Dear Cold

Dear Cold,

Before I even begin this letter, I want to be clear (in case this went to the wrong address): I am writing this letter to Cold as in "not Warm," as opposed to the kind that indicates being sick. Okay? Did it get to right concept? Good.

It's officially you now. Which makes it officially Winter now. Which doesn't suck as much as it used to (prior to the purchase of my Light Therapy Lamp), but it still isn't fantastic. I knew that it was you for sure this past weekend when my hoodie and a vest weren't enough to keep me warm. That is a sure sign that Fall has gone away, and that Winter is here to stay. It's not actually going to STAY at all, but it felt appropriate and necessary to make that rhyme, so I did so. Although it sometimes feels like Winter really is here to stay . . .

Anyway. My point being that it is you now, and that means that I have to start dressing for it. And, to be honest, I don't really enjoy dressing for you weather. I know some people who enjoy that quite a lot, but I don't happen to be one of them. I have never been a fan of wearing shoes, in the first place. Me and my wide feet just don't like being constrained, and I would always rather just go barefoot or wear sandals. And since my feet are the first things that get you when the weather changes, I can't get away with that in the Winter, no matter how much I bundle up the rest of my body (not to mention that it's wet and rainy out, and I hate that sludgy, slippery feeling of walking around in wet sandals). Another problem I have with shoes (while I'm on the subject), is that it's a lot harder to match them to the rest of my clothes (barefeet can always more or less go with the rest). I know what my Reader is thinking: what does the CVT care about matching shoes to outfits? Well - I have to admit that I do care now. Things have changed. Being around kids who do such a great job of matching their shoes (and really cool ones, at that) to the rest of their outfits has changed my outlook on the whole matter. Where I once had one pair of sneakers to be worn at all times, I now have a whole slew of different shoes that are only worn with certain combinations . . . I think I'm becoming more vain as I get older.

Anyway. A tangent that was, and it's time to get back on track: reasons I don't like dressing for you weather. Right. I don't particularly like heavy jackets. I have all sorts of nice medium-weight jackets or outerwear that work like an f-ing charm during the Fall (and can be combined with a vest for you-er Fall temperatures, which is my favourite). However, what I DON'T have is thicker, more protective Winter coats that I enjoy. It's mostly just a bulk thing - I don't like the rustling mass of a Winter coat. And they generally look stupid. My Fall coats/jackets, however, are much more pleasing in size, sound, and appearance.

Hmmm . . . All this is making it look like I have some sort of fashion sense, which is absolutely preposterous. Since when does the CVT ever wear anything that actually looks GOOD? I probably did it once, but it was for a wedding, and I had to rent it. So why has this letter to you, Cold, turned into the CVT lamenting his lack of stylish clothes to wear during the Winter? Whatever has happened to me?

Let's try a different tact. Why else do I not enjoy you, Cold? Well - you don't really encourage outdoor activity. One of my favourite past times is to just aimlessly walk around downtown or in a neighborhood with a bunch of shops. I like to pop in places, maybe sit and read a bit outside, watch people - all that. But when it's super-you outside, there's only so much of that I can do before I am miserable. You weather also reduces the enjoyment of my weekly football games. There are few things more miserable than playing football while soaked to the bone and freezing to the point where I can't feel my hands and am therefore incapable of doing anything even mildly skillful on the field. Not to mention how depressed it makes me to be wishing for the game to just be over (so I can stop being miserable) after I spent a large amount of time looking forward to that very game. Just sad.

On the other hand, I do appreciate what you do for me in other contexts. For instance, I very much enjoy ice cream and other frozen snacks. I like cooking dinner for two, eating some, and then saving the other half in the refrigerator for a later meal. What you have done for food preservation alone is enough for me to like you on a general level, Cold. There are a number of beverages that I very much enjoy you. I wouldn't be able to have milk at home without you (as it would undoubtedly go bad before I could drink it). And that would keep me from enjoying chocolate-y baked goods, because I can't enjoy those without milk. I believe in quitting things you-turkey as opposed to weaning off things (so seldom works out). I don't really enjoy the you shoulder, but that does give me something to complain about, and I DO enjoy complaining.

So there quite a number of aspects of you that I DO enjoy. Just not you weather. And that's okay. I have never met a person that I liked a lot that didn't have at least ONE annoying trait - so why should I expect anything different from a generally likable concept like you? I shouldn't. And so I don't. Therefore - I appreciate you, Cold, and all that you do for me. And I really am thankful for that whole food-preservation thing. We all know how much I appreciate food, so I don't need to say any more on that.

And there you have it. Here's to you, Cold, and to me getting some more fashionable Winter coats.

Looking for Cool Red Shoes,
CVT

Dear Urination

Dear Urination,

In, perhaps, my most controversial letter ever, I am writing to you, Urination (I won't degrade you further by referring to you by your childhood nickname of "Peeing;" it just sounds so childish). I feel that there comes a time when a blog based on letters to inanimate objects and concepts needs to gain some edge. When the tough questions have to be asked. When a man just needs to "get real." Today is that day for the CVT.

And so, I write this letter. Shortly after some you of my own. My Reader gasps as I write this. "He's serious. He's fallen to his lowest levels yet. SO immature." Well, Readership, if you cannot handle me "getting real" like I am right now, there's always a million lighter-fare blogs out there that never speak of the harsh realities of our world. The less-pretty aspects of our physical selves. There will always be writings about rainbows. But there will never be more than One of my blog. And don't forget it. So just push past your fear and discomfort and keep reading - and learn something.

Back to the topic at hand. I apologize for ignoring you for so long, Urination. That's not generally a pleasant thing for me to do, and this time has been no different. So why did I choose to write about you? Well, first of all, I thought of it while in the act of you, of course. I found myself really appreciating the relief you brought me, and it made me think, "Well - why don't I acknowledge this taboo pleasure of everyday life?" And so I am. You bring me relief. Every time. Relief. How many other actions can claim the same? Let alone people or things. Probably none. Few, at most. But you bring me relief EVERY SINGLE TIME.

And that is not something that should be ignored or pushed aside. In a time and world where so many things bring stress and worry and fear, why is it so seldom that we celebrate something that consistently does the opposite? It's sad, really. That feeling that comes - especially when I have been holding it for a while - when I finally reach the appropriate location to relieve the pressure in my bladder is beyond description. Yet everybody knows it, so there is no real need to attempt an inadequate description. If it was socially acceptable, I would absolutely sigh loudly - "AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!" - every time I engaged in you. I would. Because you is so delightful.

And, of course, there are times when you aren't the absolute best. Actually - scratch that. As this is a letter to you, Urination, what I just said would be a lie. You is always a pleasure. It is the lead-up to you that can sometimes be painful or horrible. Those times when I have to hold it (for whatever reason). Times when I find myself calculating in my head the chance of me being able to hold out long enough. How long I can bear it before there is no out other than to just let go. THAT is a horrible thing. On the flip side, however, the act of you AFTER all that is absolutely Heavenly. I would say few feelings rival that. So I apologize for even SUGGESTING that you could be unpleasant.

The more I think about it, the more I realize how true it is. Here I was about to complain about having to wake up in the middle of the night to pee (which does suck, by the way), but that has nothing to do with you. Because when I finally do get up because I can't hold it any longer, and I know I won't be able to just ignore it and go back to sleep, you feels great. Not only does you at that time bring me the relief I have mentioned multiple times already, but it also causes me to relax and regain my excitement over being able to get back into bed to sleep some more. It's like a second lease on life.

And so I find myself in awe of you, Urination. You are perfect. At an age where I am realizing that nothing can be truly perfect, I suddenly discover YOUR perfection. You - Urination - of all things. Is there anybody else on the planet that has come to this realization? The Japanese spend their lives searching for the perfect cherry blossom in the name of beauty - all for naught. And they know it. While the whole time they are doing that, they are regularly experiencing perfection without even honouring it. Crazy, really. CRAZY.

We leave in a crazy world, but it makes me feel so much better now that I have realized that I get to experience perfection every single day. Multiple times a day. It's such a revelation that it makes me want to just start drinking gallons of water throughout the day, so that I can experience perfection as much as possible.

Perfection. You. Urination.

It doesn't quite roll off the tongue, but it doesn't matter. Thank you, Urination, for broadening my horizons and making me see the world and its beauty for what it truly is. Thank you. I look forward to experiencing you again soon.

Going to Get a Glass of Gatorade,
CVT

*Yes - I am aware of what the doctors call "Painful You" (as depicted in the photo with this letter), but I have never experienced it myself, and I don't ever intend to contract a disease necessary to make it happen. Therefore, you shall remain perfect for me always. For those who have experienced non-perfect you in their lives - wear protection and don't sleep around.

Dear Strings

Dear Strings,

Continuing along the path I set myself on two days ago with my discovery of MIDI, I spent some time playing around with (and recording) my keyboard today. The day before, I had downloaded some new software instruments, and I wanted to test them out.

The beauty of it all, of course, is that the majority of the new instruments I had downloaded were software you. Some violins, a couple cellos, a viola, a bass, and even a harp. And they are a HUGE upgrade over the crappy sounds my keyboard had been producing for me up until the other day.

You see, I really love the sound of you, Strings. As far as I am concerned, throwing a cellist into any band's mix can never be too much. I really enjoy the symphony and epic orchestrations, and neither of those could be anything without you. And so my first thought when I found myself entering the realm of MIDI was, "Now I can finally get some more realistic-sounding you!" And with a little bit of internet browsing, I was able to do just that - for free. So - suddenly - for the price of a MIDI-to-USB adapter cord, I have turned my cheap-o Casio keyboard into a positively decent music-making machine. It is so f-ing wonderful, and I spent a large portion of today reaping the rewards.

My first move? To compose an all-you masterpiece. I laid down my basic progression on a cello, then added a little bit of rhythm via a bass (the kind that uses a bow, naturally), then went to town with some solos on the viola and violin. All this without having the slightest clue as to how to play any of those instruments. And it sounds pretty good (I think). At least for a first try. The violin has always been an instrument I wish I knew how to play. The beautiful, haunting sounds that can be coaxed out of a violin or similar you cannot be matched by any other instrument in the world.

Unless it's a software representation of said sound. And not the crappy keyboard you that I've been playing with in the past. Oh, no. Sure, nobody is going to start thinking I brought in a quartet to play for me or anything like that, but it certainly gets the point across. It sounds good enough that I found myself shaking my head around in violent emotion like a master cellist as I played and recorded my solos. Seriously. And I didn't even feel too ridiculous doing it. That's how tight it was.

And so I thank you, Strings. I thank you for existing and being so wonderfully beautiful in the first place. And I also thank you for being so humble and generous as to allow your sound to be co-opted by the MIDI revolution so as to allow a ridiculous tool like me to get to make compositions involving various you. It's really quite gracious and kind.

I can't even think clearly enough to write anything else right now because I'm listening to my newest creation, and I can't stop thinking about how I want to enhance it - and what new stringed instrument I want to throw into the mix. If I ever create a beautiful song, I have no doubt that you will be involved, Strings, and I thank you for that in advance. You're the best.

Vigorously Shaking My Head with Emotion,
CVT

Dear MIDI

Dear MIDI,

The digital revolution is here. Or maybe it's been here for many many years, but only now am I getting on board with it. Whatever. All I can say is that I now have you capabilities. Yup. And it's terrific.

As I write this, I am listening to a classical guitar composition I just threw together and recorded. A series of plucked strings and some strumming with a distinct vibration and twang due to mis-hit notes. It's quite nice, really. But there's one little catch - I don't own a classical guitar. Instead, I just played it on my keyboard. And that's the beauty of you, MIDI.

Now, I know what some people are thinking - is that really so amazing that a keyboard was able to make classical guitar songs? Not really. But this is my cheap-o keyboard, playing software instruments on my computer through a you-cord. And the coolest part is the post-recording production. Before, everything I recorded was just a digital audio file, and there was only so much tweaking I could do. Now, with you, I can go back and edit every single NOTE that I played. If I want to add some velocity (to make it twang louder, or softer, or slide), I can do that. If I want to move it back a bit in terms of timing, I can. Or maybe I just want to make that note be a completely different note, entirely. No problem.

Because of you, MIDI. I used to think that you were ridiculous. Just a bunch of crazy computer beeps and such that would come from a crappy keyboard even worse than mine. But I was wrong. So wrong. Although you is, indeed, just a bunch of numbers processed through a computer, the digital age has advanced to a point where you sounds pretty good (and can be even better, depending on the quality of the software). Cool. It gives me control over my sound to an extent that no human being should really even have. Super-cool.

And I'm sure there are those out there who have been on the you bandwagon for years upon years and are just laughing right now. "Oh, that silly, backwards CVT - actually RECORDING his keyboard live. Oh, dear." That's all true. It makes me feel stupid for having done it differently for so long and not figuring this out. It does. But guess what? I'm on it now, and there will be no stopping me. The digital audio world has been safe for a long time, but I am finally on the scene, and the sh- is going to go DOWN.

The first step, of course, is to improve my array of software instrumentation. Then I've got to improve my sound-recording capabilities because they still don't a you-version of my voice yet. Although I am sure that will be a possibility some day in the future. Imagine that - I just type in my lyrics and choose the quality of voice, and it comes out as spoken words. Then I could change the timing and pitch, and next thing I know I have written the new smash-hit by Snoop Dogg. I now realize, thanks to you, MIDI, that that is not so far-fetched at all.

I have been playing in the sandlot all these days, thinking that I knew something. But I just got hit by a 255-pound linebacker that's twice as fast as I am, and I'm thinking about the possibilities and just how far this thing can go. The possibilities.

Whoo!!!

So thank you, MIDI, for rocking my world and revealing a brave new world to my virgin eyes. It's almost painful to realize how low-grade and clueless I have been playing it this whole time, but at least I know now. Next step, the WORLD!!!!

Wide-eyed and Excited,
CVT

Dear Goose

Dear Goose,

It's official. My you has been cooked. And it came out pretty damn good, if I do say so myself.

Y'all can be thankful now because the CVT is back on the blog, and I decided to get on it with a letter to the tasty fowl that is currently in my belly. Am I thankful? Of course. I am thankful for the rich, dark meat that is that of the you. Delicious. Truly delicious.

So I went to the store on Sunday and took a look at the turkeys, trying to get ready early for the epic Thanksgiving feast that happens at my house every year these days - two or three people sitting down to way too much food in the form of an early Thanksgiving dinner. Last year, my roommate and I learned a strong lesson when he went to the store on Wednesday night to get our turkey. The scene was totally insane, of course, because it turns out that everybody else is stupid, too, and heads to the store last-minute to do their Thanksgiving shopping. The worst part, though, is that our frozen bird wasn't thawed in time for the dinner we had planned, so we ended up doing some emergency thawing that didn't work out the best.

So we learned. And so I went early to scout out the turkey offerings. But it was not the turkey that grabbed my attention: there, in the frozen poultry section was a thinner, slightly smaller bird with the label "Young You" on it. Instantly, I was transfixed, and I knew what I had to do. I returned home to talk to Matt, and I asked him if he was okay with having a Thanksgiving you for dinner. He had no problem with it, and a new tradition was formed.

Because you is so much tastier than that ridiculously dry, tasteless bird we call a turkey. It's insane that 675 million pounds of that crappy fowl is eaten every Thanksgiving. Why? Because the Pilgrims ate it? The freaking Pilgrims probably ate a whole lot of acorns and tiny little wild berries, but we don't have those for Thanksgiving. Why? Because they taste like crap. So why do we all follow mindlessly into the trap of eating turkey? Sure, they're cheaper by the pound than pretty much any other meat - but that's because they're so awful . . .

They have nothing on the delectable meat of a you. Some people may enjoy white meat, but I think they're idiots. No - give me the dark meat of a you any day. The slices of breast meat had that beautiful pink color of a roast cow product. Juicy and wonderful, the carmelized apples I had with the meat only touched off its magnificent flavour. So rich. So heavenly. I am thankful for you, Goose.

And so I have decided that, from now on, it is a Thanksgiving you for me (and anybody else accompanying me on this special day). And if the people I'm with don't want any Thanksgiving you? Then the CVT will be dining alone, savouring your sweet meat and smiling while they all gum the dry woodchips some people call turkey meat. And that's all I have to say about that.

So Happy Thanksgiving, Reader. I am thankful that I didn't have dinner in my Reader's company - only because then I would have had to eat turkey instead of my wonderful new discovery - the you.

Thank you, Goose. Thank you so much. I look forward to eating you tomorrow.

Full to Bursting,
CVT

Dear Power Tools

Dear Power Tools,

I really could have used some you today. Just some. I didn't even need a lot of you, but I could have used some. Yup.

See, I decided to do a little bit of woodwork today. Well, I actually decided to do a little bit of woodwork YESTERDAY, but I acted on that decision today. Because today is Veteran's Day, and that's the kind of thing a man should be doing on Veteran's Day, right? Yeah.

Anyway, I recently decided that it was time to just bite the bullet and invest some of my saved money in some real audio recording equipment (see "Dear Professional Studio Equipment" or something like that - I'm too lazy to figure out exactly what whom it was addressed to). After hours of research, it occurred to me that the extra equipment I would like to invest in would take up space. Space that I did not really have, due to a cluttered desk, messy room, etc. And so I decided that a real clean-up was in order, and I spent a large portion of this weekend following through on that need to clean.

But I got to a point in my cleaning where I realized that just cleaning wasn't enough. Sure, I could stuff my extra crap in various nooks and crannies, but that kind of thing was what had made it all so messy to begin with. And so I decided that I would make myself some extra storage to maximize my space and keep myself organized. I took some measurements of some of the last real usable space I had and off to the Home Depot went I.

An extended shopping trip later (slowed by impulsive side-trips to Best Buy - for a power strip - and a shoe store), I was ready to go - all the wood a man could need to build the shelving unit/side table that I had planned. Of course, I wasn't quite ready . . .

Another extended adventure later (highlighted by getting new tires for my car - because I spun out on the highway yesterday - and watching a movie with Gate), and I was ready to go for real.

And I set to it like nobody's business. But this is the thing: I have no you. Not one. We used to have a whole collection of you that we had purchased all together, but they had proven to be pieces of crap, and they have long since died. And so I was left with a hand-saw, a screwdriver, and a mallett (that's right - not even a real hammer). For some reason, I had thought we were better equipped than that (hence not buying an f-ing hammer at the hardware store). And it only got worse.

Because it turned out I had bought screws that were too short to be of any use. The only other screws I had were a bit too long and too wide (which ended up splitting the wood). The nails I had at home were mostly sufficient, but not long enough for some uses. And, of course, I was trying to hammer those nails with a mallett - meaning anytime I messed it up, there was no pulling the nail back out. Plus, a mallett just isn't designed for hammering nails. Nope.

So I ended up building the worst side table/shelving unit ever. It's such a piece of crap. None of the legs are on straight. The wood is split. Everything is crooked. Some of the nails are knocked sideways with no way to pull them out. And it took me two hours to make (when it probably would have taken half the time or less with a couple of you). There's nothing more frustrating than trying to hammer in nails with a mallett because the screws that I was using (and screwing in - slowly - by HAND) were too big and ruining the wood. And then knocking the nail sideways.

It almost would have been worth the price of some decent you to avoid this ridiculous mess. Almost.

Except this is the thing: the table works. My crappy, piece of sh- table works. It has provided extra storage within a limited space. It's standing, and it can carry the weight of the objects I have placed on top of it (and on its shelves). And that's all I needed. If I had put some more love and care into the building process, it could have been quite a bit prettier, but I don't really care. Because it has served its purpose.

And so, although I really would have liked to have some you while building my table, it wasn't necessary. Not to say that I won't daydream about you next time I have a little project (which may be soon, because I have one last spot where I'd like to put some storage). But I was able to pull off a functional table without you. The old-fashioned way. And that's not so bad. Really - considering my lack of you and lack of an f-ing HAMMER to boot - I think I did pretty damn well.

So there, Power Tools. You may make my life a little bit better, but I don't need you. And that's good to know, deep down.

However, I wouldn't complain if a few you came my way in the near future . . .

In a Clean Space,
CVT

You Have 7 Days to Download This File

Go to this link and download this song in the next 7 days. This is what the CVT does on his free time.

http://www.yousendit.com/transfer.php?action=download&ufid=6D12AF29114A087A

Dear Leaving Work in the Dark

Dear Leaving Work in the Dark,

I left work a little later than I usually do. We had a staff meeting, so I wasn't able to get out as early as I sometimes can. At the same time, I didn't get out all that late. But it didn't matter, because I still ended up you, Leaving Work in the Dark. 5:15pm, and I walk out that front door into a darkening sky. And all I could think to myself was, "It's not as late as it looks." Or feels.

Because that's the terrible thing about you. It feels SO late, and suddenly my mind and body are tricked into thinking that I really left work extra late, and that I will have no personal unwind time before it's time to go to bed. Which, of course, is not true at all, but it FEELS that way. And when something FEELS a certain way, it's really hard not to follow through on the feeling and just make that happen. Because, in reality, I have a number of hours to do whatever I want before going to bed tonight (in spite of how early I tend to go to bed). But the darkness that surrounded me as I headed home put me a mind-set where all I wanted to do was get home, watch a little football, and go to sleep.

It combats all of my productive instincts. I have a song to record (the one I wrote while at that "Proficiency Training"). I have some new books to read. I have a hobby I want to pursue and get better at (looking into learning about studio recording and what I need and need to do to set up a higher-quality home studio). I have a blog to enter.

But my mind tells me that all these things should be pushed to the background because it seems so late. My mind tells me I need to start calming myself down because bed time is coming soon. My mind tells me that I just can't possibly have the energy or time to put into these pursuits (at least not enough to do any of it justice). So my mind tells me to just shut down and begin my Winter hibernation.

But - aha! - not so fast! Because I have a new weapon against such thoughts: full-spectrum light. I now sit in full-spectrum glory as I write this letter. I bathed in intense, full-spectrum wonder for thirty minutes this morning with my Light Therapy Lamp. Every time I go to the bathroom, full-spectrum light ruffles my hair. And so the simple act of you is no longer enough to knock me down. It is no longer enough to convince me to just lay down and watch my productivity wash away. Oh no! You will no longer have the hold on me that it once did.

Because I fully intend to record some music after I finish writing this. I fully intend to continue writing away as you happens even when I leave at my normal time. That full-spectrum light has given me just enough extra energy to have just enough extra motivation to go ahead and DO something in spite of you, Leaving Work in the Dark. And because of that, you no longer hold the negative power over me that you once did. I don't fear you.

Sure, I don't like you, either. But I can also respect you now. I know that you now will enable me to play in the light until late during the summer. I can appreciate the way the city and car lights play off the rain and roads as I head home. I can see various outdoor, lit-up decorations and smile that little smile I used to have when it was nearing Christmas as a child (or Channukah, depending on the angle I wish to take).

So, I suppose I thank you, Leaving Work in the Dark, for the appreciation you give me of all the light and sunlit work-leavings in store for me in the future. You can actually work in reverse and cheer me up when I realize that I actually have a few hours of play time in spite of the darkness outside my window. So we're cool. Things have changed. I'm no longer going to be rude to you and have a problem. We can move on and even try to be friends. That probably won't happen, but the fact that I'm even saying it shows how far we've come.

You keep doing your thing, and I'll keep doing mine, and all will be good.

Charging in the Light,
CVT

Dear Bad at Their Job

Dear Bad at Their Job,

On June 19, 2007, I wrote a letter ("Dear Teacher Training") after getting some "professional development" in the form of a day of training. I am in a position right now of writing almost an exact copy of that letter after attending a Proficiency Training. However, instead of completely repeating myself, I have decided to shift gears a little bit and direct this letter towards being you, Bad at Their Job.

Now, most people - I would think - would not continue to do a job that they were absolutely terrible at. I think that, after a few years (tops), they would see the light and realize that being you is not only horribly painful for coworkers and clients, but also for themselves. I mean - who would want to continuously be horrible at something day after day? That would be frustrating in so many different ways. To me. And normal people.

But I learned something today. Or at least had some previous knowledge reinforced. Not everybody feels this way. Not everybody actually CARES or has a sense of pride. Some people are perfectly content being you for years on end. People who are so ridiculously you that they don't even REALIZE that they are, indeed, you. People who will put all those around them through misery for the duration of their careers because they are not smart enough to pick up on all the signals that tell them that they are, indeed, you.

And that's really sad. Pathetic. It makes me want to cry. Because today I was in the same room as somebody who was horrendously you for seven hours. And I am really not sure if she was even aware of it. While the people who had come and paid for (or whose schools had paid for) the training slowly started leaving, she continued to talk and talk and talk about irrelevant nonsense while clicking through the worst PowerPoint slides I have been subjected to. There wasn't even any Flash Animation or star-wipe transitions. The two "videos" she showed (one was actually just a faster slide-show set to music) had NOTHING to do with the content and just had everyone scratching their heads afterwards. And she really never did anything other than talk AT all of us. Except for the times when she allowed random attendees to start talking and debating school politics (again, irrelevant) for fifteen or more minutes at a pop.

Oh - and when she talked, she did it in this sort of robot-y, monotone voice in the manner of somebody slowly reading a teleprompter that was really difficult to see. Times seven hours. Getting the picture?

Throughout, people were talking to each other (not that quietly), leaving, openly complaining . . . And nothing changed. Not a whit. She never broke character for a second. She never changed expression. It could have been a fascinating psychology experiment if I hadn't been so pissed off at the waste of time.

Because while she was talking and stealing my life-forces, I had a sub in my classroom trying to administer quizzes. And Lord knows how that probably ended up. I spent extra hours (hourS, plural) after school on Friday putting together my sub plans because of this training. And this is what I got. Seven hours in a room with a person that was unapologetically you. And bad is being very kind.

So what makes that type of person tick? Are they so miserable and sad that any further abuse is just business as usual? Are they mean, evil-spirited people that get a kick out of putting others through Hell (for money)? Do they just not care? Are they totally unaware?

Or are they geniuses?

This woman got paid $120 a head to lead this training. Now I'm sure a chunk of this money went to renting the space, and travel expenses, and the food. But there's no way that didn't leave AT LEAST $50 a pop as profit. Multiply that by the 60 people there (maybe more), and you get a minimum of $3,000 for seven hours of being you. For sucking so bad that 3/4 of the attendees left before the thing was even over. And there was no guarantee, warranty, or anything else that makes her have to pay back that money.

So maybe she's just an evil genius. Somebody who has no problem stealing that kind of money from the Oregon public school system. Maybe that blank look on her face was just a mask to conceal her sh-eating grin as she mentally counted the money she was making.

I think that is probably it. And that I should probably start figuring out something I can "specialize" in, so I can become a teacher training facilitator.

But there was one good thing from just one more person being you, Bad at Their Job. Because it was so horrible, we all left early, and I got home a little after 2:30pm on a sunny day. And for that, I truly and sincerely thank you from the bottom of my heart.

At Least it Wasn't MY Money,
CVT

*My Reader should really read my "Dear Teacher Training" again, because it is so spot-on. June 19, 2007. Read it.

Dear Anticipation

Dear Anticipation,

I get really excited about playing my Sunday morning football games. I mean - REALLY excited. I look forward to them all week. I find myself thinking about them the night before. Half the day on Saturday I am thinking about how I wish I could just have my game(s) on Saturday, so that I could just go ahead and play. I need the exercise. And the competition. And the contact. And everything else. I just really enjoy playing football (whether it's real-deal tackle or just with flags on).

So this morning, I ended up waking up an hour earlier than planned. Not too shocking, considering my last letter and the significance of this particular Sunday. But that has been a whole extra hour of you, Anticipation. Eager, giddy you that rivals any you I have felt in the past. Because what am I really supposed to do to pass the time this early in the morning? Football is not on tv yet, so I can't watch that. It's too early to go out and do something. I'm too energized and jazzed-up to just sit and quietly read or draw or anything like that . . . What can a boy do?

Nothing but bide time and watch the clock slowly move towards "Go Time." And I have to say that you most definitely makes that time go slowly.

I am so ridiculously antsy right now. I'm trying to think of clever things to write - and a lot of them - so that I can get into the flow of writing this letter instead of thinking about my tortuous you, but it's not working. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I am writing ABOUT you while trying to write something to get my mind off of you. That may have merit. But it seemed like a good idea, anyway.

I mean - what better way to make use of nervous energy than to write a letter to the producer of said nervous energy? If I am going to be thinking about you for the next 20 minutes, anyway, I might as well be making something productive out of it, right? I think so. I think so.

And I do appreciate you, Anticipation. I really do. Because there have certainly been times in my life where I felt like I didn't really have a whole lot to look forward to (in a short-term sense), and it was kind of awful. Just feeling like I was in a rut where a lot of things were happening and moving me forward to nothing exciting. That's a TERRIBLE way to go about moving through life - believe me. And so I am happy to have some nervous energy due to some you of fun things ahead.

Another reason I am so excited about playing is because my various injuries of the past (see "Dear Knee") have taught me that age-old lesson that nobody ever really listens to until after the fact: it's hard to truly appreciate anything until it has been lost. So the fact that I get to go out and run around on my knee is an exciting thing, indeed. Indeed.

Of course, as I write this, I find myself thinking about the possibility of "jinxing" myself as I talk about how much I look forward to this and appreciate this, etc. It feels like I am just BEGGING for an injury today. And that may just happen (if I were to predict one, I'd say pulled hamstring). But if it does, that's okay, because I'd much rather hurt myself playing than doing something else (stupid or otherwise). And if I DO hurt myself, I hope it's while doing something cool (like returning an interception for a touchdown).

All that said, I have successfully passed enough time to warrant wrapping up this letter and getting myself geared up. So thank you, Anticipation, for getting me up early and writing my blog entry now, so I don't have to worry about doing it later. Because later, I expect to be lying around icing something or complaining about soreness.

About to Get Hurt in a Cool Way,
CVT

Dear Saving Daylight

Dear Saving Daylight,

Today is the Eve of Darkness in my world. Today is the last day for the next 6 months in which I can appreciate the beautiful light of day on my face at 6pm or later. Yesterday was the last day that I was able to leave work with full sunlight shining down on my vehicle. For tomorrow is Daylight Savings Time. Tomorrow, we "Fall back," and I start to find out how effective my Light Therapy Lamp really is.

It makes me think: what if this so-called "Daylight Savings" really enabled us to be you, Saving Daylight? What if we could store up one or two of those extra hours of sunlight during the summer and cash them in during the Winter? Imagine that - on some cold Winter day, after a rough day at work, I could just go to an ATM, slide my card, and get myself full sunlight until 8pm. My mood brightens, I relax, and I'm ready to move on. Now THAT would be a very good reason to be you. THAT would be lending truth to the term, "Daylight Savings."

But - alas - it doesn't work like that. Instead, "Daylight Savings" has little to nothing to do with you at all. Sure, I'll get about an extra week to have some daylight on my morning commute to work, but it's not enough of a trade-off. I'd rather have light until 5:30pm (at the earliest) through the Winter than have one extra week of the sun rising before I leave the house. Because - after that - the sun is going to be rising after I get to work, AND it will be dark at 4:30pm before I leave. Without "Daylight Savings," I would be able to have light during one part of my commute during the Winter. Instead, I shall awake in the dark and return home in the dark. Splendid.

So what do I propose to do about it? Since there is no way I can actually start you, what CAN I do? Well, I can limit my complaining to just this one letter. And then I can go out there on this sunny day and get some sunlight on my face - until 6pm. Because I can. And then, tomorrow morning, I can wake up at my normal time, but enjoy the fact that that will actually give me an extra hour of sleep, which is nice. And then I can go play football for three hours in the last sunlight I might get during my games. And then I will come home, tired and satisfied and sunlight-charged, and rest my bones until evening. And then, on Monday, I shall wake up, see the light, and be glad for it. THAT is what I can do about it.

Because there are a number of good things happening right now that involve daylight. They may not last for much longer, of course, but at least they are here. Now. Because there's no point worrying about the rest, right? Besides, maybe the fact that there is still beautiful sunlight this late in the season means that Global Warming is taking effect more quickly and stronger than anticipated, and I may get my California weather this Winter, after all. And I admit that I would have no problems with that (sorry Sierra Club, OSPIRG, Green Peace, and all the rest of the Global Warming-bashers).

So I'll just keep my fingers crossed that Global Warming is real - because if it is, that's sort of a way to be you, after all. So thank you, Saving Daylight, for the promise of the future, and the extra hour of sleep I'll get tomorrow morning.

Cheery in the Fall,
CVT