55. Dear Italy:

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.

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.

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."

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...

...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.

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."*

(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