Dear Camp

Dear Camp,

Well, here it is. The end of my non-working summer. I've got about two more hours of freedom and plan-lessness before I head off to you to work for the next four weeks. And then I come back to about four days off before school starts back up. And that's that.

People have been asking me if I'm excited about going to you, and I have to tell them that I am not. Is that because I don't like you? No, of course not. You know I love you. Working at you is like being on paid vacation compared to teaching at a middle school. However, going to you signifies the end of my summer break, and that's a bit sad for me. I just got myself into the flow of things - being all productive, learning new things, improving in others - so it's tough to just bring an end to that (knowing that once school starts I'm just not going to be able to keep it up in the same way).

But it's not like summer (the season) is over. No way. It's always crazy hot at you, and I often have to jump in the freezing lake to cool off. I get to wear shorts and Flip-Flops the whole time. In fact, I mostly get to wear athletic shorts with no pockets because I don't need pockets at you. There's no need for money or anything else, so I can just wander around and do my thing, and every dime I make while at you pretty much goes to savings because everything's taken care of. The only thing I really use money on is to go into town on occasion to buy glowing or light-up toys.

And that's why I love working at you so much, Camp. It's the joy of getting to act like a totally insane kid for four weeks and to get paid for it. All the stupid ideas I come up with about "wouldn't it be funny if . . ?" - I get to actually DO them at you. I get to paint my face on any given day just because I wanted to (and this year - GLOW-IN-THE-DARK facepaint). I basically spend the whole time trying to convince people that there's something seriously wrong with me - doing strange carnie "performances" at campfires, making Faux-Deep movies, and pretty much doing anything that confuses the kids and staff while amusing the hell out of me. And when I do that - it's okay.

I never really went to summer you as a kid, so it's kind of like this is my big chance. Although I actually have to do some work (and it's not always easy), it generally just feels like fun. I wear a cowboy hat all the time. I get kids to lick trees. Whenever I feel like it, I can make some fake announcement about nothing - and everybody has to listen. I make up ridiculous songs and then have everybody sing along with the chorus. Did I mention I wear facepaint?

And then somebody cooks all my meals for me and schedules my day. If I don't feel like it, I don't have to think AT ALL all day long. I just go where I'm told to and do my thing. And at the end of the day, everyone tells me what a great job I did. How can you beat that?

So yeah - I guess I AM a little excited about you right now, Camp. The only real tragedy of being at you is that - so close to my 100th post - I won't be able to be posting to my blog for much of it. I'm sure I'll be able to get a couple out, but my prolific production is going to have to taper off for a while. I'm not entirely sure what my Loyal Reader is going to do without my letters. Maybe become a productive member of society. Or something.

With that, I'm out. Off for four weeks of ridiculous behaviour for money. Thank you in advance, Camp, for the good times we're about to have.

About to Put Some Temporary Tattoos on My Neck,
CVT

Dear Little Things

Dear Little Things,

If it wasn't for the you, what would life be, eh?

I went Running again today. I'm supposed to be doing it every-other day for the next seven and a half weeks. Guess how I felt about it . . . Anyway, as I was Running, it was made a little less ridiculously miserable by the fact that nobody was around (I choose the park I run in - and the timing - to limit the amount of people I can feel self-conssciou around). But, right towards the end of my Hell, some guy rode up on his bike and parked it by a tree. I naturally begrudged him his presence, deciding that he was just going to watch me and think my little figure-eights were ridiciculous, but pushed on. And when I finished, I looked over to see what he was up to - and he was juggling. Three bright-coloured clubs. And he had very clearly chosen this park and his little hidden spot behind the tree to limit the amount of people that could watch HIM. He was doing pretty well, but would mess up as he tried some new tricks and what-not, and I couldn't help but smile - thinking about my own juggling exlpoits just a few days ago (and my own tendency to hide out while practicing that kind of thing). He looked over as I watched him, and I waved, and he just turned back to work - likely begrudging me my presence and the fact that I was watching him.

So then I get in my car and head home, and as I drove past one parked car, it honked at me. I looked over, a little annoyed because I was driving perfectly safely, and I saw that there was a dog sitting in the driver's seat, and he was looking at me - just like he had honked to get my attention and then wanted to see my reaction. And I smiled.

It's the you. You make me smile. Stupid you that most times I wouldn't even notice or linger on, but sometimes catch me and make me unexplainably cheery.

One of my favourite Portland memories occurred a couple years back. I was riding the bus home from work (when I worked at the VA Hospital - a job that consisted of doing so little that it gave me the time to start writing, as well as me becoming an ordained minister over the internet). I was tired and just ready to get home because I hated my job so much. We were stuck in traffic, and I was thinking about how annoying the lady behind me was when I looked out the window and saw two guys in a beat-up Cadillac. They looked a bit rough around the edges - a little hillbilly - with long hair, sleeveless shirts, and one had a great mustache. The guy in the passenger side leaned all the way out his window to watch a girl go by and to yell something at her. And then he pulled himself back in the car, reached down below his seat, and pulled out a GALLON of MILK, poured it in a mug and handed it to his friend, who began sipping it as he drove. Then the guy poured himself some and place the jug back below his seat.

Now, I wondered if that was really milk in the jug, and it was. Unless it was milk laced with something, those tough-guys were drinking milk out of mugs while cruising through Portland. Just f-ing ridiculous.

And wonderful. As all those special you tend to be. On a day when I had to bid a good friend (and reader) farewell because she'll be moving away while I'm at camp, it helps to be fully appreciative of and enjoying the you. There are obviously a lot of other you that have given me spontaneous joy, but I think I'll just stick to what I just shared. The you aren't as cool in the telling, anyway.

So thanks for giving me boost at my lowest today (post-Hell) and all those other times. I'm looking forward to see you soon (and as I head to camp and working with kids - the you are never far away). Take care.

Thinking about Milk,
CVT

Drawing #10

This was a strange session for me. Ended up doing some kick-ass work on the 15-minute drawings, and then I just felt slow and crappy on the 30-minute ones. Maybe it's because I drank no liquids whatsoever this time (because it's raining, and that doesn't make me feel thirsty). Whatever the reason, I wasn't so happy about this one, but it's usable, for sure. 30 minutes. Pastels. Blue blue blue.

Dear Running

Dear Running,

I went you today. And that reinforced something for me (which made me want to reinforce something for you): I hate you. I hate every single f-ing second of you, and I always will.

That said, I respect you, and I know and appreciate what you're trying to do for me. But let's start with the hate, shall we?

So why do I hate you so much? Well, first of all, I hate any and all "exercise for the sake of exercise." Repetitive exercise done simply for the benefit of better health and physical fitness is anathema to me. I want nothing to do with it. Not only is it exceedingly boring, but it has the added negative of making me tired and giving me just a little bit of pain. Every single second that I "exercise for the sake of exercise" I am thinking to myself, 'This sucks. That just sucked, and now this sucks. This is sucking, and it will continue to suck. How much longer will this Hell last? Another 20 minutes of Hell coming. This third minute of Hell is taking forever. This sucks.' Or something to that effect. And then the cycle continues (and yes, I am fully capable of thinking all of that during one, interminable second while exercising).

The other reason I hate you is because, for whatever reason, I feel like a complete ass while you. It doesn't matter whether I'm good at you, or fast, or doing something particularly skillful; if it's while in the act of simply you, then I just feel stupid. You throw me back to my middle school years and complete self-consciousness. If there is anybody else around (and there always is, because you necessitate more space than my bedroom allows), I can't help but feel like an idiot - like they are watching me. Which is ridiculous, of course, because people that are you tend to fade into the background - but that doesn't change the emotional trauma that you bring me every time I go you, Running. Overlaying my "this sucks" mantra is another little monologue that goes something like this, 'Hey - look at me! I'm you! That's right, everybody, I'm you around in circles like a complete ass. See how tired and slow I'm getting? The weird looks on my face as I am you? I disgust me.' And on and on. Perhaps, someday, I will record the beautiful a cappella song that those two looping, simultaneous tracks create.

And finally - I just don't get a "second wind." I know there are folks out there (I won't name names) that actually ENJOY you. And I have this sneaking sensation that it's because they get their second wind - complete with a boost of endorphins - that makes them feel GOOD about you. I don't get that. Ever. Granted, I seldom am willing to go you long enough to warrant that second wind, but - even when I do - there is no "natural high" for me. Oh, no. The CVT only feels worse the longer he runs.

Now can you understand why I hate you so much, Running? Not only does you not give me even a moment of satisfaction, but it overlays multiple layers of Hell at a time. Human beings were not designed for you in an exercise-sense of the word. We are meant to sprint to save our asses when sh- goes down and to walk a lot, but never, ever to jog for an extended period of time. It's just crazy. I strongly believe that.

Which, of course, begs the question: why the f- was I you today in the first place (or why do I EVER go you)? Good question. The answer lies in those "Mysterious Ways" of our omnipotent friend, howsoever you may call Shim.

The cruelest joke that can be played on somebody like me (barring dismemberment-type jokes) is a knee injury. Not only does a knee injury preclude any sort of competitive sports (which is the only type of exercise I actually enjoy - and I enjoy them A LOT), but it also necessitates heavy rehab. And what kind of things are part of the knee ligament physical therapy program? That's right - endless amounts of repetitive "exercise for the sake of exercise."

It starts with biking (outside of basic knee strengthening exercises). And yes - I hate biking, too. But at least I can make that part of my transportation routine during the summer, so I feel an actual PURPOSE to it. But after a few weeks of biking and knee-strengthening comes you. And that's where today's letter comes in.

So I'm back on the same exact EIGHT-week you program that I was on last year at precisely this time. Right now, I'm just doing some basic jogging and some slow agilities exercises, but starting next week I get to begin my FIGURE-EIGHTS. Think about that for a moment: if I already feel like an idiot while you, how can we make it worse? Oh - by making me start you in a ridiculous PATTERN that has no obvious explanation for random observers. Brilliant.

Of course, I'm fully aware of the hint-to-self that comes from the fact that I have to rehab my knee all over again this summer. Right, maybe I should be more careful. OR - as my doctor just told me yesterday - I need to make sure that I am doing regular maintenance exercise forever. Or at least until I die or stop walking. Just guess what my options are for maintenance exercise . . . biking, swimming, or rowing. Knowing what you do now about my hate for you and similar exercise, how do you think I feel about that?

But this is where my respect for you comes in. Because I realize what all this maintenance and you is meant to do for me. In a nutshell, it is going to allow me to continue to play (and enjoy) competitive sports (specifically, football). And I really do love doing that. Having to go you to earn that just makes me think about how important that really is to me. Plus, as I get older, I realize that my body is just going to slowly fall apart, and the only way to really mediate that is by you (or other boring exercise) regularly. And I respect that. Having working joints and limbs shouldn't be easy. We've got to earn it. And, without my knee injury(ies), I probably would never have started doing that kind of thing on my own.

So I honour that. And respect that. And you, Running.

But I will always hate you from the bottom of my heart.

For My Life,
CVT

Drawing #9

Tonight wasn't my best night at the studio (I decided to mess around a bit and do some experimenting with different "styles"), but I was still pretty happy with this last one. As you can see, back to the blue pastels (another 30-minute sketch). This time I just had water during, but I DID eat a BLT right before I went. That was really quite delicious. A nice bike ride home in the cool night air.

Dear Self-Portrait

Dear Self-Portrait,

I attempted my first you today, with pretty good results. However, drawing my you taught me a lot, and I would like to share them with you.

First and foremost - making a you is HARD. REALLY hard. The primary reason being that I am quite familiar with my own face (or at least the MIRROR IMAGE of my face). At first look, of course, that should seem helpful. As in it should be easier for me to draw something that I am more familiar with as opposed to something I am not. That hypothesis, however, is quite wrong. The reason being that - since I'm so familiar with my face - if even one little detail is a bit off, it makes the whole drawing look off, as well. It's one thing to draw a model who I have never seen before and to feel good about my rendering of her face - it's a whole other thing to be satisfied with a drawing of my OWN face. Had I not forced myself to stop, I could have spent the rest of my years endlessly tidying up and re-doing portions of my face to try to get it EXACTLY right . . . which may even be impossible.

Another thing that makes you so difficult is that I'm no model, and it's difficult to draw from a mirror. A model just sits still and lets me bend over my paper and draw and look up and draw, etc. until I am satisfied. My mirror image, on the other hand, is not so patient. Every time I look down at my paper, so does my image. Any time I lean over to get really close to do some detail work, my model completely changes his pose, and I must re-arrange myself appropriately every time I look up. It's like trying to write a memoir while hallucinating - everything is constantly changing, and it's near impossible to remember how things were just a minute before. So the challenge is to actually rely LESS on my subject (me in the mirror) and more on basic drawing skills and knowledge to make it look right - kind of like making up the dialogue to get the point across because you don't actually remember the exact conversation. Not so easy. Especially when I am already being so nit-picky about my familiar face.

From this experience making my you, I have a whole new appreciation for Van Gogh and all the rest of the you-ists out there. They have the advantage, however, of being dead and having their only images of themselves being their yous, so I can't really critique them and say if they were accurate or not. Since I have never met Van Gogh or seen a photograph of him, he could have looked NOTHING like his yous, and I would never know. I somehow doubt it, but still. Either way, I respect their ability to continue to tackle the difficult task of making yous, in spite of the challenges and frustrations.

All that being said, I am pretty satisfied with the results at my first attempt at you-ture. I don't think anybody looking at my drawing (that knows me, at least) would have any trouble figuring out that it is supposed to be me. They might even find it a pretty good likeness. Of course, the mirror-image aspect of the you would likely throw them for a loop, but what can an artist do? Not bad for a first try.

After that, I can foresee your following question, Self-Portrait: so then why didn't I scan the image and send it in with this letter? Good question. I have two reasons for not having done so. The most important reason is self-preservation. As my Reader has probably noticed by now, I have yet to reference my own real name or given any identifying characteristics in any of these letters. Why? Simply because I don't feel like having somebody that knows me - who I don't want reading this - to be able to find this and attribute it to me. What if I end up insulting a future employer or co-worker? More importantly, what if one of my students was to find this? As of now, it's actually relatively appropriate, but you never know what I may feel like writing about . . .

The other reason is simple shyness. Although I'm proud of my work, I don't particularly feel like being judged/critiqued on this one. 'But,' you say, 'Nobody has EVER commented on ANY of your drawings so far!' That may be true, but even silent judgement is not wanted on this one.

And that's that.

And so I present a famous you of Vincent van Gogh, instead. Not a bad trade-off. Besides, with him dead, gone, and un-photographed, he doesn't have to worry about any of those things.

So thank you, Self-Portrait, for the enlightening times. Since I purchased a mirror yesterday for precisely the purpose of practicing drawing yous, I imagine we should be hanging out again soon. Until then, see what you can do about that inconsistent mirror-modeling thing . . .

Left Side on the Right,
CVT

Dear Improvement

Dear Improvement,

They say that, after the third language, it gets much easier to learn new languages. I'm not exactly sure what the science is behind that, but it sounds reasonable. I figure it has something to do with the brain sort of re-wiring itself to better differentiate between sounds and cross-translate and memorize meanings. I am currently nearly-fluent (with some rust) in two languages (English and Swahili) and competent in another (Spanish). As I begin to learn my fourth language (Chinese), I can see how this little theory may hold water. And it's pretty exciting. Six lessons and about two weeks later, I am already seeing a lot of you in my understanding and speaking. A long way to go, of course, but it's a start.

But I am starting to believe that this little rule doesn't just hold to languages. Sure, learning languages obviously uses specific parts of the brain, and with extended practice, those parts of the brain must get more efficient. But recent you in various other skills makes me believe that's not all.

Now, my Loyal Reader must be aware by now that I have been practicing my drawing a lot lately. And with that practice, I have seen consistent you in my abilities. At the same time, I have also been rehabbing my knee, which has brought me a different kind of you in a physical way. Add to that learning a new language and some of my other hobbies that I have been known to work on from time to time (including music, teaching/math, and writing), and there has been all sorts of you in my life in the last few months. A ton of it. A lot of Practice tends to make that happen (as I continually state in my letters).

That's all fine and dandy. Obviously, the more I work on any particular skill, the better I will get at it, to some degree. That's not interesting or new to anybody. But what happened to me today was, and it is related to the rule of language with which I began this letter.

After all this talk (and writing) about yo-yos, I got inspired and decided to break out my juggling balls today. Now, I haven't even touched these guys since last summer, so I figured I would be a bit rusty, and I went into my playtime ready for that. But I wasn't. At all. In fact, I was just as good (possibly BETTER) than I had been the last time I was juggling consistently (which was about four years ago). I was certainly better than the last time I had played with my juggling balls.

This made me think: what if practicing various skills that rely on focus and vision (specifically, drawing) can contribute to you in focus and vision IN GENERAL, and not just in the specific skill? In other words, what if my recent improved focus, dexterity, and vision (in seeing a figure artistically) in drawing was generalizable to other areas? Yes, you in those three areas have made me a better drawer, but could they have made me a better juggler? Crazy, stupid thought, really - but what if?

So I decided to test it out. Was I really better at juggling or just better than I had EXPECTED to be after a long lay-off? I grabbed a fourth ball and started juggling and - I kid you not - I had smoother transitions and kept the balls up longer than I ever had before, by a long shot. I hadn't become a perfect four-ball juggler, but there was obvious you. I was a better juggler without having practiced AT ALL for a year.

And so I am left with this conclusion: that you in one area can actually yield you in a more or less unrelated area. Some of the basic skills are the same, of course, but certainly not ALL of them, and I don't know too many people that would say drawing and juggling are anywhere near the same thing. All I can come up with is a parallel with language-acquisition - the more skills you build up, the easier it is to learn - and see you in - other skills. Seems like an interesting, testable hypothesis to me. Anybody out there want to follow it up?

Of course, I know that there are a lot of variables involved and a lot of other possible explanations. Nonetheless, it's an intriguing prospect, and I think I'm just going to go with it for now. I shall continually add to my skill list, so that it will be easier to continually add to my skill list. Sounds good, no? With a little bit of luck, I still have another 50-plus years to go, which means that I could get in another three or four languages and another ten or so random skills. And if my theory is correct, and it just gets easier, I could get even more.

That's the goal. Totally unrealistic and ridiculous, but I don't really care. Not to mention that the world is going to end in 2012, anyway, so I really only have five years left.

So there you have it, Improvement - I am planning on seeing a ton of you through the rest of my life (no matter the length). And if my little theory is correct, then we're just going to see more and more of each other as time goes on. Wouldn't that be nice? You always make me feel good when I see you, so that sounds quite wonderful, indeed. Thanks for hanging out with me so much lately.

I'll see you tomorrow.

A Better Yo-Yo-ist?
CVT

Drawing #8

I think I'm starting to get addicted to this drawing thing. I was craving some studio time all day yesterday. I keep getting better every time to the point where I look at my drawings from just a month or two ago and they look like crap to me. That's cool. Anyway, another pencil drawing. I've regained the pastel touch (turns out the paper I got just sucked), but I'm really digging on the pencils these days. Water and no snacks (and another hot bike ride home).

Dear (Toe)Nail Polish

Dear (Toe)Nail Polish,

First off, I would like to point out that the photo I'm attaching to this letter shows a girl's foot. Of course. That's what one would expect when talking about you, right?

Well - maybe that's wrong.

You see, for a long time, I wasn't so down with you. I had no problem with you appearing on the feet of the ladies (because we all know the CRAZY things ladies will do in the name of "cute" or "pretty"), but I just wasn't so sure about you in terms of the men-folk.

This first became something that I thought about at all when my brother (aka my Loyal Reader) showed up to some family get-together years ago with you on his toes. It got some great reactions from the extended family, but I just wasn't so down. I'm not so old-fashioned as to worry about it in terms of a man's sexuality, of course, but I just thought it was a bit much. Those who know me would never consider me to be the most fashionable or flamboyant of dressers, so it seemed to go even further to be dressing up the feet themselves.

And that's why I was a little tentative when we had a little you party while on the river this last week. I would have to think that it all started out with my brother and the ladies' interest in his well-polished toenails, but soon all the kids and young adults (somehow the parents avoided this particular party) were gathered around painting each other's toenails. I took the opportunity to paint some faces, as well, but that's a letter for another day.

Anyhoo, because I was so busy with the faces, I somehow avoided the first wave of you-ing, and I was okay with that. I figured that I just wouldn't do it, and that would be perfectly A-OK with me. But then post-dinner rolled around, and I was asked about my painfully plain toes. Next thing I know, a small child was at my feet with gold and sparkly-blue you and a toothpick.

If I was to do it over again, I might have done some experimenting with the toothpick and designed my own impressionist painting for my toes. But I didn't. Instead, I let Torry (the young lady) do her thing, and I ended up with gold toes with shiny blue stripes on my right foot and shiny blue toes with gold stripes on my left.

And you know what? I love it. A very sudden change, I know, but real nonetheless.

Why (and how) did this happen? Well, let's take a few steps back and look at some facts before explaining:

FACT ONE: Toes are ugly. ToeNAILS are even worse. They get yellow and cracked and misshapen. Especially when I refuse to wear any sort of close-toed shoes in the summertime. And so I have to do some relatively involved foot-care (with some clippers - and more, sometimes) to keep them from making people throw up when they see my feet (which they will pretty much do every day during the summer).

FACT TWO: Cool shoes are cool. Really cool. Shoes that match outfits in color-scheme are a pleasure to behold. There are a ton of really cool sneakers out there, and a lot of my kids at school have them. Matching shoes are a brilliant indication of a good sense of style, and I have learned to really appreciate that in my time working with the kids I do (and dealing with them constantly giving me sh- for my ugly shoes . . . or complimenting me on the one pair of cool shoes I own).

FACT THREE: If it's shiny, it's wonderful. Not a whole lot more to say here. Shiny things are better than non-shiny things. This is a fact I've always been aware of and adhered to, and it has never let me down.

So if we take these three scientific facts into hand and then re-examine my sudden appreciation for you, it makes a lot of sense, doesn't it? 1) You cover up the disgusting-ness known as toenails. You make LESS work for me because the colour keeps the toenail flaws from being apparent - thus, less vomiting by people that see my feet. 2) If cool SHOES are cool (especially COLOURFUL shoes), then why not go with some colourful FEET when shoes aren't an option (because they just aren't for me in the summer)? They don't exactly match my outfits, but neither did my vomit-toes. 3) My toes are now shiny. I have seriously caught myself just sitting around and wiggling my toes to see the light shine off them in different ways. Because they're shiny. And shiny is pretty.

And that's that. Nothing more to say. It turns out that I quite enjoy you, (Toe)Nail Polish. You may just become a regular occurrence for me in the summertime. Although, of course, next time around I'm going to have to spend some time putting a Monet on my toes . . . or something even cooler.

Thank you for opening my mind just a little bit more and letting me have some constant shiny going on.

Toes-a-Twinkling,
CVT

*And let's be honest, half the reason I didn't like you was because my brother did it, and I am finally old enough not to make my decisions based on NOT being like him . . . (sorry, Brother).

**And a note referring to a letter from the past (Dear Hairline): last night I had a nightmare where I woke up to find that a chunk of hair in the middle and back of my head had just fallen out in some spontaneous male-pattern baldness, and there was nothing to do. I almost cried. And when I woke up, I almost cried again when I felt my hair.

Dear Being Really Good at Something

Dear Being Really Good at Something,

I was inspired to write this today partially because of my Loyal Reader's comment about Digital Photography (a reference to the photo presented here). Pretty cool picture, eh? Again - due to Digital Photography.

But, alas, I've already written Digital Photography, so I must get to the point. Today, I wish to talk about you, Being Really Good at Something.

On the River Rafting trip that my brother and I went on a week ago, there was a guy (pictured) who was really good at yo-yo-ing. I mean REALLY f-ing good. According to him (and I have no doubt about it from watching him work), he is a competition-level yo-yo-ist. His specialty is string-work, which involves putting the yo-yo to "sleep" (like when you walk the dog), and then threading the string around in all sorts of different crazy cat's-cradle-type contortions and spinning the yo-yo on the string. Then, when you think that's the whole deal, he whips it all back out and you realize the yo-yo was spinning that whole time. Pretty incredible.

Anyway, watching him in action and talking to him about it made me (and my Loyal Reader, of course) think about you, and what it takes to make that happen. This guy told us that yo-yo-ing is just what relaxes his mind. What he loves to do. Although he COULD compete, he doesn't, really, because it's just not about that to him. To him, it's just about being by himself, practicing, and you. It was a beautiful thing, really.

And I have often wondered what that would be like, you. It's become as close to a theme as possible in this ridiculous series of letters I have written - the things one could do if willing to just put in the time. I have no doubt that you is something I could achieve, but not without discipline. And, so far, that is something I lack.

It's not that I don't put time into getting better at things. That's basically my hobby. But it's putting time into getting REALLY GOOD at ONE thing that I don't have the discipline for. I have yet to find that ONE single thing that I want to devote myself to, fully and unconditionally. I enjoy drawing. Making music. Writing. Learning languages. And a million other things - but that's the problem. You is not something that can be done when I enjoy doing a million different things.

Not that that bothers me too much. For me, I'm pretty satisfied with being capable at A LOT of things. Sure, I'll never be able to win a competition or make somebody's jaw drop, but I'll be able to hang in most situations.

But what if I could attain a level of you? What would that be like? To be a master of anything? Now, there are those out there who laugh at somebody who's a great yo-yo-ist, calling them a "dork" or acting like it's just because they have nothing better to do. Those who are contemptuous of champion Scrabble players or Spelling Bee contestants. But all I have to say to those people is this: are they really disdainful, or just jealous of others for you? I find it doubtful that those types of people have ever tasted what it is like, Being Really Good at Something.

And so I give my utmost respect to those who have attained that high level of you, no matter what that Something is. Be it Chess, Yo-Yo, juggling, eating, or even spitting - it takes a lot of love and passion to become great, and it moves me near tears to think about those people out there who may have nothing else, but can always lose themselves and celebrate the fact that they - unlike so many others - are Really Good at Something.

So thank you, Being Really Good at Something. Not for anything you've done for me directly (because you haven't), but for simply existing. For allowing people to be great. For giving people passionate about any and all hobbies something to strive for. For allowing people the world over to get a glimpse and taste of perfection. For without you, there would truly be no beauty in the world.

Weepy-Eyed,
CVT

*This letter is dedicated to Bill "Fox" Coolman, yo-yo-ist supreme (pictured above). He may not have lit his yo-yo on fire and done flaming yo-yo tricks for me, but he still impressed the sh- out of me.

Drawing #7

Did this one yesterday. Another 30-minute pose, in pencils. It's too bad, because my scanner doesn't really do justice to the pencils, so it doesn't come out as good digitally. Anyway, this time I just drank some water (after riding my bike down there on a 98 degree day), but I also brought along a PB & J that I made for the session. No apricot jelly, though, so it was quite disappointing.

Dear Digital Photography

Dear Digital Photography,

Everybody's a professional now. Everybody. I am writing you, Digital Photography, in absolute awe. I am dumb-founded. Completely flabbergasted. Aghast and stupefied. All of these things and more. Because you, Digital Photography, have enabled everyone to be a professional.

Why do I say that? Well, take a look at the photo that I included with this letter. Is that from National Geographic? Maybe some Nature magazine or a photo contest? Nope. It's from the Flickr website that my friend's girlfriend put together to share her photos from her current field research stint in Kenya. And that's probably not the most amazing photo on the site.

It makes me think back to my original visit to Tanzania - using what I thought was a pretty nice camera (one of those "film cameras" - imagine that) to document my experience. Taking up to 36 pictures on a roll, and then having to wait many days and pay a bunch of money to see how they came out. And most of them would be crap. A lot of blurring. A lot of poorly-timed photos. Not the best zoom technology. To the point where I didn't have a single photo that looked even half as good as the ones on the previously-mentioned website. What's up with that?

Now, I don't claim to have particularly good photo skills. But that's not the point. Ten years ago, could anybody have imagined that photos as nice as those would appear anywhere other than a professional magazine? I never would have imagined that you could shoot off 200 photos in an hour and then look through all of them immediately. You, Digital Photography, have changed the visual world.

And this is not just a you thing. Digital music has knocked the crap out of the sound industry, as well. Ipods. Ipods? Last time I was in Tanzania (only a little over four years ago), I was listening to cassette tapes on a walkman (because cds weren't available out there, and they are a pain to transport). When I got back and saw an Ipod for the first time, I nearly shat myself. My whole music collection LITERALLY in the palm of my hand? Astounding.

And you.

Hell - not to mention the new Iphone. I am so close to having to eat my words about not getting a cellphone (said words were that I wasn't going to get one until my phone could be everything - tv, internet, computer, music player, camera, etc.). The only thing helping me out now is that I wanted it to be perfected and affordable when I got it - so that buys me another year or so.

Wow. We are living in the future envisioned by movies from decades ago. Except for flying cars. We're not closer to flying cars now than we were then, in spite of all the crazy advances of the digital age. Mental note - if I make a movie or book about the future, I'm not going to include flying cars because it's just NOT going to happen.

Right. So my point is, Digital Photography, that you are amazing. You have made the world a more aesthetically-pleasing place. Hell, without you I would likely not be able to find an image to associate with every single one of my letters, and that would be a tragedy, indeed.

So thank you for that, and all you will bring in the future.

Aesthetically Pleasing Indeed,
CVT

*The reason I ended up seeing these beautiful (and RIDICULOUS) photos was because they were linked to the blog I have linked to this one. My friend Jay is back in Tanzania, blogging away, and his girlfriend is the one with the freakishly-nice pictures. Check out both sites (hers is: http://www.flickr.com/photos/dabean25). Enjoy.

Dear Salad

Dear Salad,

I’m just going to come clean and say it straight off: I used to think that you didn’t count as food. For a LONG time. In fact, for the vast majority of my short life.

When my mom would make “seafood you” for dinner during the summer, I would moan and whine about it because I didn’t think I could possibly get full on it. In spite of the wonderful crab and shrimp mixed in, I wanted more. Something meatier and heartier. You were not food to me.

As time moved on, that same trend continued. I started to recognize the benefit of a side-you or you WITH dinner (for the roughage and what-not), but you could not be consumed on your own. Ordering a you for dinner at a restaurant was beyond embarrassing.

But then, a few years back, my metabolism slowed. At the same time, I started becoming more and more aware of the consequences various eating habits had on my no-longer-growing body. And, for the first time, I had a you for dinner. No bread or steak or anything else to go with you – just you. And I was satisfied.

I was satisfied.

It still shocks me to write that. But it is true. It took a little more time with you than with soup, but I can now acknowledge that you are indeed food.

So why am I finally acknowledging this fact through a letter? Because today was f-ing HOT. Ridiculously hot. I’m talking 104 degrees hot. And I spent the entire day (like a moron) wandering around the streets of Portland, constantly deciding to keep pushing on in spite of my near-desperate desire to just go home and nap. And at the end of this freaking hot day, I was hungry. Walking can make on hungry. But, more importantly, I had a need for REFRESHMENT. No warm foods for me. No cooking. I needed something FRESH and RAW.

Now, if I had had some Sashimi-grade Fish handy, I would have happily eaten that in your stead – I will admit it. But I didn’t. And so I made a wonderful, refreshing YOU for dinner. Avocadoes, red pepper, tomatoes, spinach, crumbled feta, and my favourite poppy seed dressing. And you were wonderful. I filled a gigantic bowl with you and happily ate you for many minutes.

So now I shall have some smooth movements in the morning. I also feel a little bit lighter and healthier. A little bit refreshed. And the best part is, because you are so light, I was able to eat large quantities of you without getting overfull or tiring of you. As I enjoy the act of eating more than anything else in the world, that was perfection for me.

And so I thank you. I thank you for being a food, Salad. For satisfying my various eating needs this evening in spite of my many years of spiting you. It’s ridiculously, freakishly hot today. But at least you were food.

Roughing It*,
CVT

*Speaking of which – for all those expecting an ode to River Rafting, never you worry. I shall be addressing the trip soon (I’m just coming off vacation and a very warm day and just didn’t feel up to it yet).

Dear River Rafting

Dear River Rafting,

I'm headed down to the Rogue River to go you with my brother for the next couple days, and I'm really looking forward to it. But I have to pack right now, so this will be a short one (maybe I'll write you for real when I get back). Unfortunately, because I'll be on the river, I won't be writing any letters for about the next four days, so I apologize to my Loyal Reader for that one.

Oh - wait. He's coming with me.

Nevermind.

Class 6,
CVT

Dear the Sabbath

Dear the Sabbath,

A day of rest, indeed. Every week I find myself enjoying you, but I never take the time out of you to even write a letter of appreciation. Of course, today I violated you, and now I find myself writing.

So I went in to work today. That's right. On a Sunday during my summer, I went to work. Why would I do such a thing? Well, let me tell you.

After the kids were finished with school, I had a few things I had to take care of in preparation for the summer (grades, inventory, other administrative things like that) which was supposed to take me the week after school was over. However, I ended up going to that ridiculous training for one of those days, and then I left to go home on that Friday, so I found myself with unfinished business when I got back from California.

So, like any responsible young man, I went in to work on Wednesday (the day after I got back to Portland). I should have easily been able to finish all my work - except that that day happened to be the only day I could get appointments for both my physical therapy and to get my MRI done. So I had my physical therapy at 10am and my MRI at 3:40pm. Which, of course, left me only a limited time in between to actually work.

Of course, I would have STILL finished up my work, but I decided to go out to lunch at King Burrito (with a couple co-workers) for one last time this summer. Next thing I know, I've spent almost an hour eating a delicious burrito instead of working, and I wasn't quite finished when I had to run out and go to my appointment.

And yes - I COULD HAVE gone in on Thursday OR Friday to finish. But I didn't want to. Thursday was my birthday, Friday I went to Body Worlds 3. What's a guy supposed to do? Work when those things are happening? So that left me needing to go in on Monday (tomorrow) to get my stuff done before my brother rolls into town for our big river rafting trip (which will likely be capitalized in a week).

But then I realized something. As I lay in bed this morning, reading a good book, I thought to myself - what do I have to do today? After a few careful moments of thought, I realized - not a damn thing. It was YOU, after all, and a man needs his rest on you. However, a second thing occurred to me - as I am now enjoying my summer vacation, there is little difference between a Sunday and a Monday for me. In fact, Monday might be a little BETTER now because it's the weekday and most other people have to go into work, thus freeing up the roads, stores, etc. for me to do my thing. And I have lunch plans for tomorrow.

So I violated you, the Sabbath. Completely and utterly. Not that I really did much work at all - about an hour of little finishing-up type things. But, as far as I know of your laws, that's still a violation. Which is a bit odd, really, considering I had spent an hour working in my yard prior to going to "WORK-work." And believe me - the yard work was much more difficult than the WORK-work.

So I figured I should write you to explain, and apologize. It shouldn't happen again anytime soon . . . Actually, scratch that - that's a lie. When I go to camp, I'll be working on you, as well. Which I did last year. And the year before that. And a couple other times during the school year when I did weekend camp stuff. So I guess I've violated you before and never even thought of it. And that was when I was doing real work (and not on vacation). Hmm. My bad?

But I suppose I'll be making up for this all for a while, since I basically have three straight weeks of yous due to my vacation. As a friend of mine used to say, I'm on my "leisure time" now, and nothing's going to get in my way (especially since I used you today to finish up). Weekends. HA! What does that mean to me now?

I really don't know what I'm going to do if I ever end up taking a job without summer (and winter and spring) vacations. Probably cry a lot, I suppose. Or maybe I just won't do it. That sounds nice.

Anyway. I suppose I'm sort of apologizing, although I don't feel particularly bad about the whole thing. If you're offended by me working on you today, then I AM sorry about that. But I hope you can understand and see how it made sense. Do you understand? Tomorrow I will get to wander on downtown, have some lunch with friends, and do whatever the hell else I feel like BECAUSE I went in today. It may be something you can't understand, but I want you to try.

Because you should understand that I'm a you loyalist, most of the time. I doubt there are a whole lot of people that appreciate you as much as I do during the school year. People that do as little as me on you when I'm in the midst of my working-year. You know I love you, so you shouldn't take this personal.

That's all I really have to say about all that. I hope this letter finds you in an open-minded mood and that we can continue to spend quality time together in the future. Take care of yourself, and thank you for all that you've done.

School's Out,
CVT