Dear Prolific Mother-Lover

Dear Prolific Mother-Lover,

I am a you, Prolific Mother-Lover. I am. Most people don't really know that because I don't share a lot of what I do, but I am a you, indeed. And I think it's high-time that I share that with the world. Or at least the reader(s) of this particular blog - don't you, Prolific Mother-Lover?

I was thinking about sharing some of my newest creations with my reading public in my last post, but then I decided against it. Since I tend to be a you, but not a GOOD you - it seemed a bit much to make people listen to everything. Especially since part of my being a you means that I constantly start new projects before I've fully ironed out the previous one - leaving an endless pile of not-quite-finished work that pride keeps me from sharing. The problem being, of course, that that just means I leave them unfinished and continue on without having the full motivation to complete them adequately. And that's a problem.

Because I was all set to push through on an updated rendition of "the Prince" (just as my Loyal Reader - and the Sis - suspected), but that seemed silly with other unfinished works lying around. So I came up with a plan - a very similar plan to the one that made this blog come into existence in the first place.

The plan is one to get me to take my music a little more seriously than I currently do. Sure - I love doing it, and I am a you, but I don't take it seriously enough to fully produce my songs to a satisfactory level. Because I currently make music for the simple enjoyment of making the music, it doesn't really matter what the final product comes out sounding like (mostly). If it's okay enough, I stop there and move on. Because it's just not as fun to perfect a couple off notes as it is to create something brand new from scratch. To work out a solo. To throw in some crazy new stringed instrument because I can. THAT'S fun. Not fine-tuning something that was fun to make and is only okay in sound.

So I need motivation. Just as - for those that remember - I needed motivation to write and edit my own stuff back in the day. The solution? This blog. An endless series of letters to concepts and inanimate objects (such as you, Prolific Mother-Lover). And it worked. As of this particular letter, I have now written 186 different short pieces for public consumption. They aren't the most perfect pieces. They aren't Pulitzer-Prize-winning literary masterpieces. But they exist. And they wouldn't have if I never started this blog.

So I figured I'd use the same idea to push myself to take my music up a notch. How? By continuing to be a you, Prolific Mother-Lover, but with a more conscious state of mind. I call it "a Song a Week." One brand-new song posted every single week. On average (because there will be weeks where I won't get a chance, and so I will make up for those by being an extra-you). And since those songs will be posted for some level of public consumption, the motivation of not being ashamed should keep me from putting up anything that's total crap (or at least not somewhat polished). That's the idea, at least. It may just end up with my reading public learning not to download the songs because they ARE total crap, but who knows, right? At least this way I'll stand a fighting chance of taking it seriously.

So does that mean that "the Prince" 2008 re-mix is about to hit the market? It may (although I kind of want to wait on my new bass guitar - which I failed to purchase this afternoon out of lack of options). But because I know that there are folks out there waiting on a demonstration of just how much of a you I am, I am going to throw a couple bones out there. Granted, these are songs cut to mp3 BEFORE I made my pact to actually do them up fully, but they will just have to do for now.

There are more where these come from (many of them with actual lyrics), but I want to be totally sure those are ready before I throw them out there. These two pieces are more "CVT had a ridiculously fun time making these" - as opposed to "CVT really threw his whole self into these." I may know my reader(s) well, but I'm not ready to throw it all out there yet. Not yet.

And so "the Prince" will be forthcoming. In the meantime, this is what I've got:

http://download.yousendit.com/443FE2F5556E9FC5

http://download.yousendit.com/FC27B2BC0943DFAE

Feeling It,
CVT

P.S. If my mom is willing to share, I can post the song I wrote for her birthday this past December . . .

Dear Just One More Thing

Dear Just One More Thing,

I've got a little problem right now. It's kind of a good problem to have (in some ways), but it can also be a bit frustrating, as well. That problem is that I need you to have my little home-studio set-up as I want it. Good to go, as it were. You, Just One More Thing. You.

Now that wouldn't be a problem in and of itself it were completely true, but I can't be sure if that's really the case. Because this isn't the first time that I needed you to complete my studio. In fact, I couldn't even say it was the fifth time. Or tenth, probably. Where did it all begin? The only way we can answer that is by tripping back down memory lane to that grand old place called the Past . . .

A couple months into moving to Portland, my roommate Matt and I got snowed in. Three days of being (more or less) stuck in the house while the whole city floundered in INCHES of snow. I was supposed to start my new job (at the Portland VA Hospital) at that time, but my start got delayed by the snow. So Matt and I were stuck in the house, trying to figure out how to entertain ourselves. And I don't really know how it came up, but "the Prince" came to our minds.

What is "the Prince"? Ha. Such a simple question with such a long-winded answer. I will do my best to keep this one within reason. "The Prince" was a song. IS a song. Or - really - is the CONCEPT of a song. A song written many years back (even further back than my arrival in Portland) in Ann Arbor, Michigan with another roommate at the time - Ben. Ben and I had been sitting around our apartment, and we decided that we wanted to become a coffee-shop-focused musical duo. To do this, of course, we needed a song. A song that would blow minds and make us famous. The song that was created in the ensuing splash of brilliance was "the Prince."

"The Prince" had a sort of Arabian Nights kind of feeling to it. A simple, repetitive guitar tune that was really damn catchy. And the feel of it was such that it was absolutely perfect for a coffee-shop-focused musical duo that intended to spend more time telling a story ABOUT the song played than to actually play. Needless to say, we never played "the Prince" at any coffee shop in Ann Arbor or otherwise, but the legend of "the Prince" was born - and wasn't to be forgotten.

So when Matt and I found ourselves snowed in years later, "the Prince" came to mind. And we decided that we would record it on the EXTREMELY basic audio production program on my outdated laptop computer. We had no mic. Just the internal microphone on the laptop, a guitar, a cheap keyboard (that I had bought only days before), and a sloppily-hashed-out script that we had written as a sort of multi-act play to explain "the Prince's" origins. As the snowy days continued, "the Prince" morphed from a two-guitar acoustic piece to a radio-play about a mysterious princely figure who came knocking on our door one snowy day while we contemplated interviewing new roommates. Brilliant, obviously.

The first rendition of "the Prince" was terrible. But it was so fun to make - and in that moment the recording bug struck me, and I have never been the same since. Since that fateful snowy day, I have been on the track of you to round out my recording needs. It started with a basic microphone. Then a better software program. Then a better keyboard. Then a better microphone. A better laptop. (the search slowed a bit at this point) Then I was introduced to real Audio Production, and I needed to upgrade again. An audio interface with pre-amps. A better mic to go along with that. An electric guitar to plug into the audio interface. But those upgrades exposed me to new needs.

And that's where I stand now. Needing you to be satisfied. I need a drum machine (or drum machine software) to make my own custom-beats. Wait - that's not enough. If I'm going to do that, I should upgrade my software program. Well - shoot. With that kind of upgrade, it's going to be too obvious that I'm using my electric guitar as a bass, and that's just not doing the trick. I guess I need you, Just One More Thing - a bass guitar. And then I'll be all good. Definitely. That's all I really need. You. A bass guitar.

And so I will get one. Soon. Because I need it. And I can't be satisfied until I have it. Just as with every other time, until I get you, I'm only buying time. Everything I record is just temporary - because I'm going to need to go back to it with that one thing to fix it up and make it sound RIGHT. My newest piece is alright. I don't hate it. But if I had YOU to clean up that one section . . . Yeah - THAT would be the real deal. Definitely.

Just a mic. Software. Laptop. Keyboard. Better microphone. Audio Interface. Guitar. Mic. Mic stand. Drum machine. Software WITH drum machine. Bass guitar.

Better software instruments? Probably.

So - after the bass guitar - it's you, Just One More Thing. Then I'll be all good. Totally satisfied. Definitely.

Yikes.
CVT

Multiplicity

If I ever got hold of a Transmogrifier from Calvin (of "Calvin and Hobbes"), cloned myself a few times, then handed all of me an acoustic guitar and told me to play a little ditty - this might be what would come of it. Right now, in my Unexpectedly High state, I feel like that kind of sums up where I'm at.

Enjoy the music: http://download.yousendit.com/B5DDF734159708D0

On the other hand, if I was some bearded white hippie-esque guy, and I cloned myself and got all the instruments I currently had and was recording a song together, it would look like the following image. Except for the violin. But I could hold my baby guitar like a violin with a long pencil as a bow, and then it would be more or less like this image.

Dear Unexpected High

Dear Unexpected High,

Wow. Feels great to have you around right now, Unexpected High. A very pleasant surprise, indeed. I feel really good - and for no apparent reason. And that's super-cool with me, dude. So super-cool that it got me wanting to write you a letter (after a relatively long letter-less spell). So here it is.

The thing is this: last week I wasn't feeling so hot. Not terrible, but not good. Definitely not good. A little bit bad. And I'm not really sure why. It would seem that - after a nice little vacation to a land of sunshine (Phoenix, Arizona) followed by a short school week - I should have felt quite good. Better than I had before I left. But it didn't really happen that way. And I don't know why. It could have been that my sleep patterns got messed up. Maybe it was the lack of competitive exercise (because I skipped my football game that weekend to be in sunlight). Who knows. But the fact of the matter was that I ended up not feeling good.

I was a bit tired-out (even though I was going to bed early). I was sleeping terribly. I kept waking up. I had nightmares. I was feeling all stressed-out and anxious about school in a way that I really just haven't felt in a long, long time. It wasn't fun. I felt beat up and non-productive after school. Even though it was all nice and sunny out here in Portland, I was a little bit down. Surprisingly so. And I had no idea what to do about it.

And it came to a head last night. I played three more games of football (my last three of this particular season - not ending in the happiest fashion). I was excellent, but my teams were not. And now my season is over, and I don't get to play contact football until next fall. And so I was all beat up and tired and hungry when I came home yesterday. I ended up lying around a bit, and I slowly started feeling even more down. It didn't make sense - I had just played a bunch of football. Out in the sun. I had had only a three-day work week. But I was down.

The evening ended up on a positive note, but I was still a little bit anxious about my school day. So when I came in today and got all planned and ready to go, it didn't seem like the best sign that a last-minute call-in of a sick day by one of my co-workers came in. Especially since it made me need to change up my plans, leaving me stressed and running around unorganized and slightly unprepared when the kids came in. It had all the appearances of another rough day.

But it wasn't. There were some rough spots, but it wasn't awful. It wasn't great, though, either. And any positive I had gained from my not-awful day seemed ready to go away due to the fact that it's the last week of term, and I have grading to do (which adds a few hours to every workday this week). And I had to grade a bunch of quizzes that I hadn't gotten to yet. And I had to call a bunch of parents. And schedule some post-suspension re-entry meetings for a few of my advocates. And one of them has gone missing, so I was trying to track him down. And I had kids staying after school to make up missing work. There's more, but I don't feel like listing all of it. In a nutshell - there were a million stressful things to do for hours after school today.

And I did them. And I did my grades (not all of them, but a chunk).

And then the strangest thing happened - I got an you, Unexpected High. I got this crazy rush of good-feeling running through me. Just pure positivity and a feeling of "the world is a great place." I was excited. And smiling. And eager to get home to do all sorts of productive things (make music, write this letter, maybe draw a little bit). I was inspired. Exhilarated. And all so unexpected.

And I'm still not sure where the Hell you came from. But you're still here. And I kind of feel like you're going to be with me for the rest of the week. And I can't explain why or how I know that - but I'm pretty sure it's true. And it's the best feeling in the world. I just feel absolutely terrific. Like I could write the best song ever right now. Or fly a popsicle-airplane over a sea of pink lemonade. Or both. Ooh - what if I was flying a popsicle-airplane with my mind while playing the electric guitar and rapping right before I took a splash-down in a pink lemonade sea for a refreshing drink?

Well, whatever that would be like - I feel like that right now.

And I really appreciate it, Unexpected High. It's such a great feeling. It's so much more exciting than just feeling good through the Winter when I normally feel like crap. Sure - that's an unbelievably wonderful thing, but this you is even better because of the contrast with the immediate past. It's like pulling free of a mud-hole that I was afraid was going to pull me under only to realize that: "That's not mud - it's PUDDING!" And then diving back in to eat the loveliest multi-layered chocolate pudding in all of the land before enjoying a large, refreshing glass of chocolate milk (and I'm not talking about no f-ing QWIK chocolate milk; stupid chocolate rabbit).

I'm all jittery and leg-shaking as I write this because I am anticipating the amazing creative things that I might do soon. And it makes me want to share my most recent musical creation. One that I am not sure if I'm finished with or not, but I want to share, nonetheless. Because of you, Unexpected High. I want to share myself with the world. And so I shall.

Thank you, Unexpected High. Thanks for hiding behind my desk and jumping out at me at the most surprising moment possible. Thanks for turning anticipated fatigue into flying popsicles and lemonade. Because that's awesome.

Thinking That Some Electric Guitar Is In Order,
CVT

Dear Seeking Out the Sun

Dear Seeking Out the Sun,

Yo. How you doing, Seeking Out the Sun? It's funny - because I feel like all last Winter I was you, but this time around I haven't been sweating it so much. My Light Therapy Lamp has kept me sunny on the inside, and I just haven't felt the overwhelming need to go you. That said, this weekend marks the beginning of a month of you, and I'm pretty excited about it.

In a couple hours, I'm going to climb onto a plane to head out to Arizona. Tempe. Land of strip malls and cacti (to my understanding - I've never actually been there, to be honest). But I don't really care about the strip malls because Tempe has TWO things right now that Portland currently doesn't (and won't for a while): my good friend Glotto (her real name has been changed to protect the innocent) and the Sun. Better yet - the WARM Sun.

Because it actually is pretty sunny today here in Portland (or at least it WAS, it seems to be going away as I write this). But it's not a WARM Sun, which brings me the most wonderful option of all: wearing shorts and flip flops. Now, I don't want to get my hopes up for that wonderful occasion, but if I get to do it the next couple of days . . . I might just cry.

To be honest - I can't even really IMAGINE that right now. I mean - I can picture myself wearing shorts and flip flops, but in my head it makes my feet really cold and uncomfortable because I can't fathom being OUTSIDE in enough warmth to not need socks. But I recall days past when that was a fact of life, and I can only hope that I get the same for just a couple days on my trip.

And if I don't? Not to worry - because this little adventure is not the end of my quest as I go you. If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times in the last two days: I'm going to Hawaii. Hawaii. Where there is no chance in Hell that I can spend a little over a week without getting to comfortably wear shorts and sandals. And that concept is so appealing to me these days that that's almost all I think about during my free time. I picture myself walking through a city street in shorts and sandals - just smiling. Thinking, "maybe I should go hang out at the beach for a little bit," and then just doing it. Because a guy can do that kind of thing in Hawaii. And that's where I'm going. And I am so ridiculously excited about it, it almost literally hurts.

Because my Light Therapy Lamp is an amazing thing - but it's not the Sun. It doesn't prevent me from becoming a pale, sickly-looking freak (sorry white people - but that's kind of how I feel when I'm all pale-skinned). My Lamp doesn't allow me to wander around town without getting wet. It doesn't necessitate sunglasses or less clothing. My Light Therapy Lamp is an amazing thing - but it's not the Sun.

And so it's time to go you, Seeking Out the Sun. Sure - I could probably survive okay with just my Lamp until the Sun comes to me, but why should I if I don't have to? I'm not looking to just "survive" - I want to THRIVE. And the only way to do that is by you. And I am so very excited to do so.

Therefore, I thank you, Seeking Out the Sun. For the hope and excitement you bring to me. For the fantasy dreamworld that you create in my head as I imagine my search coming to fruition. And so I hope that it all goes down in just a few anticipation-filled hours. And I think it will.

So off I go you - with a smile on my face and child-like joy in my heart. Let's just hope it pans out.

Hoping to Write a "Dear Wearing Shorts and Flip Flops" Letter Soon,
CVT

Dear F***!!!! (Part II)

Dear F***!!!! (Part II),

You it. I'm going to you-ing Hawaii!!!! Sure - now I've got to pay money for it. It's a little bit expensive (although cheaper than I first anticipated). I don't know what I'm going to do with my stupid you-ing "FREE" ticket. But I'm going to Hawaii. Because I REALLY want to. And so I am.

I mean - if I'm going to be a twenty-something with the social life of a 50 year-old, I should get some sort of benefit out of it, right? We've already been over how much I save by being a quasi-hermit with no drug or alcohol-related habits. So why the you can't I go to Hawaii if I want to? No reason. No you-ing reason AT ALL. And so I'm you-ing going, damnit. And that's that.

I pulled the trigger on a ticket this evening. I'll spend more money on the trip than I planned, of course, but if I do it right - it won't be THAT much more. I just won't be staying anywhere fancy at all. Which is fine. I'm not a fancy man (hence the social life of a 50 year-old). All I really need is some flip flops, shorts, and a sunny place to be during the day - the night-time doesn't really matter at all. Because I'm not going for the night-time.

So you getting upsot about the ticket. It sucks. A lot. But it's not the end of the you-ing world. And now it just encourages me to take an extra trip before the end of June. Where I'm going to go - I don't really know. Maybe I could sell it to a friend who is already planning on going somewhere. They could use my free ticket, pay me some money for it (but cheaper than they would have on the flight), and we all win in the end. Friends? How's that sound?

So that's that. I'm not going to kill myself over this one. Some day down the line I might find myself staring into a couple-hundred-dollar hole because of my stupidity, but I'll deal with that when the day comes. I'm not married. I have no kids. This plane ticket isn't going to mean the difference between working or retiring when I'm 70. It's not going to pay for my (imaginary) kids' college tuition. You - by the time I would even have kids thinking about college, the money probably wouldn't even pay for any APPLICATION FEES. What with inflation and all - the money I am now forced to actually fork over for this flight will probably be equivalent to a full tank of unleaded gasoline in 10 years. It's all relative.

So you it. I'm going to Hawaii, anyway. And I'm going to love it. And I'll hurt myself trying to surf. And I'll be all proud of it because I'll have earned the pain from true use of my body.

You you, Alaska Airlines. Because I'm going to Hawaii.

You-ing A,
CVT

Dear F***!!!!

Dear F***!!!!

You. You you you. You you you you you you you you you you you you you you you you you you.

That's right - you. And you Alaska Airlines. And you me for being stupid. And you Portland and its stupid clouds. And you anywhere that isn't sunny and warm.

And you me for being stupid.

I'm NOT going to Hawaii. Nope. Not me. Thought I was. Started planning for it and getting excited about it. Sure did. But I'm not going. And it's because I'm stupid. Because I like to wait too long before I make full commitments to things. Like flying to Hawaii for my Spring Break. I knew that I should have just gone and planned it a long time ago. But I didn't. And so here I am, saying you.

I just called Alaska to try to book my flight to Hawaii with my Free Roundtrip Ticket that I got so long ago. The lady says right away - "to use that, you need to book way in advance, especially if you're trying to go someplace like Hawaii. So where are you trying to go?"

I almost said "you" instead of "Hawaii" in response. Because I knew what was about to happen. I knew that I was about to feel like a total ass and want to punch things and scream and cry and then kick things again. And I was right. Because I'm NOT going to Hawaii.

Probably not ever, really. Because she checked way out into Fall, and only then were there some available flights. You. You you you.

So what the you am I going to do now!? I don't know if I've ever been so excited about a trip than I was for my trip to Hawaii. I had it all figured out. I kept fantasizing about it. I shouldn't have said anything, but I mentioned it to people and how excited I was - BEFORE I even you-ing booked it. STUPID. Because I'm NOT going to Hawaii.

And I had my heart so set on it that I almost feel like buying a ticket, anyway. But they are so expensive, and teaching doesn't exactly line my pockets with money. From the money I was going to save on the flight, I was going to be able to really DO some things out there. Maybe stay somewhere nice for a couple nights. I had so many plans . . .

And now all I can do is yell "YOU!!!!!" into the gray skies of Portland. You-ing Portland. I was going to wear shorts in the sun for a WHOLE WEEK. Now I'm just going to cry in the clouds for two.

You.

You-ing Stupid,
CVT

Dear Intense Soreness

Dear Intense Soreness,

Hey, Man. I had some you a couple weeks back, and I didn't really say much at the time, and I felt a little bad about that. So I figured that - since you're back around - I owed you a letter. So here it is.

I have some you going on right now, Intense Soreness. Big time. It aches when I do pretty much anything at all. My shoulders are sore, my back, my legs, my arms, my stomach . . . Almost every major muscle in my body hurts right now. And that's okay.

Why would I say that? Why is it okay that I'm so ridiculously sore? Well - mostly because it is exactly what I expected. It's that good kind of soreness that comes from really using my body. Pushing myself and competing and being physical. Maybe I am getting ahead of myself.

Yesterday I played 6 hours of football. Four games. Three straight hours, and hour lunch, and then another three straight hours. And this wasn't some half-assed playing. No. This was 6 hours of intense, very physical football action. Playing both sides of the ball and barely taking any plays off. For those that don't know - professional football players only play for THREE hours, and they have a lot of down-time because they don't play both ways. Granted, this wasn't the same kind of physical exertion as all that, but still. That's a lot of football.

And it was great. It felt really good to use every part of my body - and all the way. It was a struggle at the end - I admit - but I was able to push through. It's amazing what the body can do. Even when I think I had used up all of my adrenaline a few hours into it, I was able to keep going and pushing to make plays. And make plays I did. Of course. Because I'm awesome.

But that's not really the point. The point is that all that football (after a week off for the Super Bowl) gave me some you. Every hour since I stopped playing, I've been getting a little bit more stiff. A little bit more sore. Until "somewhat sore" turned into you. And that's where I'm at right now. By the end of the day, leaning over to pick stuff up off the ground was very difficult.

And it's not even just you, Intense Soreness. I am also bruised all over the place. I have a million different rug-burns (from the turf). I did something to my wrist, so that's all swollen and tender. I have no skin on my left knee. So there's a lot of different little pains going on.

But it's all good because I EARNED it. It's that feeling that I can only get from really using my body for something athletic. No running in circles or riding a freaking bike up a hill can make me feel this universally sore. Sure - those types of things can give me some you. Absolutely. But not through every part of my body like playing a physical sport does. The thorough beat-up feeling I have today can only come from supreme physical exertion - when every muscle in my body was stretched and spent in the pursuit of athletic excellence. And that makes it all quite gratifying. Almost enjoyable. Because I can ease myself into bed now - groaning and awkward - and think back to the various plays that made me feel the way I do. The long touchdown reception (with a fingertip catch in stride). The perfectly-timed interception for a touchdown. The blocked fieldgoal attempt. The numerous great defensive plays and big-hit blocks. Because I'm awesome. And all those things happened yesterday.

And so I have no problem with you at all, Intense Soreness. I almost welcome you. Sure - I hope that you are a bit calmer tomorrow, but I have no regrets. In fact, if I didn't have you today, I would feel a little bit disappointed. Like maybe I didn't try hard enough yesterday. Like I really didn't push myself. And that would be a damn shame. However - you are with me, and that tells me that I really did give it all for the game, as it were.

The wrist-damage? I could do without that. And that's why you won't see any letter going that direction anytime soon, Intense Soreness. Nope. Instead, you get a letter of appreciation for letting me know - definitively - how much fun I had yesterday. Thank you. And I'm sure we'll see each other again soon.

So So Ginger,
CVT

Dear Don't Drink in the Winter

Dear Don't Drink in the Winter,

Let's be clear about this: I you, Don't Drink in the Winter. And that's almost an absolute statement. I started up with that little rule of mine last Winter, and the logic was this: the darkness of a Portland Winter is hard on me. Drinking and the effects it has on my sleep and mood doesn't really help. Therefore, to be as good as I can be during the winter I decided to go with the rule. Therefore, I you.

Overall, it's not actually that hard to do. I've never been a big drinker, anyway, so it's not like I find myself dying for a drink at any given time. I am perfectly able to hang out with other people who ARE drinking and still have a good time. It's not a challenge, really.

However, there are times when I just feel like having a beer. Not to get drunk or anything else, but sometimes I just want to enjoy a nice pint of beer. This usually happens when I spy a particularly pretty glass of ale while I'm out. And that gives me a twinge of "why can't I just have a beer?" Usually, I remind myself that even one beer does effect me. Not so much in terms of feeling the alcohol at the time, but more in line with how it causes me to sleep. How about an example?

So - last night, I decided that I wanted to have a beer. I was at a "staff social" that was supplying free drinks and food. Being a cheap-ass who always wants to take advantage of a deal, I felt inclined to have at least one beer to take advantage. And so I went to the bar and ordered a nice, light lager (a Kirin, for those scoring at home). Funny thing is that it ran out mid-pour, so I only ended up with half a glass of beer. Maybe it was a sign. I probably should have heeded it. However, in spite of the fact that I generally you, I drank half a glass of beer last night.

And I didn't feel anything. There was no effect. The beer tasted nice, and I presumed that that was that. I then went on to have dinner and hang out for the remainder of the evening (without having any more drinks). I went to sleep. Slept eight hours. Woke up.

And I FELT it. Not to say that I was hung over or anything of that nature. But I have been a little bit fuzzy and eye-tired all day long. It's a feeling of having had a terrible night's sleep and needing a nap to make it through the day. It's really quite an annoying feeling. I don't have the full energy and alertness that I usually do. Because of HALF A GLASS OF BEER!!! I mean - how utterly ridiculous is that? I have trained my body to respond to even the slightest outside influence, and this is my result.

And it sent a clear message to me: adhere to the rule. You. Because there's just no point, and it's not worth it. I'm not exactly wasting my day (I ran a bunch of errands this morning), but I'm not exactly taking full advantage of the first relatively decent-weathered day in Portland in quite a while. And it's all due to having a freaking HALF-GLASS of beer. It's so frustrating, I don't know what to do. Other than to remember that I you.

And so I shall stick to my rule from here on out. This reminder is too obvious to ignore. There's just no point. Unless I'm going to be going ALL-OUT (which I just don't ever do, anyway), it's stupid to feel a bit off the following day for no benefit. So root beer and waters for me until the sun starts shining down again. And maybe even then.

So I write you this letter as a form of re-commitment, Don't Drink in the Winter. I you. And I shall remember that I you. And I shall follow through. You have treated me well so far, so I apologize for doubting the wisdom of sticking it out last night. I shall not do so again.

Thinking Nap or Caffeine,
CVT

Dear Somewhat Chinese

Dear Somewhat Chinese,

When I was living in Tanzania, people had a lot of trouble understanding my background. When people asked me where I was from, I would answer that I was from America. That blew their minds as they inevitably responded with something along the lines of, "but you are Chinese!?"

The concept of having Chinese features but still being AMERICAN (which, to them, meant "white" - more or less) astounded them. And so I would find myself explaining how my mother was Chinese, but my father was "American," and that I had been born and raised in the U.S. Usually, if I explained it as "taking my father's tribe," they would accept it to a certain degree.

However, I remember one guy's response vividly. After I explained everything to him, he looked at me in sudden understanding, "Oh - so you are only SOMEWHAT Chinese!" Now, I know the specific wording was mostly due to poor translation into English, but I feel like that pretty much sums up my Chinese-ness through my life: I am you, Somewhat Chinese.

Because it's not like I REALLY know anything about China. Only this year, after finally studying Mandarin Chinese a bit, did it occur to me that although I knew the words "Gung Hay Fat Choy" for Chinese New Year - I had no idea what the intonation was. Being only "somewhat Chinese," it had never crossed my mind that simply saying the words was not enough to say it RIGHT. And then I go and learn that that's CANTONESE, anyway. And then I start thinking to myself: "well why the Hell was I speaking CANTONESE to my grandparents on Chinese New Year, anyway!? Why didn't somebody tell me that, so I didn't have to feel like a total jerk now?" The answer? Because I'm only you, Somewhat Chinese.

I'm like a Chinese restaurant in a small town in the States. Yeah - there's some Chinese IN it, but it doesn't really represent China or Chinese-ness in any real sort of way. And that's me. No matter what I pretend or hope or try - I'm just not even an IMITATION of the real deal. I say "oy vey" more naturally than I say "aiyaa!"

So why this particular post? Because it's the night before Chinese New Year, and I felt the need to celebrate or have some sort of ritual in honour of it all. With my grandma gone, any real link I had to China went with her, and I suddenly find myself missing those traditions that I never really paid attention to as a kid. So I went to a local Chinese restaurant to pick up some food to eat.

And here I am, trying to order some pretty "Chinese" foods (I thought) - some chicken feet (for my grandma) and jellyfish - and the lady has NO IDEA what the hell I'm getting at. So I'm trying to explain (and I obviously don't know the right words in Cantonese OR Mandarin) for about ten minutes before she finally gets it. And it just made me feel like an ass. Here I am, trying to get in touch with a little tradition and honour my family line, and all it does is emphasize my total disconnect from being Chinese.

And when I get it, I finally head home to eat my food alone. I wanted to eat at the restaurant, but - of course - I don't have anybody to eat with. I don't know a single Chinese person in this whole town. So I go home to my white roommates and end up eating my food alone in my room - toasting Kung Kung and Ah-Boo with a chicken foot, wishing I knew anything at all. And so I wrote this post, wondering if my Loyal Reader has similar experiences or just doesn't worry about it.

And that's my tribute to being you, Somewhat Chinese. Most of the time, I'm actually a pretty big fan of yours. I think it has put me in a position of wisdom in a lot of situations. It makes me aware of things that don't occur to most people. And it obviously made me devilishly handsome.

But tonight, as I struggle to celebrate and honour a holiday that isn't really mine, being only you makes me a little bit depressed.

Often Mistaken for Mexican Here in Portland,
CVT

*Even more appropriate to all this is the fact that I'm going to be out and celebrating the first real day of Chinese New Year tomorrow night by going to a hip-hop show. I suppose that's a little more Chinese than going to see Willie Nelson, but not by a lot.

Dear YouTube

Dear YouTube,

So I just pulled myself away from the computer after watching a bunch of you videos for the last half-hour to 45 minutes. Waitaminute. How can I have pulled myself away from the computer if I'm writing this letter? ARGH!!!!!

Right.

Anyway. Getting myself back on track. I pulled myself away from some you videos. To write this. Which is at least - seemingly - more productive than watching ridiculous videos on the computer. I think. I mean - it IS more productive to create something that OTHER people waste their time on than to waste time on somebody ELSE'S creations, right? Yeah. That makes sense. I'm just going to go with that.

So along those lines, I just wanted to write about how addictive you are, YouTube. And how incredible. You makes the most idiotic things popular and widespread. After watching a couple videos, I have realized that any jerk with a video camera and a stupid idea can get themselves known by a thousand strangers. All by just putting it up on you, YouTube. And that's pretty amazing. And kind of inspiring in a nauseating sort of way.

For instance - I finally got around to watching some video clips from "The Flight of the Conchords." For those that don't know, they're two Kiwis that filmed a show that consists mostly of spoof-y music videos. People had been telling me about them for a long time - saying how much I'd probably like them and how their songs kind of reminded them of the crap I make - but I had refused to watch. Mostly, because I don't want to see anything people compare to what I do because I'm not in the business of watching other people do what I do much better than I actually do it. And that's pretty much what these guys do.

It's not the songs, really. I mean - they are clearly much better musicians and singers than I am. Of course. But their lyrics are hardly impressive. But what they do well is the VIDEOS. Their flare for the visual blasts anything I write out of the water with a cannon the size of the Statue of Liberty. I was jealous. I mean - I had thought about getting a video camera and making some funny "music videos" for some of my songs, but watching these guys just ended that idea. No need to do something that other people have already done (and done better than I will).

But to get back to you, YouTube - these guys would be more or less the slightly-better-known Kiwi versions of the local cover band if it wasn't for you. Simply by being put on you and having word of mouth do the deed, these guys are now known by smart-a** twenty-or-thirty-somethings nationwide. Maybe worldwide. I'm not sure. But the point is that people know about them. Because of you, YouTube. Because of you.

And, mostly, I think that's a great thing. It gives all sorts of random people a shot at becoming known without having to resort to "selling-out." Like that band that did that treadmill video and became famous for it. I forget what they're called, but I bet anybody could find them in about five minutes by typing in "treadmill video" on you. Get what I mean? I don't even know these guys' names, but they are making money now because of their exposure on you.

It's really quite an amazing phenomenon. Great in a lot of ways, but also terrible in terms of losing chunks of life watching ridiculous sh--. With all the "Related Videos" on the side, a quick venture to watch a specific video (in this case, a Japanese gameshow that involves people being "Human Tetris" pieces) can quickly turn into an hour lost on a bunch of random videos that are mildly related. Some of it worth it. Much of it - not.

Therefore, this letter isn't quite a letter of thanks or appreciation. But neither is it hate-mail. It's just an acknowledgement of your existence and the excessively large role you play in the shaping of modern pop culture. And for that - I commend you, YouTube. I can't even remember what people did back in the day when there was something cool they wanted to see on video but didn't own (and wasn't available at the video store). Quite similar to "what did people do before the internet for answering random questions."

The answer? I don't know. Probably nothing.

Wow. I ate a bunch of slightly sugared dried mango slices about half an hour ago, and now I'm sugar-crashing something fierce. I apologize for the terrible end to this letter.

Wooooooozzzzzyyyyy,
CVT

Dear Reverse Psychology

Dear Reverse Psychology,

I've got to hand it to you, Reverse Psychology - you worked like an f-ing CHARM today. I mean, I have relied on you heavily in my career as a sports fan (as I tend to root for the underdog in most cases), and you seldom pay off as huge as you did today. In fact, I would have to say that you have NEVER paid off quite like you did today. How can I make such a bold statement? My answer is summed up by the words of my friend, Gate: "This was the worst loss in the history of football - EVER!!!!" And it was true.

Now anybody who ISN'T a football fan can't really fathom the hugeness of what happened today. But - in all honesty - this really was the biggest upset in the history of pro football. The Patriots went from being more or less handed the title of "Best Team Ever" to being a really good team that didn't even win the Super Bowl. And that's just incredible. And the WAY it all went down! Amazing.

I don't need to say much more about the game - anybody who watched it gets what I'm talking about, and anybody who didn't has no idea and doesn't care. So I will get back to the topic at hand: appreciating you, Reverse Psychology.

I think I had myself pretty much convinced this time around. No way was there ANY shot that this game was going to be worth watching from start to finish. I was sure of it. And it was just that perfect certainty that allowed you to work your magic. I mean - there are times when I try to use you (most recently, when hoping for some snowfall), but I don't fully believe in the "no way" party-line I try to sell myself. And that allows me to get my hopes up. And once my hopes are up - forget about it. You can't do your thing when hopes are up.

No - you do your thing when there is no hope. When I honestly, truly BELIEVE that there is no chance in Hell. And today - you came through. Today you gave me the best Super Bowl I have ever witnessed and made me excited beyond my wildest dreams. And for that, I love you, Reverse Psychology. And I will continue to rely on you when I am faced with a situation when I just don't want the favourite to win. Or when I REALLY want something to happen, but I know that there isn't much of a chance. When those things happen - I will call upon you, Reverse Psychology, and I will believe. Or NOT believe, to give you the best shot.

And whether or not you come through in those instances doesn't really matter. Because today (tonight) - you did. And in such style. And I will never forget that. Thank you, Reverse Psychology. Thank you.

Trying to Believe that It's FAR too Warm for Snow,
CVT

Dear Super Bowl

Dear Super Bowl,

This letter had to be written. There are a number of reasons I didn't really WANT to write it, but it just had to be done. But get this straight, Super Bowl, this isn't going to be a love letter. Oh no! I don't care how much money you bring in and how many people watch you or the fact that people that don't even care about football mark you on their calendar. That's all fine and dandy - but I'm going to be real to you, Super Bowl, because you need to hear it. And it goes something like this:

The you actually kind of sucks. And I'm hardly the only person who believes that. The problem with the you is that the you is only one game. One game that generally involves one (or two) of the best teams in the league. It's not like the championship of most other sports, where the ultimate winner is decided by a SERIES of games. And that's a big deal. Why? Well, let me tell you.

The first part of that is the hype involved. One game to decide it all generates TREMENDOUS hype. The NFL (and their related networks) can't spread out their earnings over the course of a multi-day championship series, so they have to milk it in a different way - through the hype machine. Over the two weeks leading up to the you, the media has to come up with all sorts of ridiculous angles and hype about the game. The networks have to come up with more and more crazy ways to convince people to watch. We get a half-hour f-ing halftime show full of stupid dances and poor sound quality (for any music-lover out there, NEVER go to a concert in a stadium for that very reason). We get tons of million-dollar ads (which end up being horrible, most of the time). We get pre-pre-game shows that are three hours long. The game itself last somewhere around 4 hours, all said and done. All because it's just one single game, and there's no way around it.

The second part is related to the one-game aspect: usually there's a team in the game that just shouldn't be there. Because of the "one-and-done" nature of the playoffs, there are fluke wins and upsets. New England got to their first Tom Brady you because of that (for those that don't know - look it up). They ended up taking advantage and winning - but were they REALLY the "best team in the NFL" that year? Of course not. In all the other sports with a real series, there's no doubt that the champion really is the champion.

Third: because of the fluke wins and teams that don't really belong, the game itself is usually GARBAGE. Much like the BCS championship game (again, those that don't know - look it up), one game involving very good teams often ends up in a blowout. And when that happens, we have to listen to the announcers come up with all sorts of ridiculous reasons that the losing team is "still in it," to try to prevent losing their viewership. We get stupid gimmicks like famous people "popping by" the announcer booth to plug something their involved in, and other crap of that nature.

And so I generally come out of my you experience feeling cheated, Super Bowl. Everything leading up to the you jacks up emotions and excitement and belief only to fall completely short on the actual day. Even all the food I get to eat with friends while watching the game ends up making me feel sick instead of satisfied. And then all I want is another day to rest post-you, but I have to go to work instead. It all makes me so sad.

I don't want to write anything more. Thanks a lot, Super Bowl. Thanks A LOT.

Contemplating Sleeping Through It,
CVT

*I guess I should make my prediction if I'm going to write this letter: New England by 14 or 17. They will be dominating the whole game, but New York will never QUITE be "out of it." So I'll have this hope that "just maybe" the game will get close or interesting - enough to make me pay attention the whole time - and it will never happen. The whole time, the announcers will be saying how "all the Giants have to do is (BLANK) to get back in it." The Giants will NEVER do (BLANK).