you might say, because I lived pretty damn well today.

That said, let me share another, brief, bit of thanksgiving for the day:

There's something about couch-surfing that I absolutely love.

Why? I'm not entirely sure. Maybe it's that it serves as a confirmation of camaraderie and trust that has been established between friends. Maybe there's something bonding in the act of sharing a dwelling place and communally resting, if even for one night at a time.

Or maybe it's just because I love sleeping on couches.

Day 11: A verse to sum up the day.

2008-12-12T21:18:00.000-08:00

If one falls down, his friend can help him up.
--Ecclesiastes 4:10

I had several wonderful friends who helped pick me up* today, through words of encouragement and support, and through interceding on my behalf.

To them, I say: thank you. Your love and encouragement mean the world to me; I am incredibly blessed to have you in my life.

*So as to avoid sharing too much information, I'll just say that I had a relapse, of sorts, this past week.

(Don't worry, Mom; it's not what you think. I gave up the Dimetapp ages ago, and haven't looked back since.)

Day Ten: Old Man Storytime

2008-12-12T03:06:00.001-08:00

I came home late last night after a long day, looking to reconvene with the Sandman and shut out the world as soon as humanly possible.

I almost made it. But then my roommate Charlie came home. As did his dad, Charles, who was staying the night with us.

My night instantly turned around. And went on much longer--to my delight--than I had initially hoped.

You see, Charles Sr. (or Mr. P, as I'll call him from now on) is a newly-minted nanogenarian--he hit the big 9-0 last week (my roommate, his son, is 28---for those at home who want to do the math). And he is quite likely the most sprightly, engaged, and healthiest 90-year old I have ever met.

Mr. P's an absolute delight. He's warm and personable. And a fantastic storyteller to boot. Which he can do, nonstop, for hours.

(I'm assuming that's just something you start to do as an old man, right? Tell stories for hours and hours on end? I mean, I'm expecting to follow suit when I get to that point myself.)

The difference, though, between Mr. P's stories and those of many other old men who've gabbed my ear off? Mr. P's are absolutely fascinating. They mostly center around jazz music.

Born and raised in New York (Brooklyn, to be exact), he traveled around North America for much of his early years as a professional jazz guitarist; to hear him tell stories of his musical exploits is to be instantly transported to the golden-hued Jazz era in America; his descriptions of the New York City of the era are something straight out of Gatsby.

I would give nearly anything to be in that place and time for but a moment (y'know, once the flux capacitator finally becomes a reality). Listening to Mr. P weave his vivid tales, though, I must say, is a pretty good substitute.

(photo by Chad Sengtock - www.ishotphotography.com)

Day Nine: "Let the color streams arrive..."

2008-12-11T09:09:00.000-08:00

One of the things I dislike most about Southern California is the lack of four distinct seasons.

I know for some people, nothing could be better than the perpetual sunshine, but I find it terribly distressing. I need some semblance of seasonal change, lest I experience some weird inverse Seasonal Affective Disorder. And no, dear region of mine, a month of kinda-almost-sorta-drizzly weather doesn't quite cut it.

(This might explain why Albert Hammond's "It Never Rains In Southern California" absolutely wrecks me.)

It should come as no surprise, then, that I love it when the leaves actually change colors here! The weather outside may be frightful (and not the "frightful" normally associated with this time of year: it was in the mid- to high-90's last month...I mean, really?), but one look at the bright reds, oranges, and yellows that now envelope our deciduously-lined street is, indeed, delightful.*

Have a gander for yourself:

(I'm no Ansel Adams, it's true. I basically shot these with my iPhone on my daily trip to the neighborhood Starbucks. I think they get the point across, though, right? Now, if Santa were to give me a digital SLR for Christmas...)

The streets in our neighborhood look quite lovely in their autumnal splendor. And I'm grateful that it at least looks like fall. Even if we're just eleven days out from the winter solstice, and I'm walking around in flipflops and a t-shirt.

*Apologies to Irving Berlin for the lame riff on his cherished holiday classic.**

**Yeah, I know Irving Berlin didn't pen "Let it Snow." And I'm too lazy to Wikipedia who did. So there.

Day Eight: A verse to sum up tonight's company happy hour:

2008-12-09T23:43:00.000-08:00

"I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil—this is the gift of God."

Ecclesiastes 3:12-13

Day Seven: Kenneth Cole builds resilient eyewear.

2008-12-09T01:03:00.000-08:00

(I dabble in bad haiku from time to time. It's just one of those things you'll have to accept.)

Glasses
Still serve these eyes well
Crumbling, often rolled over
Forgetful sleeper

Day Six: Giving Voice to the Voiceless.

2008-12-08T01:19:00.000-08:00

When I returned to Iraqi Kurdistan this past summer, I went with the Tiziano Project, an organization devoted to empowering and resourcing citizens around the globe to become citizen-journalists.

I and two other guys from the project worked with several of my former students to create several multimedia news stories, two of which would end up on CNN's iReport website. What's more, one of my students was even interviewed for a CNN broadcast--the opportunity of a lifetime to share his experience as a citizen-journalist with the world!

I'm so grateful to have had the opportunity to go back in this capacity.

Not only because Kurdistan is my adopted little corner of the world, and not only because the people there (my students, in particular) have a "permanent piece of my medium-sized American heart," (to quote The National's Matt Berringer), but because I was drawn to the profundity, the necessity, of the work: to give a voice to the voiceless.

The Kurds indeed have a story to tell. It's a story mired in unspeakable tragedy, yet full of resilience, beauty, and redemption. I know I want to have a hand in getting their story out for the world to hear, in giving this otherwise-voiceless people a chance to speak out.

So why do I bring up such earnestly idealistic (if not slightly heavy-handed) notions?

Because I find myself inspired by my friend Lindsay.

Lindsay has given several years of her life now to serving the various peoples of Africa. The Congolese are one such people group.

And because of Lindsay's work in the Democratic Republic of Congo (through her organization Food for the Hungry International), she has been given the opportunity to speak out about the crisis and utter devastation that has befallen the country in recent weeks.

She's been given a chance to speak on behalf of the people she serves.

CNN has done several on-air interviews with Lindsay. This was their latest with her. I, for one, am incredibly proud of my friend; incredibly grateful for her work.

And incredibly inspired.

Day Five: Every College Needs a Good Rivalry.

2008-12-06T20:51:00.000-08:00

'Cause having a rival institute to peg as one's mortal enemy makes life all the more meaningful--for the youthful collegiate and the wizened alum alike--doesn't it?

And in our case, life is so much sweeter because we've vanquished said mortal enemy on the gridiron nine out of the the last ten years.

This year, it was 28-7. And for the first time in ages, I was there to witness it.

Also, 'Tis the Season!

2008-12-05T23:42:00.000-08:00

Well, whaddaya know. Two posts for one day!

My neighborhood put on a big tree-lighting ceremony and holiday street fair this evening. I met up with some friends, and together we took in the sights, sounds, and smells of it all.

Nearly every establishment along the boulevard had lovely light displays and decorations up. Several businesses served refreshments: hot cider, tomato soup, warm bread. The crisp air was filled with the sounds of carolers, bagpipers, a high school band, and the pleasant murmurings of a jolly-fied citizenry.

And, you know, it all reminded of a line I heard, once, in a song:

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas..."

What's more, as we walked up and down the street, I stopped frequently to greet people I know. It was wonderful, if not just a tad shocking; one doesn't expect to experience the familiarity of a small-town here in LA. But tonight, I discovered that I was much more well-acquainted with people in my neighborhood than I realized.

(Working at the neighborhood Starbucks for a year or so will do that for you, I suppose.)

The Christmas-themed merriment didn't end there, though.

After we had our fill of the street fair, my friends and I drove to the fairly-new Americana (for you Angelenos, it's basically The Grove 2.0, but the mere presence of an H&M renders it far superior to its older sibling). There, we went shopping, ate cupcakes, and enjoyed more halls decked with boughs of holly and such.

(That picture really doesn't do the scene justice. The loveliness was stupefying.)

For a guy who misses New York City dearly when he can't be there to see it during this special time of year (this will be only the second time in seven years), I have to say: well played, LA. Sure, you still have a long ways to go before you reach the out and out majesty of Fifth Avenue during the holidays, but a strong showing tonight, indeed.

What a unexpectedly wonderful evening this turned out to be! (Especially considering what a bummer the afternoon had been.)

Day Four: Sometimes, it's more than a song.

2008-12-05T17:57:00.000-08:00

God is bigger than
The air we breathe
The world we'll leave.
God will save the day
And all will say:
My Glorious!
--Delirious?, "My Glorious"

On a day when heartache, loneliness, and disappointment conspired once again to overwhelm my spirit, this song came to me, like a bird, seemingly out of nowhere.

The lyrics are less-than-brilliantly-poetic, sure, but that's fine; the underlying truth is what eased my spirit as the melancholy reached a crescendo late in the afternoon.

He will save the day.

That's not to say that He'll save me from congestion on the 101, from the mundane and unpleasant tasks of the day, from the sting of rejection, or even from the pangs of loneliness.

But in the end, He will save the day. He will redeem it. He will make it good. Not for my sake, but for His.

...

All of that aside, if heartache and loneliness are really the extent of my troubles today, then I gotta say: I'm doing pretty good, all things considered.

(Even if those co-conspirers seem to be doing a nice job of laying siege to my spirit. Which, y'know, kinda does suck.)

Day Three: A Small(er) World.

2008-12-04T23:49:00.000-08:00

The cheerily insufferable mantra of Walter E. Disney's animatronic progeny turned out to be pretty prescient, after all.

It's a small world, indeed. And thanks to glorious, glorious modern technology (namely, the iPhone), it's getting smaller by the day, it seems.

Today as I perused Amoeba Records (quite possibly the greatest record store in the known universe), I got a text message from my good friend Austin. Austin is in Africa, shooting a documentary film with a missions organization. Over the course of his six-week trip, we've been able to stay in touch via text messages and Facebook.

Now in Johannesburg, South Africa, without wi-fi, and in need of some time-sensitive passport-related information, Austin texted me to ask if I would do some Googling and track down the info for him.

So, with a half-dozen CDs and LPs still in hand, I moved to a less-trafficked section of the store (the World section--fitting, no?), and spent the next 20 minutes or so looking up the information on my iPhone. I fired the info back to Johannesburg; Austin and I volleyed a few texts back and forth, and I returned to my session of vinyl therapy, glad to have been able to help my buddy out.

In that instant, I was struck by how very cool--how very 21st century--this scenario was. By how unlikely this would have seemed even just two or three years ago, much less how utterly unimaginable it would've been a mere fifteen years ago. Technology has advanced to the point now where neither cost nor location are prohibitive in trans-global communications.

Sure, we've had e-mail, AIM, Skype, Facebook, etc for a while now. But in 2008, I'm no longer tethered to even my laptop. I can be out shopping--shopping!--converse with a friend halfway around the world via text messages (which, since Austin's is a domestic number, I'm assuming won't cost me anything extra--it had better not), and track down pertinent information from sources in several other places around the world.

All while deciding if I should buy the new Annuals album or go with the significantly marked-down Sufjan Christmas box set from a few years ago. (My solution: get 'em both. For the economy's sake.)

Day Two: O Chipotle! (To the tune of "O Christmas Tree!")

2008-12-03T12:36:00.000-08:00

(With apologies to the Germans, whose timeless Christmas carol I'm about to forever tarnish.)

O Chipotle! O Chipotle!
Your carnitas, so tasty;*
O Chipotle! O Chipotle!
Mi corazón goes crazy.

Your burritos are a delight
I like to eat them day and night;
O Chipotle! O Chipotle!
I'd die for your guacamole.**

O Chipotle! O Chipotle!
Your hot sauces are quite okay;
O Chipotle! O Chipotle!
The corn one won't burn my tongue away.

Your burritos are very large,
At $5.95, they're worth the charge.
O Chipotle! O Chipotle!
I still remember my first foray.***

O Chipotle! O Chipotle!
Your brushed steel looks so edgy;
O Chipotle! O Chipotle!
You make fast food that's trendy.

I love to walk right down the line,
And watch as you assemble mine;
O Chipotle! O Chipotle!
I'd take you over Chick-Fil-A.

O Chipotle! O Chipotle!
You should expand to Helsinki.
O Chipotle! O Chipotle!
Your fare's faux-Mex? Well, fine by me.

I love to place orders online
And pick them up in little time.
O Chipotle! O Chipotle!
Mi corazón goes crazy.

Unnecessary Footnotes:
* To make the rhyming couplets work, you probably need to think/sing the lines with a really bad Mexican accent. Think Nacho Libre.

** No, I really would; I'm sadly allergic to avocados. (That doesn't stop me from having a little guac now and then, though.)

*** November 20, 2003; St. Marks Place, East Village, New York City. It was a chicken burrito. And heaven.

Day One: Exhausted.

2008-12-02T13:40:00.001-08:00

Yesterday I was absolutely exhausted. Even today, I'm not in tip-top form. I'm sluggish, in need of more sleep.

Physically, it's not the greatest feeling in the world.

But I'm incredibly thankful, as this particular exhaustedness is/was the natural result of a ridiculously busy and enjoyable 24-hour period that started on Sunday at 7:30 am.

It was a day where work and play intertwined. I spent six hours working (SAT tutoring) throughout the day. I was able to go to church, and afterwards, spent time with friends there. It had only been a week since I last saw them, but somehow it seemed like so much longer.

And in the evening, more time spent with friends both old and new. A handful of us (fraternity brothers, all) gathered to celebrate my friend Tony's birthday, and afterward, I met up with some other, recently-made friends, and took them out for their last night in LA before returning to Canada. When it was all said and done, I didn't get back to my apartment until about 7:30 am, Monday morning.

And with the exception of driving from place to place, there wasn't a single break in the action.

What's more, I wasn't feeling so hot on Saturday. I spent all day on my couch back home; sore throat, sniffles, the works. I was sure that the coming cold--one that I've successfully staved off for several weeks now--would knock me out for the remainder of the weekend. The lack of sleep on Saturday night after a long drive back to LA certainly wouldn't help matters. But somehow, somehow, I felt great the entire day Sunday. Still do, in fact (save for the exhaustedness).

Back in college, I was known to say from time to time, "Today could be, quite possibly, the greatest day of my life." And while the expression was generally said with tongue planted firmly in cheek, I would reserve it for days/situations in which I was at least pretty happy.

It's probably no coincidence, then, that I said the line fairly often when I was around good friends.

So while I wouldn't necessarily count Sunday as a banner day in my life, it was the kind of day that, were I back in college, would most certainly have earned a, "Today could be, quite possibly..." designation.

And so today, with the weekend now a thing of the past, the busy week ahead, I am thankful for the exhausted feeling that serves to remind me of the wonderful Sunday I just had.

Greetings and Salumatations.

2008-12-02T10:42:00.000-08:00

Confession: I'm a serial blog-starter.

In the past month alone, I've reserved four--maybe even five--blog names here on blogger or on typepad. And though I have quite the ~~grandiose plans~~ delusions of grandeur regarding those blogs ("I'll quit my day job! I'll score a book deal! I'll date Anne Hathaway!"), I have yet to type even a single word in any of them.

The start, for me, is easy; it's the all-important follow-through that is exceedingly difficult.

On top of all that, I have a lovelorn LiveJournal, one that, sadly--despite its seven years of faithful service--I've pretty much abandoned without any explanation or apology.

It's true; no one can accuse me of being a blog-monogamist. (I'm sorry; I couldn't resist. Please forgive me.)

But enough of the past. On to the raison d'être for this here blog: this is one I thought up yesterday, one that should be an easy write for me (and thus, won't be so easily abandoned...hopefully). I'm going to chronicle the next year of my life by writing about one thing each day--at minimum--for which I'm grateful.

See, I got on this huge giving-thanks kick last week, what with the Thanksgiving festivities and all. I posted a lengthy "treatise" on Facebook about how I would begin commemorating something I called Thanksgiving Eve (with the hope, naturally, that it would catch on and that I could add "Creator of Holidays" to my already-cornicopious resume). And commemorate I did: I told a few people how, in specific ways, I had been blessed by their presence in my life. It was a wonderful way to remind myself of the Almighty's good gifts to me (namely in the human resources department).

But even as Thanksgiving '08 fades into the ethers of the year now past, and as Christmas comes up around the perennial bend, I find that I want to stay in that place. A place of grounded thankfulness. A place in which--even in my occasional and fruitless forays into that glib notion that my circumstances are far too bleak, far too disappointing, to muster up even a word of gratitude--I can still find reasons to be joyful.

And so, here I begin. A year of thanksgiving.

(Unless, of course, I abandon this blog as well. Which, given my track record, is a real possibility.)