Conscious Choking Adult

Dear Lesson Learned

2008-06-12T22:52:00.000-07:00

Dear Lesson Learned,

This is going to be a quick one, but it has to be said: You. You about what? Well, let me tell the story.

Our 8th graders graduated today. We had a big celebration. Yippee. I come home from that (late at night, for me) to do some haircutting.

Why? Because I told the kids that I would do a mohawk again (for the last day of school). But this year, I also added a contest for kids to make a design on graph paper for me to put on the side of my head (yes, by shaving it into my hair). It had to be simple, but the staff would take the ideas and vote - and whatever they chose, I would go with.

So the staff chose my personal favourite (that's for glotto): a series of mathematical symbols. Multiplication. Pi. Division. Etc.

This is the point where anybody with a brain is thinking - but who would be shaving those designs into the CVT's head? Certainly not the students. And no barber shop is open late at night . . . Oh, God NO!!!!

That's right - I thought I could do it myself. I'm a pretty confident guy, right? I feel like I'm pretty handy with hairclippers - what's a couple simple-ass symbols on the side of my head (not the back or anything)? Right? Right.

Now we can all guess what the you was: Don't try to cut designs into the side of my own head. Just don't do it. Because it's going to end in tears.

And so I have two bald blob-patches (vaguely reminiscent of addition and multiplication symbols) in the side of my head. For the next two weeks - the CVT is going to look pretty damn ridiculous.

Oh, well. Makes me glad I got a University of Hawaii visor during my trip . . .

Next year, I'm sticking to versions of a mohawk. You.

CVT

Somewhat Relevant Question of the Post:
How long do you all think it will take for this to grow out (the rest of my hair was shaved down to 1/4 inch)?

Creative Process

2008-06-11T20:25:00.001-07:00

I'm not going to post all of my kids songs and poems here (some are more personal than others), but there were 6 of them all told (personally-written songs, that is).

But here's our final piece, an ode to the school year (and staff, etc.) for our graduation slideshow:

http://download.yousendit.com/44022F81062C8019

Yeah - we're tight like that. PEACE!!!

CVT

Somewhat Relevant Question of the Post:
Don't you all wish you had a class like this when you were kids? Yeah - you do.

Kids Rock

2008-06-07T12:00:00.000-07:00

So I'm wrapping up my "Creative Process" class in which I've been having the kids write and record songs/poetry to be recorded. I got some money for some lower-end recording equipment at school, and this is the result. Not bad, considering.

http://download.yousendit.com/D0059E6111044CAA

There are many more kid recordings forthcoming (background music is me, of course).

For more information on "Invader Zim," go to the official Nickolodeon website at: http://www.nick.com/all_nick/tv_supersites/zim/

Somewhat Relevant Question of the Post:
Does this kid rock, or what?

Bored

2008-06-05T20:25:00.000-07:00

Here's a special treat for my remaining lone reader (that's you, Petunia). This kind of sums up how this blog died (if I'm bored with my life, it only stands to reason that my readers would be so, as well).

http://download.yousendit.com/EFCD64105A14121C

Thanks for the suggestion.

CVT

Somewhat Relevant Question of the Post:
When do you think was the last time somebody else checked this?

Teacher Appreciation

2008-05-11T14:39:00.000-07:00

Last week was Teacher Appreciation Week. And on Tuesday of last week, we had one last training for the school year. This is what I did with it . . .

http://download.yousendit.com/BBBA75070194DEDB

*This is an updated version (a little bit of tweaking)*

Check out my symphonic song down below, too.

CVT

Somewhat Relevant Question of the Post:
Why do people like to feed cops and teachers (two groups of people who you'd want to be alert and chipper) instant-crash foods like donuts all the time?

Not Done Yet

2008-05-10T17:46:00.000-07:00

So this blog isn't finished yet. It's going to be a lot less frequent, but I'm not done with it. Something about the director of "Planet B-Boy" posting a comment on this blog makes it feel like I shouldn't complete close up shop yet.

Just got some new symphonic software and have been playing with it. Just wait until I figure out what I'm doing (I've got a full orchestra on my computer now - and then some).

http://download.yousendit.com/01F0C00331D330EA

CVT

Somewhat Relevant Question of the Post:
How cool would a hip-hop symphony be?

Dear Planet B-Boy

2008-05-03T19:33:00.000-07:00

Dear Planet B-Boy,

I know I said that I was going to stop writing this blog. And I probably will quite soon. But, for at least one more post, fate has intervened. And fate went by the name of you, Planet B-Boy.

I don't even know where to begin on this one. So much power and importance lies within you, that I don't know how to adequately portray your majesty. I suppose I shall begin by telling my readers what you are, Planet B-Boy. Hopefully, their lives have been blessed in such a way as to be fully aware of you, but I cannot rely on that. No - I shall spread gospel through my own blessed vessel.

Planet B-Boy is the best movie ever made. That's the easy part. The rest is more difficult to explain. For you is a documentary about the world b-boy championships (the "Battle of the Year") held in Germany every year. Now, I am sad to note that not everybody is aware of what a "b-boy" even is. It's break-dancing, to simplify things. A b-boy is a member of a "break-dancing" crew. Of course - that is not how any true b-boy would accurately describe it, but for the layperson who has been cursed with the ill-luck of not being aware of the phenomenon, it should suffice.

So you is a documentary. An incredibly well-made documentary. One that would be worth a viewing no matter its subject-matter. But that, of course, does not make you the best movie ever. Oh, no. You is the best movie ever because it is a well-made documentary about the best b-boy crews in the world - and it contains plenty of ridiculous footage to prove it.

I can't even begin to describe it - so I won't. All I can say is imagine the most bad-ass, unreal physical feats - then speed them up and put them to a beat. THAT is wherein lies the magic of you, Planet B-Boy. You showcases the raw talent and athleticism necessary to be one of the best b-boys in the world, but you also portrays the poetry and creative artistic expression inherent in the dance, as well. THAT is the beauty.

I keep running into a wall in my attempts to do the movie justice. Let's put it this way: there was an elderly lady (gray-haired, old white lady that works at the library, I believe) watching the movie by herself. Every time a dance clip was shown, she couldn't help but yell out, or clap, or otherwise make known her excitement. And when the movie touched on the difficult back-story of individuals from the international crews, she wept. I kid you not. And I faulted her not at all for doing so.

Because I could not refrain from yelling out throughout the movie. I couldn't help but elbow my viewing partner (Petunia) and say, "See that!?" as if she possibly could have missed it. I felt deeply for every crew competing. I marveled at their skills and dedication. And, ultimately, I found myself with one wish on this planet: to be a b-boy, myself.

That's right - the movie made me want to be a b-boy. Wish I had started as a child, so I could be amazing at this point in my life. It had me lamenting the wasted years and the fact that I was exposed to this film so late in my life - post physical peak.

And - days after said viewing - this feeling sits in me just as strong as when I watched the film. It is not like any passing fancy of inspiration I have felt before. It has me SERIOUSLY considering learning to become a b-boy. THAT is how amazing you was, Planet B-Boy. You turned a (relatively) grown man into a five year-old with an impulsive desire to do what he just watched on-screen.

And the worst thing? Thursday night (when I saw you) was the last showing here in Portland. You have moved on. I would pay $10 every day for the next 10 days to keep going back to see you in the theaters - yet you are gone.

And so I urge my readers - nay, BEG - to go see this film. Otherwise, my readers lives will be bored through with a gaping hole and emptiness that nothing else can fill. On Thursday morning, I was alive and happy - I thought. Today, I AM LIFE.

I don't even want to sully your name by simply thanking you, Planet B-Boy. Simple words such as those just wouldn't be enough. I shall simply say: I owe you. And if I follow this new path to glory that you have presented me (a big if), then MAYBE I can repay that debt . . .

About to do a Head-Stand,
CVT

Somewhat Relevant Question of the Post:
If you haven't seen the movie, what are you waiting for!???

Dear Failed Experiment

2008-04-29T16:34:00.000-07:00

Dear Failed Experiment,

My Somewhat Relevant Question of the Post was a you, Failed Experiment. It was a you. It was supposed to invite participation on a larger scale. It was supposed to bring on commentary and make me feel validated. And it worked for one post. And then it proved something even bigger:

This blog is a you.

I know, I know - I originally started this thing as a means to simply practice my writing on a regular basis. A reason to write - and write A LOT - so that somewhere along the line I would be a better writer. And I think I was relatively successful at that. During the time when I was really writing regularly, I think my writing improved - that I developed a "style" that worked for me. I had a good thing going, it was more or less entertaining, and it felt good to be keeping it up.

But that was then.

Because this blog started as practice, and practice alone. I made sure to specify that I wasn't trying to do anything else with this, and that it really just didn't matter if anybody else read it - because it was just for me and my practice. And I meant it. But then people started reading it (relatively) regularly. I had people (granted, only four of them, but still) keeping up on my writings (and, to some extent, my life) through this blog. Sometimes, they commented on my writings.

And that changed everything. Suddenly, this thing wasn't about me and my practice, but about keeping my (ridiculously small) readership happy. It became about trying to think of entertaining things to say - trying to be witty. It became about trying to write regularly so people had something to read and would stay interested, as opposed to for the sake of getting better at writing. And that's around the time this thing stopped being much fun for me. That's when I started needing external validation (in the form of comments).

I fought through it for a while, but my motivation just started slipping more and more every day. I tried to change things up - I was going to post a song every week - but that wasn't enough. I tried to do a Somewhat Relevant Question of the Post to get people to say something, but that was a you.

And so, too - it seems - is this blog. It wasn't at the beginning, but now it is. It has surpassed its usefulness (to me, at least). It's mostly a chore, these days. And a chore undertaken for the sake of four readers (no matter how awesome you four readers are) just isn't enough for me to take it very seriously, anymore.

So now what? I'm not sure. I may just stop writing, entirely, but I don't really know. Maybe I'll start up another (secret) blog that nobody at all knows about, so it can become all about the writing again. Or maybe I'll start doing a serious one that invites even complete strangers to want to enter into a dialogue.

I really don't know.

But I DO know that this blog has turned into a you, Failed Experiment, and there's no need to keep faking it, anymore. I started it over a year ago, and I think that's plenty. I got what I wanted from it, and that's that. I think the only thing left to do is to write an appreciation letter to this blog to close it out. So I think I'll do that in a couple days.

Perhaps I'll write a letter to my readership, as well.

Hell - maybe all these pre-quitting-my-blog appreciation letters will give me the steam to not quit, after all. Or maybe it will just give me a couple more things to write about before it's over.

Whatever.

Anyway - I don't thank you, Failed Experiment, but I do respect you. There's nothing wrong with a good you. Without yous, there would be no successful versions, and then there would be no progress. I have no problem with you, Failed Experiment, and I hope you can say the same.

Until Next Time,
CVT

Somewhat Relevant Question of the Post:
Peanut butter and pickles OR mango stew?

Dear Testing

2008-04-23T09:36:00.000-07:00

Dear Testing,

I write this as I am at work. The first time in a VERY long while that I have been mindlessly computer-browsing during work-hours. It is this kind of mindless computer-browsing on work time that made me quit my research job and head into the field of youth work. And I haven't looked back.

Because I don't check my e-mail during work-hours, anymore. I don't answer my phone. I just do my job and hang out and play and have a lot of fun with it (mostly). Except on days like today.

Because today we're doing state math you. All day. Every class period is going to be a bunch of kids quietly (hopefully) you while I just try to while away the time on a computer. And that's incredibly boring for me.

I had a plan, of course. I was going to take care of all my grades (this is the last week of the grading period, so I have hours of grading to do), but the grade server is down. And so I'm just bored and relatively unproductive. Thanks, Testing.

And so I have the opportunity to write you a letter, Testing. A letter to say how ridiculous these state tests really are. The state (and federal) school system has boiled down all the learning and work these kids have done into a one-hour, 45-question, multiple-choice test. That's it. It's all "select the right answer" of four. Which means that somebody who knew nothing at all could do well by guessing (although not likely, it's possible).

And then there's a flip side, of course. Because the beauty of multiple-choice you is the clever tricks employed to "make sure the kid REALLY knows the answer." So there are fake-out choices to try to trick the non-discerning kid into choosing them instead of the correct choice. Which means that somebody who really knows how to do the math could do terribly by not being ready for the fake-outs.

And then there's the confidence aspect of these ridiculous tests. They are designed so that getting around 50% correct is achieving "benchmark" (grade level). 50%. Meaning the kid getting an equivalent of a big fat "F" is at grade level. So what, right? That means nothing.

Except for the fact that the kids are SUPPOSED TO NOT HAVE ANY IDEA HOW TO DO HALF THE PROBLEMS. So they go into this test, facing all sorts of questions they have no idea how to answer, and they're supposed to continue feeling confident and want to keep trying throughout the test. Let's just say that that's not so fair or balanced for the kids I work with.

And I don't know if there's anything else I need to say about that. Besides, I have to get back to work.

Computer-bound,
CVT

Somewhat Relevant Question of the Post:
What is your favourite Scan-tron memory?

Gateway

2008-04-22T20:46:00.000-07:00

This is going to be short and sweet, but my readers were getting restless (and my Somewhat Relevant Question of the Post was a success), so I felt the need to throw something up here. Not throw up. But throw something up in terms of PUTTING something on my site. POSTING it, as it were.

Anyway.

Gate and I are doing a little "Art Exchange" right now. He is currently making a painting that he will soon give me to write music to. At the same time, he will be taking a song that I made and make a painting to it. This is that song:

http://download.yousendit.com/9C1F29B23350D62C

Enjoy.

Somewhat Relevant Question of the Post:
If one were to write a Haiku to go with this song, what would it be?

AND

Cello or bass? Why?

CVT

Dear Somewhat Relevant Question of the Post

2008-04-19T08:45:00.000-07:00

Dear Somewhat Relevant Question of the Post,

My readers have spoken, and I have answered!!! My thronging faithful have asked that I spark dialogue myself - that I make people actually WANT to respond in some way, and I have responded!!!! The magnificent multitude of massed minions that partake in the sustenance that this blog provides have implied that random letters to inanimate objects and concepts is not enough alone to promote passionate written exchanges, and so I have replied:

With you, Somewhat Relevant Question of the Post. That's right - the you.

So what is the you, many may ask? No need for those many to ask because I was going to answer that as-yet-unasked question, either way. The you is my solution to this problem of my readers sitting back on their laurels (putting gorilla hair on around the oleander, so to speak) and hesitating to comment on my amazing letters. I have often heard that my more quiet readers are intimidated by the dashing wit and clever writing of myself and my more-oft-heard-from readers. They fear that they have nothing "clever" to say, themselves, and they subsequently refrain from leaving a comment. And - until now - I have not done enough to allay those fears.

For it is true - I am so smart-witted that many find fright in attempting to match my charm. My writing is so poetic, my insights so insightful, that few can stand on my level (or even sit at it, for that matter). My odes to various inanimate objects render my readers brains equally inanimate, leaving them speechless. And - of course - when one is speechless, they are generally word-less, which falls out rather unfavourably in the realm of typed comments.

And that is not the only problem, either. For it is not just myself that is so dastardly, bastardly loquacious - I have some witty readers, as well. And these witty readers cause my slightly-less-so (at least in their own minds) readers to hide back in the shadows of self-consciousness. That - of course - is not what any of us want. We want discourse - conversation! We want to bring the disparate reaches of my strange social circle together in the cyber realm (for we tend NOT to do so in the physical one) to meet, greet, and kiss my feet. THAT is the goal.

And so - in light of that goal - I have come to the conclusion that something EXTRA was needed to properly motivate my readers to comment. Something bold, innovative, and compelling. Like Jerry Springer, but with less physical danger. And that idea is you, Somewhat Relevant Question of the Post.

So the you is a simple thing, really, that needs little explanation. However, I am still going to explain:

Each time I write one of my brilliant letters, I am going to attach a you at the bottom. This will be a question specifically directed to my readers (but that may also be responded-to by the subject of my letter, of course). This question will be - as the title states - SOMEWHAT relevant to the topic of the rest of the letter. Somewhat. Mostly, it will be a little random, depending on my mood.

My hope, of course, is that this will give my readers focus in their responses. I still welcome the same kind of comments that I have been receiving, of course, but I hope that this will encourage my fringe commenters to weigh in more often. Give them something to comment on, specifically, when they feel like they "just don't know what to write."

If the you is successful, of course, then my goal will be achieved - more comments, more discourse, and (most importantly) more validation for the existence of my ridiculous blog. And that would be fantastic.

(I was interrupted mid-post by a phone call from a past reader, which caused me to lose my momentum, thus causing my eloquence to taper off a bit in the second portion of the letter - for which I apologize).

So there. I thank you in advance, Somewhat Relevant Question of the Post, for the changes you shall bring to this already-stellar enterprise.

Coming Up with Queries,
CVT

The You:
Coming back in a second life as a pet chinchilla that has an overbearing owner that likes to dress its fuzzy friends in ridiculous outfits OR coming back in a second life as a pet turtle named "Shmoozy"? Discuss.

Dear Infrequent Posts

2008-04-17T10:35:00.000-07:00

Dear Infrequent Posts,

This is another in a (relatively) long line of you, Infrequent Posts. I seem to be losing steam a little bit here. Momentum has floundered, and I have found other things I'd rather do with my time (like make music or sleep). And so I have been producing you.

Overall, I don't really think that's the worst thing in the world. Not at all. But I do feel like it warrants some sort of explanation. Hence, this letter.

So what have I been doing with my time instead of writing letters to inanimate objects and concepts? Why have I lost a little bit of my motivation to do so consistently? Read on.

1) Music. I have been playing with my toys A LOT lately. A LOT. When I can loop pretty much ANY basic instrumentation and then just record or "jam-out" over it for endless hours - imagine what happens when I am actually producing a real song? Yeah - the creative process is pretty time-consuming, and I have been throwing myself into it a lot recently. And not only is it time-consuming, but it is one of those things that causes the loss of time-awareness, which leads to me looking up, realizing it's time to go to sleep, and doing so without taking the half-hour to write a letter on this blog.

2) Sickness. I've been sick the last few days, and that's just a straight-up motivation-killer. When I have a decent excuse NOT to do anything productive (i.e. "I should rest up and get myself healthy right now"), it's hard not to take advantage.

3) ITF. I know - it's only two minutes. Only two minutes. But it's EVERY DAY - and I've been sticking to my guns on this one (I'm well past 30 days now). And since I only have enough mental discipline for ONE every-day activity, it's easier to spend that discipline on the two-minute one, as opposed to the 30-minute variety. My conscience is much more likely to allow me to slack on something I was going to do regularly if I'm already doing something ELSE regularly.

4) Socializing. I actually socialize from time to time, and when I do that, that generally causes me to get home at bed-time, which then eliminates my letter-writing time. That's that on that.

5) Purposelessness. I've been writing this thing for close to a year now, and I am not always entirely sure of the purpose. I feel like I should because of my four regular readers, but it's hard to keep that going when there's no physical evidence of those four regular readers actually being out there. I need more comments, people. Yeah, yeah - I said this whole thing is to just practice writing, but I need some validation now and then, too.

6) Other blogs. I've found myself regularly reading OTHER blogs these days. More insightful, much more read ones, at that. Ones where lots of people comment and there's actual dialogue about things. Hard to regularly read stuff like that and then get motivated to write my bull-sh . . .

7) Sports. The NCCAA tournament ended last week. NHL hockey playoffs BEGAN last week. NBA playoffs begin soon. This is when I get a little re-immersed in the sport-watching world, and that prevents me from being free to do other things.

And I think that's it. Sad that I can come up with seven relatively real things for why I am writing you, Infrequent Posts, and I only have like three real ones for living in Portland. Oh, well. The things we do.

I have nothing more to say about this.

Lethargic,
CVT

*when looking for an image to place on this post, I found the whole catalogue of "Demotivational Posters" like the one up top - some of those are f-ing HILARIOUS. Check out "Conformity." Absolutely classic.

Dear YAM!

2008-04-12T11:08:00.000-07:00

Dear YAM!

My Loyal Reader requested that I write this letter, and I intended to do so at the beginning of the week. And then, somehow, I just got myself all sorts of pre-occupied. I was making music (I've spent hours on it this week, without a finished product to throw to this blog), and there were some sporting events to watch on the television (the NCAA basketball final, and Stanley Cup Playoff hockey began this week). Just so much going on.

But now I have a little time (not a lot, mind, because it's actually sunny out today, and I intend to be out in it within the hour) to write you, YAM!, and so I shall.

About a week ago, my Loyal Reader sent me an e-mail that had a link on it. That link was to a new computer game demo. That computer game demo was "Return to Dark Castle." Now, I know that there are only a select few out there that can possibly realize the relevance and importance of those words, so I shall do a little bit of explaining.

When I was a child, we had a Mac computer. I believe it was an Apple IIGS (if memory serves). Anyhow - on that computer, we didn't really have any games. My parents used it for word processing, and I remember my dad making references to some sort of crazy "web" or some such thing that was being developed, where he could get computer programs THROUGH THE TELEPHONE LINES in only a matter of hours for something as big as 200 kilobytes. "Compuserve," he called it. I called it nonsense. Nothing like that could exist.

Anyway. So one day - and I am afraid I don't actually remember the day or the surrounding circumstances - my dad showed up with a GAME for our computer. And that game was called "Dark Castle." It is almost impossible to describe this game to the uninitiated, but I shall try.

The game was about a prince who was going into a castle that was the evil bastion of the Black Knight, who had been lording over a village for years. The prince was armed only with stone (to begin with), that he would throw at enemies (rats and bats infested with the Plague, stiff soldier-knights, and then a cornucopia of stranger baddies). He would run around and jump and battle foes in order to progress through rooms until he could battle the Black Knight.

Now, for that day and age, Dark Castle was amazing. The graphics and effects were relatively advanced, and the gameplay was pretty fluid (from what I remember). But that was not the most amazing part. The amazing part was the SOUNDS. The whole game was made using various sampled sound effects (no music in the original) for every action. There was the sound of a door opening and closing. The squeaks of rats. The flapping wings of bats. Whip sounds. Machine sounds.

But the best sounds were the unexpected ones: when you killed a bat with a rock, it would make a deflating "ping" sound before falling to the ground and making a fart-like "splat." When the prince tripped and fell, he would spin around dizzily while making confused, dizzy "uhuuuhhhuuhhhuhhhh - WHOO!" sounds as he finally came back to it, shook his head around, and got back on track. He would grunt as he jumped or climbed ropes. He would groan when he tried to pick things up and couldn't (because his pockets were too full). And he would triumphantly exclaim "You" every time he picked something up, YAM! Yes - he would exclaim "You."

I don't know why he did that. I don't know what "you" was supposed to mean. Maybe nothing. But those were the sounds of my childhood - the sound effects of Dark Castle, and they remained locked away in the back of my mind for 15 years after I no longer played the game.

Until this week. I downloaded the demo, and I played it. And it was almost EXACTLY the SAME as the original!!! The graphics were just colorized (with slightly-touched-up backgrounds). There was now a musical soundtrack. But everything else looked and - more importantly - SOUNDED like the original! Within a minute of playing, I was thrown back to my childhood, recalling all those memories I thought I had lost.

And, to be honest, it was a bit disconcerting. I can't really explain it. It was TOO familiar. It was like having my body snatched. Or like living 15 years of life only to wake up one day and realize that it was all just a dream, and I had yet to age past 12. THAT crazy. I mean - it really messed with my head.

But it also felt so good. And in that nostalgic joy, I finally understood what "You" really meant. Because playing that game brought back the feeling of "you" to me. The joy of discovery and good fortune. Knowing that I didn't absolutely NEED this game and it's memories back in my life, but knowing that I was also missing something without it. You, YAM! Picking up a bag of stones and feeling it nestle comfortably in my pocket, where I could get to it in times of need. That is what you is about. And that was what playing this game was about.

It really WAS a return for me. A Return to Dark Castle, sure - but also a return to my youth and mildly-sunny days spent indoors in the shadows of a darkened room, playing this game and taking that sunlight for granted. The specific way the sunshine played off the leaves of the birch tree by the window at three in the afternoon . . . It's all right here with me now - and as I feel it all, all I can think to myself is: you.

So thank you, YAM!, for that feeling. For bringing it all back to me and allowing me to reconnect to my littler self. It just feels so you.

Not Taking THIS Sunlight for Granted,
CVT

Dear "No One"

2008-04-06T10:09:00.000-07:00

Dear "No One,"

I am writing this letter to you today, "No One," to appreciate my newest guilty pleasure (which, of course, is you - the song by Alicia Keys). This may seem a little bit weird coming from me (considering my relatively "refined" musical tastes), but it's not, "No One." It's not. Partly because you are such a wonderfully guilty-pleasure-inducing song. And partly because - at any given time - I have one or two slightly silly pop songs on the top of my musical-enjoyment list. Right now, that song is you, "No One."

As I type this, I am listening to you, of course. I've got you on a loop to keep me sufficiently inspired to do this letter up right. Because you are so very inspiring, indeed. Now, I had listened to you a few times in passing before my Spring Break - on the radio when I played music for the kids during class, usually. Never the full song - just a little bit before it changed to a new song. Or maybe I'd hear a little teaser as a car passed me by with you blasting on the stereo. That kind of thing.

But then I went to Hawaii, and I had me a nice little memory: my last full night before I fly out, I end up watching the sun set on a little picnic table in a random little park outside of a little random town East of Honolulu. The sun goes down, and I get in my car to take a night drive around a chunk of the island. I end up in this relatively-large town (for Oaha, at least), Kailua, and it's time to do some eating. As I have been doing the whole trip, I park in a central location and then wander around, letting my hormones and instincts decide what I am going to eat for dinner that night. I end up getting drawn in to a little Japanese-ish hole-in-the-wall called Ho-Jin, and I order a Poke Donburi dinner (I won't even try to explain Poke, as that's pretty much a separate letter in and of itself). To cut a longer story short, the dinner is delicious, and I'm just feeling good - and then you come on the radio, and I end up eating my dinner to your beat. And I am filled with this extraordinary sense of goodness (probably partially because of the fresh sashimi in the poke) that is just hard to explain. So I won't.

But the point is that is when you got me, "No One." When you officially became my newest guilty-pleasure song. And I think you might be one of my top guilty-pleasure songs of all time right now. You certainly beat out "I'm Coming Up" by Pink. You might be even with "Take On Me" by A-ha. I don't intend to divulge my whole ridiculous musical palette to the world right now, so I'll just leave it at that - you're near the top, for sure, though.

And I can't really explain it - why do I enjoy you so much? I have pretty exacting standards for my music (both in terms of lyrics and talent), and yet I could listen to you on an endless loop without issue (and am right this second, actually). I mean - of course you're catchy as Hell. And Alicia Keys' voice is pretty cool-sounding. I suppose it doesn't hurt that I have a little bit of a crush on her. But that's not what it is . . .

It's something of the "forbidden fruit" syndrome, I think. Getting to "indulge" in a popp-y, top-40 love song that talks about "always," "never," "forever," and actually claims that "everything's gonna be all right." There's even a weird synth-y violin-thing happening in the background, backing "oooooohhhh"-ing, and an "Oh-oh-oh-oh-ooooooh!" breakdown at the end. So perfectly formulaic that I can't help but love it. It's like the musical version of the Transformers movie or something like that. Or maybe more like "10,000 BC" - so utterly predictable and ridiculous that it blasts me right past criticism into innocent enjoyment.

And I have a crush on Alicia Keys. To the point where I just found myself thinking, "what if she happened to find this blog somehow - would this make her feel bad?" The funniest part is this crush has come almost ENTIRELY from you, "No One," making it into my guilty-pleasure-song list (and NOT because she's hot, famous, etc.). Maybe some day I'll have to do a tribute re-mix and put it up on YouTube.

Anyway. That's what I've got to say about all that, "No One." I thank you for giving me many many minutes of listening pleasure and random joy. And for inspiring (what feels like) my most deeply personal and revealing letter out of all 205 letters I have written in the past year. This one was deep, Man.

You and Me Together - Through the Days and Nights
I Don't Worry Cuz - Everything's Gonna' Be Alright
People Keep Talking - They Can Say What They Like
But All I Know Is: Everything's Gonna' Be Alright
You, You, YOU - Can Get In the Way of What I'm Feeling
You, You, YOU - Can Get in the Way of What I Feel
For You, "No One."

You,
CVT

*Who would have thought that your lyrics would better sum up my feelings on this matter than my whole letter?

Ring-TONE!!!

2008-04-05T14:44:00.001-07:00

Here it is, the first-ever Special Edition CVT Ringtone. This will be a classic someday - but today, it's a number-one hit. I hope most of you out there have mp3 ringtone capabilities on your phones, because it would be a damn shame if you had first crack at it, and you were one of the LAST to actually have the C-V-T blowing up your phone.

I'm sure there will be various other custom-ringtones coming in the future, but I make no promises. Swoop this one up before it's too late . . .

http://download.yousendit.com/D8B1378619D8B743

Dear "I Got It"

2008-04-02T17:03:00.000-07:00

Dear "I Got It,"

I've been having a lot of "I really like my job" moments in the last couple days. Which is amazing, considering I just finished a Spring Break in which I had the most perfect, responsibility-free vacation in paradise - and yet, I return to work and find myself appreciating it MORE (instead of wishing I could just be chilling in Hawaii . . . although I DO Think about that from time to time).

Anyway, a prime example of this feeling comes from a moment I had today in class. I have my kids split up into various "stations" around the room - some working on new material, some practicing stuff we've been doing for a bit, the rest working on some "real-life" math problems . . . Back in the day, when I didn't know how to do my job, I wasn't smart enough to split kids up like this, and it was a (mostly) full hour of kids working all on the same thing, struggling, and constantly yelling my name and getting frustrated with the work.

Today, however, it was different. I had this one moment where I was just standing there, watching all these kids do their math. Some working together, some just doing it on their own, but the whole damn class just working away without needing my help. And this wasn't some accelerated class or something - this was one of my classes of kids with more math-issues. And yet - there was this moment when they just didn't need me whatsoever, and I was getting BORED.

That's right - I get BORED when I'm just chilling and the kids are working away. So I go up to this one student, who often asks for help, and she just looks up at me, makes shoo-ing gestures, and says with a cocky grin, "You," I Got It. "You." And she meant it (because when I snuck a peek at her work, she DID have it).

And when that happened, I got knocked with this extreme sense of "yeeeaahhhh." The playfulness and satisfaction with which she said it, combined with confidence and pride - THAT was awesome. Just awesome.

And I've had a lot of those kinds of moments this week. Moments where the kids are all focused and doing their work because they actually know what's going on, and so they don't need to mess with each other out of frustration. And that's when I get to chat with them and joke with them and have random conversations about ridiculous things (today at lunch I was talking to one kid about two of his friends - former students - who had gotten in a CACTUS FIGHT; these are the same kids who toss THROWING STARS at each other for fun - REAL ones). It's great. This is when those first two years of ridiculous days and stress feel worth it . . . And when I remember for sure why I still live in Portland.

Because of those times when a kid tells me, "You." And for those wonderful moments, I thank you, I Got It. Because that's when I end up smiling the biggest.

All Warm and Fuzzy,
CVT

*By the way - NONE of my kids look anything like the kid in the photo, but that's all I could find online that even SLIGHTLY resembled the concept I was thanking in this letter.

**Oh - and don't think I didn't see the comments about ring-tones. And don't think they aren't forthcoming.

Dear RAM

2008-04-01T19:06:00.000-07:00

Dear RAM,

I'm going to keep this particular letter short and sweet because I currently don't have a lot of positive things to say about you, and I would like to write you another letter in a few days when I DO have some good things to say, RAM. That said, I shall say a few things right now.

I don't have enough you. More specifically, my COMPUTER doesn't have enough you (the all-important "memory" of computer necessity). Now, this was never a problem back in the good ol' days of using amateur software and limited effects and instruments in my music-making. But in all of my upgrading, I have ended up putting myself in a position where my computer's limited amount of you, RAM, really matters.

Which is funny, because I have over a GIGABYTE of you, currently. I upgraded my laptop a while back to make sure that I had (what then seemed like) TONS of you. I wanted to make sure I had plenty left over to do whatever I wanted to do with my computer - and it seemed like I had achieved that by installing a whole extra gigabyte into my laptop. And a gigabyte used to be a whole Hell of a lot of you, RAM. A whole Hell of a lot. But times have changed.

And in these modern times, a man can produce relatively high-quality (at least in terms of technology - talent is another thing) music and audio from his bedroom. His BEDROOM. And that's a pretty amazing thing. I don't have egg cartons or foam padding all over my walls. I don't have a special room tucked away in my "studio"/basement. There is no sound-proof glass. I just sit at my desk in my freaking BEDROOM and create, record, and produce my own music that is of a higher quality than most eight-tracks from around the time of my birth. That's a lot of progress in a pretty short time (an analogy for my own musical progress in the last couple years, I would say). And that kind of progress is an amazing, fun thing. The only problem is that this kind of progress affects things like the need for you, RAM. And so, now, as I am able to perform some pretty cool auditory feats, I am also in need of more you to keep up.

So what does it mean that I need more you? In layman's terms: I can't make my sh-- come out right without it. Currently, when I try to record my music, everything is all good for the first two or three tracks I lay down. No problem. And if I only made three-track music, I'd be fine.

But I don't. Oh no - I don't make no nimbly-pimbly three-track music in MY bedroom. No - I lay down AT LEAST five tracks per song. At least. Because the better I get, the more tracks I need to put down. I need backing vocals (at least one or two extra on top of the lead track). I need at least one drum kit (these days, I like to play around with more than one). I need some sort of lead instrument (or two). I need a bassline. I need rhythm. And that's it only if I decide to keep it simple.

Of course, if I were to lay down those six (or more) tracks without any effects or tweakage, I could make it work. That's pretty much what I used to be doing not too long ago. But that's also why my music didn't sound as good. Because now I have all sorts of different filters and amp-simulators for my bass and electric guitars. Now I have some good adjustments I can make on the vocals. Now I can be making my own ridiculously over-the-top beats with better-sounding software instrumentation over the top of it all. And that uses you, RAM. A LOT of precious you. So much so, in fact, that it causes my program to crash mid-recording, and I can't even play back songs that have more than a couple tracks which effectively kills all of my productions mid-song.

And that's why I haven't posted anything recently. I had this goal of a song per week, and I've been productive enough to have kept to that goal - if it wasn't for my you problems, RAM. Had I enough you, I would have posted at least one song last week, and another finished one today. But that wasn't meant to be - because of you, RAM. Because of you.

However, there is a solution: order more you. Another gigabyte, in fact. My computer is capable of being boosted up to TWO gigabytes of you, and I have decided to go through with it. The only other solution is to buy a new laptop, and I'm just not going to do that (between recent music investments, my trip to Hawaii, and my taxes - I'm looking at a slightly-sickening hole if I don't get my monetary ish together). And so I have ordered extra you, and it should be in the mail as I type this. Hopefully, I will get it by Thursday, and then I can post a finished song within a day or two of that.

However, I don't want to keep my Loyal Reader waiting any longer, and so I am making an unfinished song available. This one is a tribute to my somewhat-Asian-ness, as well as my steady improvement in the tinkering with making my own beats on my software drum machine (I didn't end up purchasing that other one I mentioned before I left for Hawaii; and in my current fiscal state, there will be no such impulse buys in the near future). The drums are Taiko. The choir is all electronic. There is a missing bass-line, the choir sounds are not as I want them, and there is likely more to be added, but this will have to do for now:

http://download.yousendit.com/8812F37904CBBD67

As for you, RAM - you and I are going to have a serious talk in a couple days when I get another gigabyte of you in the mail. A SERIOUS talk.

Imagining Some Finished Products,
CVT

Dear ITF Update

2008-03-31T17:53:00.000-07:00

Dear ITF Update,

It's the moment so many have been waiting for (specifically, my Loyal Reader): time for my you, ITF Update. Time to let everyone out there know what's up with my genius creation that shall be sweeping the nation as a get-fit sensation: the Iso-Tensile Flexion System (ITF). Without further ado, then, my you:

It's been 24 days. 24 straight days of two-minute workouts - every day. I haven't missed a single workout so far, as part of my grand plan to do 30 days of ITF to see if there is any sort of merit whatsoever to my idea. So the big question that my Loyal Reader wants to have answered in this you is "is it working?" "Does ITF make me buff?" That question may not be as easy to answer as it may seem, but I will do my best.

The first thing I can say is that I have gained a little weight (maybe two or three pounds). Now, most people in today's world would misconstrue that as a true indication that ITF has failed me - for so many fools out there confuse "losing weight" with "getting in shape." Not so. For, as we all know, muscle weighs much more than fat does. Therefore, if somebody is losing their body fat while getting stronger - they will, in fact, GAIN weight, even if they are getting in much better shape. Or, perhaps, there may be no fat lost, but still muscle built, which would again result in a weight-gain. In this situation, I don't particularly believe that I have gotten any fatter (although I did just have a Spring Break vacation to Hawaii that had some fine dining at its center). That's something hard to gauge with a simple mirror-test, but I don't believe that I LOOK like I've gained any fat-weight, so my theory is that this particular weight-gain is representative of increased muscle mass (especially considering I have not had any significant weight-gain in YEARS, in spite of changes in diet, activity levels, etc.).

The rest is a lot harder to say with any sort of certainty. I cannot MEASURE my buff-ness by any scientific method. Since I see myself every day, it is hard for me to compare my present level of ripped-ness to my previous state of 24 days ago (besides, I had been pretty active at that point, so it wasn't like I was totally out of shape). All that said, my biceps - for sure - have gotten bigger and more defined. This makes sense, since they're not a muscle I would have been using with any regularity for anything (biceps are probably some of the most useless muscles to any sort of real athletic endeavour in the body) beforehand, so it makes sense that my random use of them in the course of ITF has gotten them going a little bit.

I would also say that I have some more definition in my shoulder muscles and back, but I also got quite a bit darker from my stint in Hawaii, which can convey a sense of buff-ness that wouldn't be as noticeable when pale and pasty. So that's hard to say, as well.

My gut, however, tells me there have been changes. I didn't do a "Before" and "After" photo simply because I would have felt like way too much of a jack-ass taking said pictures and having them around anywhere that another human being could get at them, so we'll have to leave the true scientific determinance of change to a study of SOMEBODY ELSE. But I do think it has made a difference.

For one, I have improved in my ability to DO ITF. It's not an easy thing to do, and it has become relatively easier since I started. Of course, as it gets "easier" for me, I am able to flex harder and longer, so it doesn't FEEL much better - I just can do it more "properly" the longer I do it, which is a good sign. It's also a good sign for ITF as a fad exercise - since it continues to be challenging, even after much "practice."

And that's pretty much all the you I have for right now, ITF Update. 24 days isn't THAT long, and I have all those aforementioned difficulties in pure judgement of my progress, so there isn't much more to say. It is unfortunate that I won't see any of my immediate family members in the near future, because they saw me last right at the start of my ITF training, and could thus say with more certainty whether or not I have had any noticeable physical changes. Oh, well. I'll just keep it up and keep checking in, and maybe I'll be able to come up with a more definite conclusion (and evidence) at the end of the 30 days.

Until then, that's my you, ITF Update, and I hope my Loyal Reader enjoyed it.

Wondering What a "Before" Photo Would Have Looked Like,
CVT

*Side-note: in the process of writing this letter, I learned that the acronym "ITF" has already been taken by the International Taekwon-do Federation. Luckily, THEY don't seem to be sweeping the nation as a passing (yet profitable) fad, so I'm not too worried about that getting in my way. Besides, if I stole their acronym without their permission and they got upset about it, what could any of them POSSIBLY do to hurt me?

Dear Taxes

2008-03-27T19:37:00.000-07:00

Dear Taxes,

I did my you today, Taxes, and I have to say I ended up VERY disappointed.

Usually, when I do my you each year, I end up with either a very small refund, or a very small amount owed. Either way, not too life-altering. This time? This time my you f-ed me up GOOD. I don't know what was different this year compared to other years. I made just about the same amount this year as I did in the last. Yet I ended up (between my State and Federal you) owing SEVERAL hundred dollars.

SEVERAL hundred.

What the f- is that?!!! How can I suddenly have launched my money owed into such new heights? It's not like I suddenly make proportionally more money. I barely made ANY more money (especially if we're accounting for inflation). And yet I owed SEVERAL hundred dollars in you. It's ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

And really, Taxes, what is up with having to file a separate return that ends up different every time? Is it really THAT hard to just take the right amount out of everybody's paycheck and just leave it at that? I would understand if people who had some sort of extra income coming in had to file a special tax return. I would get that. But why the Hell do people who have only brought in the paychecks that the IRS ALREADY KNOWS ABOUT have to do a return to find out that the IRS got it wrong? I really don't understand. If I should owe 15% in you, why can't the IRS just take 15% of my paycheck up front and leave it at that? Why this ridiculous, suspenseful drama to fill out all sorts of forms? Are we just trying to create jobs? It doesn't make sense, Taxes. It just doesn't make sense.

It just doesn't make sense.

That's all I really have to say about that - it just seemed necessary to say something right away, Taxes. I didn't want to hold it in and then get all upsot later. That wouldn't be fair to either of us. And so I'm just telling you right now - you suck, and I'm not happy about it.

It doesn't help that I'm all worthlessly bummy about not being in Hawaii. Not at all.

Not Hungry Because I Did NOTHING Worthwhile Today,
CVT

Dear I Chose to Live Here

2008-03-26T14:07:00.000-07:00

Dear I Chose to Live Here,

In this, my 200th letter, I have to remind myself that you, I Chose to Live Here. And when I say that, I mean that you in Portland. Nobody put a gun to my head. Nobody said that I had to for their sake or for any other reason. No - I you, and after I did that, I stayed for many years. And I'm still here. Because you.

So why do I feel the need to remind myself that you? Well, because I got back from Hawaii today. Last night, I was wearing shorts and flip flops, watching Hawaiian families spend time with their kids on the beach. Today, I had to put on long pants, shoes, and multiple layers of clothing to go find some breakfast in the cold rain. And on days like this when I want to lament the ridiculous "unfairness" of it all, I have to remind myself that you.

And that's important. Because I often (sort of) forget that when I get into my complain-about-Portland state of mind (which, I admit, happens a little too often). There is no reason outside of my own personal choice that keeps me here (as opposed to somewhere more Heavenly, like Hawaii), and that is an important thing to keep in mind.

But another reason it is good to think of the fact that you is to ask myself the simple question: why? Why did you in Portland? On days like today, it's hard to come up with another response other than "I'm crazy." Because it turns out there are places out there where it's sunny all the time, the weather is seldom above 80 degrees (or below 70) and there is amazing food of all types to eat. Places where I can actually blend in with a crowd and people actually assume that I'm from THERE, as opposed to needing to ask me where I'm from (because they assume that I must be from somewhere ELSE). Places where there's ocean and beach, rainforest mountains, and a big city all within a 15-minute drive from one another. These places exist (or maybe I should say this PLACE (singular) exists) right here in the United States of America.

And yet you, I Chose to Live Here, instead. Sounds kind of f-ing nuts to me. So I find myself trying to analyze the reasons WHY you. Why I continue to stay in spite of this knowledge. Because this is important. And so I shall attempt to turn it positive:

Reason #1: I really love my job. I do. I have fun and feel challenged and get to be creative and share my interests and play every single day at work. Very few people can say that about their jobs, and that's a big deal. I like the people I work with. And it's a very specific combination of things that make all that true (i.e. I couldn't just go teach at any other school in the States and have the same results).

Reason #2: I really love my job. I know I already said that, but that's pretty much the big reason I stay here, so I thought it needed repeating.

Reason #3: In spite of my claims to the contrary, I actually have a couple friends here. Good ones. And since it took me like four years to come up with my three solid friends, I don't exactly want to run off and start it all over again.

Reason #4: Summers here are really quite lovely. And because of the crappy winters (and falls and springs), I can really appreciate that when it happens.

Reason #5: It's a good size. It's sort of city-like without being overwhelming, and I can bike places (if I wanted to, that is) without fearing for my life every second.

Reason #6: Since I'm going to find something to complain about no matter where I end up - why not be somewhere where the complaints are consistent and predictable (thus allowing me to adequately prepare for them; think SAD Lamp)?

Reason #7: I'm never thirsty here.

I think that's about it. The reasons why you, I Chose to Live Here. Pretty short list, really (especially considering Reasons #1-3 are the only ones that really carry much weight). But that happens. The grass is always greener, right? So since those big reasons are such capital "b" Big ones, that's okay. Probably not enough to stay here indefinitely, but enough to not feel like a total ass for continuing to stay here in the short term. There's always time to hate my job in Hawaii in the future.

And so there you have it, I Chose to Live Here. The reasons you and continue to stay. And it's important to think about. It's important to know why you. And so I appreciate you, I Chose to Live Here. I appreciate the fact that you, and that I am the only one responsible for the fact that I continue to do so. It's important to question things - and just as important to answer those questions, and so I am feeling okay(ish) about the fact that you. And I thank you for that.

Thought I Saw Some Sun for a Minute/Already Getting Paler,
CVT

Dear Halfway

2008-03-22T00:25:00.000-07:00

Dear Halfway,

I am you there right now. You through my little trip to Oahu. You, Halfway. You.

And I have to say - I'm already kind of dreading the end. These days have been going relatively quick, and I know it's going to be all over soon enough. And I don't like that. Not at all.

Because I am having the absolute most-wonderful time ever here. I really am. And I'm sure it won't surprise anybody to hear that it has been wonderful on a culinary level (among other things). VERY wonderful. I'm not going to go into it in too much detail, but let's just say that I really think that sushi has been ruined for the rest of my life (because it will NEVER compare to what I ate last night). I will devote a separate letter to that specific meal (I wrote it down, piece by piece - with notes), but that is not for now.

Now is my time to acknowledge the you point, Halfway. This teetering, tottering edge between starting off my trip and finishing it off. It's a precarious place to be. It's that point where I am starting to get comfortable. I have my bearings. I know where things are. I know what my options are. I've done a bunch of cool things. I've darkened to a point of being mistaken for a local at times (my hapa-ness obviously helps in that regard).

But it's also the point where I know too much. There are so many things I would like to do and check out, and I am realizing - at this you point - that it's just not all going to happen. Hell - there are at least 100 other great restaurants for me to check out. Not to mention all the other cool wanderings I could do. But I am already you through the trip, and I'm just not going to be able to do it all.

So at this you point, I find myself thinking about the return. About being back in rainy, cloudy, cold Portland. About putting my shorts and flip flops back in the closet for another month or two. Watching my non-paleness fade away like the fond memories of this trip. That's all there, too.

And yet - it's all good. I'm not the type of person to sit and mope all day (not anymore, at least - thanks, Light Therapy Lamp). Nope. Instead, I am going to go out and do the majority of the things I want to be doing. I'm going to go wander Chinatown and eat some dim sum. I'll go to the Hawaiian Art Museum. I'll go to the east part of the island (and maybe do another lap of the whole island). I'll go hike up Manoa Falls. I'll go to the symphony. I'll check out the historical/cultural museum (and a Planetarium show while I'm there). I'll go to the Art-Fest tomorrow. I'll go to the weekend swap meet. And I'll eat a good 15-plus delicious meals. And more.

And I really will, Halfway. I don't care if I'm already you through my trip - because that means that I've done all these other great things already in exactly HALF my trip - therefore, I can do just as much (if not more). And I will. Because - although being you makes me think of the inevitable departure from paradise - I am one to use the you point as a simple check-up for me to see how I'm progressing.

And the answer is: just swimmingly.*

So there you have it, Halfway. I'm you through this vacation, and I'm just getting ready for more. So I thank you for keeping me in check and keeping my eyes on the prize. And I appreciate you for being who you are, Halfway (as opposed to your uncle The End or another similar relative).

So off I go - I only have four more days, and I shouldn't be wasting my time on the internet.

Full of the Most Delightful Korean Food,
CVT

*Speaking of swimming, I swam laps today, and it was REALLY hard. Swimming is REALLY hard. More later.

Dear Tropical Rain

2008-03-20T11:15:00.000-07:00

(there will be no photo for this one, because I am on a public computer at the U of H campus, and they won't let me download anything)

Dear Tropical Rain,

So my friend, we are together at last. Off and on for the last two days, you have been coming down on me, Tropical Rain. And know what? I don't give a F---.

That's right. You are nothing at all like Portland Rain. Nothing at all. Because where Portland Rain makes me moody and grim and just plain pissed off, you feels kind of nice. You is a nice feel of freshness during a hot spell. You is just plain delightful.

I mean - how many rainbows ever appear in Portland? Probably around two, but I've never seen any of them, anyway. But I'll say two just to be polite. And they may be pretty and all, but anytime rain is combined with Portland (ESPECIALLY if there is sun), that's just a sad thing.

Here (in Hawaii)? It's wonderful. These five minute light showers that come and go - bringing a fresh "green" scent to everything around me, making constant rainbows, looking all dramatic over the mountains. I can't complain at all. There's no running for cover or feeling the need to hide indoors until it passes. Nope. There's just standing there with a slight grin on my face as I stare up into the you. Then - a few minutes later - I continue on my way to the beach or some other ridiculously sunny and beautiful spot. Not at all like Portland Rain.

And the very direct contrast (as it rained the days before I headed out here) makes the you even more delightful for me. Because I get up in the morning, put on my flip flops and shorts, and walk out the door (maybe I'll go get some breakfast). And then I see the slight gray tinge to the sky and the wet concrete.

Now, in my previous world (Portland), this would mean an immediate change of plans (and attire). I would have to throw on a jacket, some long pants, and DEFINITELY put some close-toes shoes on. That's what I'd have to do in PORTLAND.

Here? I just grin and keep walking. It's like an early-morning dew-shower. Wow - that sounds nice, doesn't it? An early-morning dew-shower. I think I could sell that concept.

And that's what I get here, as I walk around, looking for my breakfast. An early-morning dew-shower for me while the poor souls in Portland have to deal with a most-of-the-day crap-shower that entails a change of clothes and plans. That's right. I'm a little bit happy to be here.

So - quite obviously - I thank you, Tropical Rain. And I appreciate you. You makes me smile in the morning (or whenever else you happens), and I definitely appreciate the very stark contrast between you and my nemesis, Portland Rain. So thank you for being your own soul and not trying to be like any other kind of rain out there - because you, Tropical Rain, is definitely the best kind.

Off to Eat a Bagel and Buy Some U of H Gear,
CVT

*Loyal Reader - I'll let you know what colour I end up getting when next I post.

Dear Impulse Buy

2008-03-16T15:49:00.000-07:00

Dear Impulse Buy,

I've spent a lot of money this last month or two. A LOT. I have been buying studio equipment, instruments, software, etc. I bought a plane ticket to Hawaii. I am going to be paying for lodging and a rental car IN Hawaii. I bought some new shoes. I've spent A LOT of money lately (or am just about to).

And the thing is that me spending A LOT of money is very out of character for me. Anybody who knows me well knows that I'm a relative cheap-ass. I don't buy a lot of things. I don't spend much money. I don't have some super-rich social life where I drop money in the name of a night out. I dress better now than I have in the past, but I hardly dress WELL - and I certainly don't spend a lot on clothes. I'm cheap. Spending money is usually a bit painful for me. I am constantly saving money for imaginary future happenings.

And yet - in spite of the money I've spent lately, and my tendency to be a cheap-ass - I can't seem to keep myself away from making another you, Impulse Buy. In recent weeks, it's been a lot of different things, but right now my you is a Casio LD-80 digital drum machine. How did this happen?

Yesterday, I saw Glotto. Had breakfast with her and some other friends, her boyfriend included. And that is what ended up getting me.

See - Dylan (Glotto's boyf) is the same guy who sold me my audio interface (the key piece that ended up leading to the need for an electric guitar). He let me try out his nice microphone, which convinced me to spend some money on a quality one of my own. He showed me the glories of Trade-Up Music - a store near his house that has a HUGE selection of musical toys (many of them used and at a discounted price). And he has supplemented my own recording excitement with his own passion for audio production. He is basically my home-studio mentor, and he loves to encourage me to get new gadgets and toys.

So when I saw him yesterday, I knew I was in trouble. I made sure to protect myself (and my wallet) by keeping my music-related conversation with him short and uninvolved. I was going to survive his company without spending more money.

And I pulled it off. I lent him my car to give Glotto a ride back to the airport, and I made my way out into the world to make the rest of my day happen. It worked out fine. I ate some food without making any yous (because I do that with food a lot, as well).

Then I had to go pick up my car. I called Dylan and let him know I was coming by, jumped on a bus, and headed to his house. I walked up to his porch and got my key and was about to head on my way. And then these fateful words came out of his mouth, "Want to go to Trade-Up?" I don't even know what I said, but a minute later I was walking up the street in the direction of that troublesome (but wonderful) store.

And that's what caused me to see my latest you, Impulse Buy: a Casio LD-80 digital drum machine. It was cheap. And it looked so appealing. See - I had been thinking about buying one of these things a long time ago (even before my home studio explosion). But the price never seemed to be worth it, and I was able to avoid it. So when I saw one at Trade-Up at a drastically marked-down price, I got itchy.

I kept wandering by, looking at it. I touched the pads. I messed with the power switch to turn it on. But - alas - the batteries were dead, so it wasn't working. Okay - I was just going to leave it be and move on with my life. And then Dylan walked up. He commented on the cheap price and picked it up, telling me I should check it out and buy it. He brought it to the repair-guy, and it all began.

Long story short, the repair guy promised to fix up the power supply (it was more than just dead batteries), put the machine on hold, and give me a call today. And he did all of that. My you is sitting, waiting for me, at Trade-Up. It's mine, if I want to go pick it up and pay for it.

But I'm resisting. Because I don't REALLY need it. I don't REALLY need a digital drum machine. I have a professional-quality drum machine on my computer now. It works fantastically. The Casio is a relative piece of junk in comparison. And yet.

And yet I am drawn to it. Because the key with the Casio is that I can actually use drumsticks on it and drum like a real kit - something I'm not so good at, at present. But if I were to purchase this machine and play with it, I may just end up getting relatively decent at drumming. And wouldn't that be nice? Not necessary, by any means - but it would be kind of nice.

And so I'm stuck, contemplating a you long after I should be contemplating it. It's a lot harder when I'm not in the store with it. This is NOT how a you is supposed to work, Impulse Buy. The process is not meant to be drawn out like this. But it has been, and there's nothing I can do.

And so I sit in my house, quietly contemplating my newest you - to pull the trigger, or no? These are the important questions that face us in these difficult times, and only I can answer that question for myself. Or Dylan. But he's not here right now, so it's just up to me.

So I shall contemplate more, my dear Impulse Buy. I shall spend an excessive amount of time thinking about a Casio LD-80 digital drum machine, simply because I saw one at a store yesterday and could not avoid the lure of a you, Impulse Buy. And that is a testament to your power. And for that - I respect and admire you. Hence, this letter. And that's all I have to say about that.

Imagining Improved Drum Skills,
CVT

Eye Appointment

2008-03-13T22:29:00.000-07:00

So I had another training on Tuesday. Didn't get until today (Thursday) to do the song. This one took me about 3 hours. Enjoy.

http://download.yousendit.com/FACBEA3C467C9B3F

Eye Appointment

I had a training today – it seemed a little Hellish and I didn’t want to stay
But – I am a good employee

So I wanted to throw things, but I didn’t
No one can say I wasn’t focused for at least 30 minutes
Stocked up some good food on my plate
And I even raised my hand to participate
But after an hour and twenty, I almost vomited when she said this:
“What we just accomplished is we outlined what we need accomplished”
So as the two-hour marker came near
Everybody’s frustrations were aired
So much anger being vented that our captor relented
Giving us the opportunity to use our time effectively
So I delayed my escape – cuz meeting with my crew’s okay
But in my mind the whole time, I was singing:

I have an eye appointment
I have an eye appointment
I have an eye appointment

I just smiled,laughed, ditched the last hour and a half
Arrived early as could be, waiting patiently
Sitting in my lobby chair
Just glad to be there
Reading an outdated magazine, blowing time 'til I'm seen
And when I finally saw my doc
He left me happily shocked
Because as an absolute first
Time my eyes weren’t any worse
And that surprise good news made me cut loose and sing:

I have an eye appointment

It all went so smooth
It put me in a great mood
As I realized with a smile
That I was already finished while
Those poor saps at school
Still had half an hour to stew
And I was free to eat more food (and sing):

I have an eye appointment

Dear Spring Break

2008-03-13T17:47:00.000-07:00

Dear Spring Break,

Hey man - how you doing? It's been a little while (a year, I guess) since we last spoke. In some ways it seems longer - others, faster. But a lot has happened since we last spent some time together.

The weird thing about it all, Spring Break, is that I haven't exactly missed you or anything. Which is kind of crazy, considering the line of work that I am in. All my co-workers are all jazzed-up and excited about being off for the next two weeks (that's right - we get TWO weeks at my school), while I'm happy to have you, but I haven't really been counting the days or anything. Which just goes to show how far I've come in a year.

And the question is: can it really all be attributed to my Light Therapy Lamp? Of course not. I strongly believe that has been a big difference, but there have been so many other changes since my last you that I can't really put it all on the Lamp. I think a huge part of it is just that I'm better at my job now. I really feel like I know what I'm doing now. I don't fret or stress the same way I did in the past. I'm not worried that things will go wrong or that I won't know what to do. I'm a veteran now.

And that kind of confidence and low-stress makes a HUGE difference in how everything else goes for me. It saves a ton of energy. It enables me to sleep more (and better). Stuff like that. So those two big things together have really made it so I don't NEED you in the same way that I did the last two years. And that's a good thing.

Because really, Spring Break - is it healthy to NEED you? Sure - it's great to WANT you, but is it REALLY good to NEED you? I think not. The problem with NEEDING you is that it makes it so much harder after you have passed. It also makes the week (or weeks) leading up to you harder, as well, with the build-up in anticipation. And that's not such a good thing.

WANTING you, on the other hand - or even just APPRECIATING you - is good. It's great. It's exciting. Because - don't get me wrong - I am most definitely excited for what my you is bringing me (Hawaii). That is an exciting thing. The thought of walking around in shorts and flip flops for a whole week without any worry at all. Maybe doing some ITF on the beach. Or in a warm park. Wherever.

Just walking around in warmth (at night as well as during the day). That's exciting. REALLY exciting. So much so that I can't really even begin to explain it. Maybe I'll write a song about it or something.

But the point is that I am excited about you. And I want you to happen (as you officially do as of about 2pm tomorrow). But I don't NEED you to happen, and that is something that makes your arrival all the sweeter (as a reference to my last two years of teaching).

And I really don't know if I have much else to say about that. Tomorrow, I start my you, and that's great. And I'm looking forward to being with you and enjoying myself in your splendid, sunny company. But I'm not dependent on you. And that's that.

Got New Flip Flops in the Mail Today (from Jay),
CVT

*ITF update: still going. Was messing around and randomly flexed a little bit ago, and I noticed my arm and was like "Holy Sh--!" I'm going to be rich, indeed. Indeed.

No Hiss

2008-03-10T17:41:00.000-07:00

Got rid of that hissing sound (and re-did the vocals). Now this is what my quick demo of my new equipment SHOULD HAVE sounded like the first time.

http://download.yousendit.com/CDAA8DF716EF23A5

Enjoy this one (and know that a new one is in the works right after some Iso-Tensile-Flexion for the day).

Dear Iso-Tensile-Flexion System

2008-03-09T13:48:00.000-07:00

Dear Iso-Tensile-Flexion System,

Apparently, being "back home" turns me into a freaking GENIUS. GENIUS, I say!!! Why do I say that? Well - there is the Four-Inch Fighting system that I developed yesterday morning with my brother . . . which was great. But then I developed a system to beat all systems: the you, Iso-Tensile-Flexion System.

Now I imagine that there are many folks out there who are confused by the specific, technical-sounding nomenclature of you. And that's understandable. It really is quite technical. So I shall explain what it all means (in the context of recent history).

Last night, I was eating dinner with my parents and Loyal Reader (some sea bass, chicken, rice, and spinach that I had cooked up - not remarkable, but fine) when different weight-lifting techniques come up. I'm not exactly sure HOW it came up, but it did (likely in the context of my Loyal Reader's current passion for jujitsu). He was saying how there was a new way of lifting weights that did not consist of doing many repetitions at a time, but rather one EXTREMELY slow rep. It would be like doing one bench press over the course of a minute - just ever-so-slowly lowering the bar at precise, controlled increments; then raising it again.

Apparently, this new technique is supposed to be a lot better than the common multi-rep version of weight-lifting because it doesn't damage the muscles, and it is more extended use in one go. Whatever. Sounded interesting and all - but everyone out there knows that I hate working out, and I am never going to go out of my way to lift a weight . . . But then genius struck.

It occurred to me that what my Loyal Reader was describing was just a glorified held flex. I asked myself (and the family) if it would be equally effective to use no weight at all and just flex for two minutes straight. After some round-table discussion, we determined that it would likely have similar results. In fact, my Loyal Reader pointed out, body builders say that it is the posing in competitions that is the hardest part of their workouts.

And this is how you were born, Iso-Tensile-Flexion System. This is how the you works: holding a specific flexed pose for two minutes every day. That's it. Period. Nothing more. No weights or other props involved. No cost. Very little time. Can be done ANYWHERE AT ALL. Anywhere. So simple, really. And it is.

But it is NOT easy. I repeat - it is NOT easy. I decided to test it out yesterday (and this morning) with my family watching, and it was ridiculous. I adopted a pose that involved a semi-squat and flexed arms (with toes curled, flexing every muscle I possibly could at one time) and tried to hold it for two minutes. At one minute I was shaking. At a minute and a half, sweat was pouring down, and I thought I was going to collapse. At two minutes, I relaxed and fell to the floor, feeling like I had just undergone a full workout.

And there you have it. The you. Simple. Affordable (in terms of time AND money). But NOT easy. I seriously think that this could be genius.

So my current mission for the next 30 days is to perfect my you. I will come up with two perfect poses (to be done on alternate days) that can compliment each other in terms of working all the major muscle groups in the body. I will do them for two minutes every day (with no other workout - which is the easiest part, because I would do no other workout, anyway). And when I a become ridiculously cut and buff, I am going to write a book, make an infomercial, and become crazy-rich. It will be like stealing - but not as fun (because it's tiring).

And once I get my you down, anybody will be able to do it. I'll have poses for the elderly, for people rehabilitating from injury, for athletes. Systems that last only one minute each. Four minutes. Whatever. Completely adjustable for anybody at all. F-ing BRILLIANT.

The most amazing part about all of this is that I'm kind of serious. I will actually try this for the next 30 days to see if it has any merit at all. And I will post regular updates on this site. By this time on April 7th, I will be the first living example of the effectiveness of the you, Iso-Tensile-Flexion System. A year from then - Hollywood will follow.

So thank you, Iso-Tensile-Flexion System, for being my path towards riches. When the you gets me super-crazy-rich, I'll buy you a drink.

Thinking About the FACIAL-Iso-Tensile-Flexion System as an Alternative to Plastic Surgery,
CVT

Dear Four-Inch Fighting

2008-03-08T19:18:00.000-08:00

Dear Four-Inch Fighting,

I had some fun with you today, Four-Inch Fighting. Had a good laugh and creative session. Came up with my future career. All because of you and reverting to my childhood when I'm home (referring to my childhood home, of course).

So I'm "back home" (which is how I refer to my childhood home, as opposed to my CURRENT home of Portland - which is just "home") now. Came in Thursday night, hid out in the Bay Area for 24 hours, then surprised my dad with my mom and brother and 23 of his best work buddies. Threw him a big party celebrating his being crowned "The Best Man in the World at Pretty Much Anything That He Decided to Put Any Effort Into" (I'm not sure if that was the full title, but that's pretty much what it meant - which seems fitting to me). Then came back to "back home" and spent all of today there. With my nuclear family. And that's where you come in, Four-Inch Fighting.

See - pretty much every time I am "back home" (especially if my Loyal Reader is around, as well), I revert to my childhood ways. Fall back into my usual roles, behaviour, etc. And so it was when Loyal Reader and I ended up you, Four-Inch Fighting.

I'm not sure how it started, really. Much the same way as this kind of nonsense usually starts when we are both "back home" at the same time: we were passing each other in a confined area (I believe it was the doorway of the kitchen this time), and one of us decided that some punching was necessary. After some awkward maneuvering, one of us lined up a "Four-inch PUNCH." I honestly don't know which one of us lined the first one up, but soon we were taking turns Four-inch punching each other's arms.

For those unfamiliar with the Four-inch Punch, it goes like this: somebody (me, say) lines up their open hand perpendicular to the striking surface (in this case, my Loyal Reader's right shoulder), middle finger touching the center of the target. Then that person (me, still) closes their hand into a fist while forcing said fist into the target (my Loyal Reader's right shoulder) with as much force as they (me) can muster in such a short amount of distance. The aim is to do this in a real target's chest, thus stopping their heart. As this was just practice, it was just on shoulders.

So my Loyal Reader and I exchanged a few of these punches (while my mom watched in confusion, until we got her to try a couple). Then we wandered down the hall (because we often get bored and stop mid-fight). But as we entered our parents' bedroom (we wander aimlessly a lot), I felt the need to go for a Four-inch KICK. And that's where you FULLY came into play, Four-Inch Fighting.

We decided that we could create a new martial art called - of course - you. This would entail various attacks that began with a fully-extended appendage from a short distance away, ending with a vicious blow. An extended foot (touching the target) followed with a heel-blow from the allotted four inches away. A thumb extended sideways, then collapsed for a side-punch. And the best move: a nose touching the target, followed by a vicious head-butt.

This martial art form would be PERFECT for the new Mixed Martial Arts craze (Ultimate Fighting, for those that don't know) because these devastating blows could all occur in the close confines of a grappling situation. Therefore, somebody that followed our amazing system would have an advantage in any small-area fighting situation (in a closet or shower, for instance).

And it doesn't stop with just you. For with the expected rise in you experts, there would be an equally-pressing need for the vaunted "Six-Inch DEFENSE" in which the attackee could protect themselves from damage by always keeping their opponent out of range through our patented defense moves - such as an extended arm, or even just an extended FORE-arm.

Brilliant. I know. And none of this brilliance could ever come to fruition without the special blend of circumstances and collaboration that comes from myself and my Loyal Reader being "back home" at the same time. And that's a special thing, indeed. Indeed.

So thank you, Four-Inch Fighting, for the impending riches you shall bring me (and my Loyal Reader). I look forward to my first tiny-bar fight when I get to kick some ass from extremely close range. When a mugger tries to steal my wallet in a walk-in fridge or a coat closet. Because then you will come in most handy. And that will be awesome.

And there's really nothing more to say about that. So there.

Very Aware of My Loyal Reader's Presence Behind Me, Causing Me To Be Always Ready to Defend,
CVT

Software Issues

2008-03-05T22:48:00.000-08:00

This is frustrating. I really did do this song all good in about 2 1/2 hours, and it sounded great. Then I ripped it into an mp3 for you all to enjoy, and this hissing sound popped up. I re-did the vocals to take care of it . . . and nothing. Now I still have the hiss, I'm up way past my bedtime, and my vocals aren't as good because I rushed them to try to get the problem fixed. It's something to do with the filter I did on the voice . . . so we'll have to see if I can fix it and get the new version out.

Until then, just imagine this without the hiss and some cleaner vocals . . . pretty frustrating.

Enjoy (somewhat):
http://download.yousendit.com/D7C0F3692D241598

Dear Putting It All Together

2008-03-04T17:40:00.000-08:00

Dear Putting it All Together,

Right this moment, as I type these very words, I am finishing the last step before I can start you, Putting it All Together. What step is that? Well, let me tell you: it is installing my updated audio production software.

That's right - I actually went through and decided to update my software. Because GarageBand is good and all (great for a lot of purposes, really), but I was ready for the next level. I was ready to be able to maximize the sounds and equipment I have, while getting some true mastery over the beats I put down. And I just couldn't do that with GarageBand. So I needed to update. And I just did (it finished installing about 30 seconds before I wrote that).

So now it's time to start you. Now it's time to follow through on my bold claim to produce at least one passable song every week. There are no more excuses (because I bought an electric bass two days ago). All the pieces are here now (and I think I may really mean that now), so all I have left is to get to you.

Not that that's an easy thing. In fact - it's probably the hardest part. Now there are no excuses left for a crappy sound (or song). I can't say "If only I had -blank- I could REALLY make something nice." Nope. Now all I can say is, "If only I didn't suck at this, I could REALLY make something nice." It's no longer the equipment or lack of THINGS - now it comes down to talent and/or lack of "IT." And I don't want to even think about what would happen if I lacked "IT."

And I'm not talking about "IT" on the same level as my cooking "IT." Because I really do feel naturally talented in that field. For the little serious cooking I've done, I feel like I've kicked some natural a** when I've done it - with little extra effort or practice to get to that point. And with such a nice starting point, it only falls to reason that I would be INCREDIBLY good if I put in real time and effort.

So I'm not saying I have that kind of musical talent. In fact, of all the things that I like to do or think I have a talent for, I would say that I have the LEAST amount of natural musical talent. Which is funny - because that is the area from which I derive the most pleasure and spend the most time doing. But I was not blessed with a magical "IT" when it comes to music. However, because I enjoy it so much, I HAVE put a lot of TIME into it, and I am a firm believer that a person (me, in this case) can get quite good at anything at all if they are willing to put the effort and time into it. Since I AM willing to do that with music (and have been), I don't see why I shouldn't get relatively good at it. And that is the type of "IT" I am referring to here. The kind of talent that isn't exactly natural, but that comes from effort and practice.

And I don't want to find out that I don't even have that. Granted, I still haven't been doing this seriously for any particular length of time, so even not having any talent at all at this point wouldn't be the end of the world, but still . . . Nobody wants to feel like they suck at something they like doing - especially me.

And so I have been hesitant to finalize you, Putting it All Together. Because somewhere - deep down - I wanted to hold onto a few excuses. I wanted to be able to blame it on a crappy mic. Or say that I just didn't have the right instruments. Or that my software program just wasn't powerful enough to fix up the sound the right way. But they are gone now. I've finally stepped up - fully - to the next level, and now it's just between me and the world whether I really am capable of you.

But I think I am. I do. And I am excited to do so. In spite of the slight fear and hesitation, I have been eagerly anticipating this moment, as well. I have pictured in my head what it would look like when I finally started you - and now it's time to make that all a reality. And I have some things in mind to kick that off, as well, so it's exciting.

So exciting, in fact, that I don't particularly want to write any more in this letter because my software is installed and waiting for me to play. So I will. But I wanted to write a letter of appreciation for you, Putting it All Together, for the opportunity you are currently presenting to me. It's been a long time coming, and I'm glad that we finally get to be in the same room together. I can't wait to see how it all works out.

Nervous and Giddy,
CVT

Dear Sour Cream

2008-03-03T18:45:00.000-08:00

Dear Sour Cream,

Before I really start into this letter, I need to tell you something, Sour Cream - I had a Hell of a time trying to find an even somewhat decent picture of you to attach to this letter. A Hell of a time. And I found that quite surprising, considering how good you usually look to me. Must be a camera-shy thing.

Anyway, in my mission to get back to my properly-acknowledging ways, I have realized that I do my best work when appreciating food-related items. There's something about the glory of food - and how much I enjoy it - that just brings out my best writing. Not to say that this particular letter will come out that way . . . but it just might.

So why are you on my mind today, Sour Cream? Well - because of lunch, of course. Today was a planning day at school (as we begin our last trimester), and our science teacher brought in fix'ins for some chicken soft tacos. And it was pretty fantastic, really. REAL roasted chicken. Some cooked beans. Cheese. Diced onions. Tomato salsa. Lettuce. Guacamole. And - the key - you, Sour Cream. I mean - it would have been some great food no matter what with a spread like that, but none of it could have been as wonderful as it ended up being with you.

I don't know where my love of you came from, really, but I just love having you on my food. These days, I practically can't eat any (Americanized) Mexican food without a healthy portion of you on top. And I mean a HEALTHY portion in the sense of an ass-load, as opposed to less you because of your fattiness. There's just something about your creamy almost-coldness, combined with the other flavours in a burrito or other such food-item . . . It's just perfect. I could very well just wrap a large portion of you in a corn tortilla and eat it with nothing else, and I would probably enjoy it. I really would.

But it doesn't just stop there - oh no. Your beauty and delightfulness is not constrained to (the American version of) Mexican food. There is another area of food-joy in which you rules: breakfast. Yup - breakfast. This year I've started getting a side of you to go with whatever savoury breakfast foods I happen to order at a restaurant, and it always works out well. I've never really been a big potato guy, but now - with a little bit of you - I find myself greedily putting down every bit of potato with my breakfast. I regularly order various versions of breakfast hash - simply because of the wonderful taste you provides. When you isn't available? I order something else, entirely.

And I imagine that there are so many more uses for you, Sour Cream. I imagine that you can probably go well with almost any savoury food out there. Right now I'm picturing flicking a spoonful of you onto a grilled steak. Mixing you into Thanksgiving stuffing. Putting you on toast. Trying to bring back SOME sort of appreciation for tomato-based soups by throwing you in to create a creaminess that such weak soups cannot provide on their own. I think it could be amazing.

And now that I think about it - it's not just savoury foods. I remember enjoying a delicious you coffee cake at a coffee shop near my house. In fact - they advertise their you coffee cake on a big sign out front. It may very well be you that keeps that particular coffee shop afloat. And when I was looking for pictures of you, I got all sorts of images of sugar-y sweets (as the first images, too). So it seems that your greatness is not confined solely to the salty world.

Which doesn't surprise me, of course. Because you are wonderful. And wonderful food-items such as yourself can't surprise me by being universally wonderful. Makes me think that I could become incredibly rich if I decided to open a restaurant that promised generous amounts of you in every dish. I can't be the only one who would be excited about that - can I? There's only one way to find out, I suppose.

I expect I know the answer to that rhetorical question, though - because you is that incredible. And for that, I thank you. I thank you for livening up so many bland after-school meals. For changing food-for-hunger's-sake into something to look forward to. I will always appreciate that. Always.

Thank you.

Just Now Wondering What's Up with Creme Fraiche,
CVT

*I proved myself wrong on this one. Hardly an inspired letter, even if it WAS about food. Maybe it's because I'm full right now.

Dear Cereal

2008-03-01T19:53:00.000-08:00

Dear Cereal,

I just had some you for dinner, and it made me think. It made me think about how I've gotten away from my roots a little bit in recent weeks (and months) in my letters on this blog. It made me think how this crazy "doing creative things" kick has kind of overtaken my internet world and knocked a lot of perfectly legitimate and wonderful inanimate objects and concepts right off the "To Write To" list.

And that saddens me. Because there is so much appreciation to give, and so little time to do so, and I've been spending so much of it lately appreciating more or less the SAME THINGS over and over again. And that ain't right. Music is great. I very much enjoy it. But it's not everything. Not even close. What else is there? Well - for starters: there's you.

You, Cereal. That wonderful, crunchy-yet-splishy treat. A wonderful snack. A great way to start the day. Dinner for the lazy. All of it and more - that is what you is. And you comes in so many different forms. There are sweet and sugar-y yous, wholesome and healthy yous, passing-fad yous, kid yous, adult yous, hippie yous, nerd yous, cool yous, universal yous. Any type of you that can possibly be fathomed is out there, and they are all wonderful.

Why? Because you fulfills so many needs. The first need from a wonderful, snack-tastic food creation? Ease. You is easy to eat. Grab the box, pour some cereal into a bowl, add milk, et voila - a perfect bite to eat. For people that are looking for just a crunchy snack - take away the milk step. You is easy. EASY, I say. At any time of the day, if I need to eat something, but I just don't feel like putting any effort into it - I really need something RIGHT NOW - all I have to do is grab a box of you and pour it in the bowl. Within a minute, I am eating and taking care of my hunger.

The second need is variety. I've already mentioned all the different types of yous, but I shall say it again: there are pretty much every type of you fathomable, to satisfy any and all snack needs. Everything from a sugar-fix to a fad diet can be taken care of with a bowl of you, Cereal. Everything.

The third need? Customization. You is customizable to various tastes and habits. For example - say I am a man who wants some soggy you. All I have to do is pour a little extra milk in, smash the you down into said milk, and let it sit for an extra minute. BOOM!!! Soggy you. On the other hand, if I am into the CRUNCH of it all, then I just put in less milk or eat my you immediately with no wait. Either way - I am satisfied and good to go.

Is there a fourth need? OF COURSE. And that need is you-milk. Oh, joyous, wondrous you-milk. This might actually be the best part of you - the final act when enjoying a tasty bowl of you: lifting the bowl with two hands to my lips and drinking the delicious you-milk left over. I don't believe there is any other experience in all of the food world quite like drinking the leftover milk after eating a bowl of you. Nothing can be compared to it. Nothing can match it. It's like getting a free high-quality dessert every time I eat you, Cereal. And that perfect blend of you-flavours with the milk, combined with the satisfying feeling of lifting a bowl with two hands . . . Pure Heaven. I'm not even going to attempt a true explanation, because its awesomeness transcends words. For those who have not had the pleasure of the experience of drinking you-milk straight from the bowl . . . I weep.

Yup, there's a fifth need: self-supplied reading material. How many people out there want to have something to read while they are eating their breakfast? At least six or seven, for sure. And for those people, you provides a solution: the back of the you-box. The best you boxes have games and "fun facts" (a separate letter, most definitely) on them, but even the more boring boxes are worth a good ten-minute read. If it isn't information about healthy hearts or cholesterol, there's always the nutrition information - which, for some reason, is always so much more fascinating on a box of you than anywhere else.

Need six: use in baked goods. I actually don't really enjoy the various forms of you-bars out there (it all started with Rice Krispies treats), but some people do. So, for them, there's a sixth need that you takes care of.

And the seventh, final great need of a wonderful, snack-tastic food creation: Cookie Crisp. There's an f-ing you out there that consists ENTIRELY of little chocolate chip cookies poured into a bowl with milk. Holy f-ing shhhh!!!! That's amazing. And genius. A box-ful of tiny little cookies to pour into a bowl and eat with an f-ing SPOON!!!! I mean - how does that not make people instantly love America!?? That was a rhetorical question (because - of course - it DOES).

And there you have it - the seven needs of a wonderful, snack-tastic food creation. And all of them fulfilled by you, Cereal. I don't believe that there are any other snack-tastic foods out there that can even fulfill FIVE of the great needs (but if there are, I would like my reader(s) to chime in), and yet you fulfills SEVEN out of SEVEN. Nothing more to say about that, really.

And so I thank you, Cereal. I thank you for the times we've had from my youth all the way to the present. I thank you for the specific way in which my father (and myself, as well) pats the you down in the bowl before pouring the milk. I thank you for likely teaching me to read (or at least a few interesting facts about dinosaurs and meteorites - or was that Oatmeal?). I thank you for the many evenings of satisfied hunger when I thought I'd just have to go without dinner out of pure laziness. I thank you for simply being there for me, time and time again - everywhere I've been (with the exception of Tanzania). Thank you.

Thank you. And don't ever change a thing (in that vague sort of way that would keep you fulfilling the seven needs without preventing you from retaining your variety and customizability).

My Raisin Bran is Stale, but I Still Ate It,
CVT

*By the way, for those that haven't had the specific pleasure that is Special K Red Berries you, look at the attached photo and tell me that that doesn't seem absolutely scrumptious.

Dear Prolific Mother-Lover

2008-02-29T19:23:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-28T18:53:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-25T19:48:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-25T19:22:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-16T12:55:00.000-08:00

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)

2008-02-13T20:06:00.000-08:00

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***!!!!

2008-02-13T07:14:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-11T17:58:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-09T13:25:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-06T18:42:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-04T18:08:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-03T20:34:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-03T09:08:00.001-08:00

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).

Too Many Cooks (cont.)

2008-01-31T07:23:00.001-08:00

So that meeting got me so riled up, I had to actually go and RECORD my song. So - after a couple hours of playing around, I have my first "New Studio" recording. Again - realize this is without much (if any) editing or perfection applied. Not bad . . .

http://download.yousendit.com/5D69CA2828EC78AD

See the previous letter for lyrics.

Rocking Out,
CVT

Dear Too Many Cooks

2008-01-30T18:16:00.000-08:00

Dear Too Many Cooks,

I had a "professional development" today. A half-day of teaching, and then FOUR f-ing hours of "professional development" that ended up being (mostly) just every single person getting to have a say and put in their two cents about crap that just doesn't matter. It took away my will to do anything at all (while also taking up planning time AND time to call the parents of my kids and DO MY JOB). And I've got to say it - you, Too Many Cooks, were what drove me nuts. I hate these kinds of things no matter what, but nothing makes me more frustrated and angry than when you are allowed into the kitchen, and I waste my time listening to everybody have to say something.

I had a moment when I smiled - because I had just envisioned throwing my glass bottle across the room to watch it smash against the wall.

There's not too much more to say here. Again - to try to make something productive out of this complete waste of time and robbery of life, I wrote some lyrics (this one seems more "poem-y" than others). In reading this, please realize it was done off-the-cuff with no editing and the distraction of idiots having their say and keeping me from being able to fully concentrate. The song is called, of course, You.

"Let's have a meeting and invite EVERYONE to say their piece
Because it's only frustrated rage that keeps me from falling asleep
If four more freaking people want to add the word "possible" to a phrase
I won't be bored at all - because I'll shoot myself in the face
And wouldn't THAT be exciting? Watching everyone respond
As everyone called a DIFFERENT ambulance and let the debate rage on
All offering their advice for the best way to clear my remains:
'I'd use Tilex for his blood' - 'No, bleach is best for stains'
'Brains should be wiped clockwise' - 'But you have to soak them first!'
All arguing the stupid details while the stench continued to get worse
Because the rotting cadaver on the floor would be the least important mess
When so many people are offering opinions - getting irrelevant complaints from off their chests

So I look around with pleading eyes, hoping SOMEBODY will scream 'STOP!!!'
But my flights of hopeful fancy prove totally for naught
Every time a hand goes up, I can't prevent my eyes from rolling back
I just can't stand the madness - lack of patience is making me crack
I imagine flipping every table as I run screaming through the room
But not even THAT could end the monotony of this repetitive, discordant tune
Called 'You (Too Many Cooks) in the Kitchen' - too much crap is in the pot
That the soup has turned to compost, and the side-dish has turned to sod

And so I have a request - that we all don't get to have a say
Just TELL me how it will be, and let me get on with my f-ing day
And if people are invested in changing every word
Then please arrange a SEPARATE meeting, so they can feel like their voices are being heard."

THE END

Gritty Feeling from the Nasty Broth,
CVT

Dear Snow Delay

2008-01-28T07:01:00.000-08:00

Dear Snow Delay,

I will take what I can get. It wasn't what I hoped, but I will take what I can get. And what is it that I can get? It's a you, Snow Delay.

The weather-people here in Portland had been forecasting snow and ice for this weekend. They said a big storm front was coming through and that we would be getting many inches of snow. My football games yesterday were put on "weather alert" - to be possibly cancelled if the weather was too extreme. We made an announcement to our kids on Friday about the procedure for school cancellations and delays due to inclement weather. And then the weekend came.

And the temperatures went UP. The clouds rolled in and - as often occurs when clouds cover Portland - it got a little warmer and the rains fell. RAIN. Not snow. RAIN. As was obviously going to happen after all the big-deal-making about the possible "snow watch" upcoming. And then, yesterday, it cleared up and stayed (relatively) warm. I saw sunshine all over the place. And so I figured - as somebody who has gone through this process before - that it was all for naught, and there was no snow or cancellations or delays forthcoming.

But when I woke up this morning, I still ran to the front door to look for snow. And when I saw a little bit of it (and calling it any more than "a little bit" would be vast exaggeration), I went to the internet to see if there was even the slight chance of a cancellation. And there was none. But there WAS a you, Snow Delay. There WAS a you.

So what does that mean? I could have gone back to bed for another hour. I could have slept a little bit longer and then just headed my a-- to school like usual. But I was already awake. I had gone to bed really early last night to make sure I got plenty of sleep, so that wasn't exactly an issue. So I stayed out of bed.

So all it really means for me today is that I have an hour less school to do. Which isn't huge, but I suppose it's better than nothing. It allows me to actually write a letter NOW (before school) without fretting about getting out of the house. Just giving me a nice, leisurely morning routine before I go to work. And I don't think I'm going to go to work much later than I normally would, anyway. But - with that extra time - I shall be productive. Because I am a lot more focused in the mornings. In the afternoons (when I usually do my planning), I'm all mind-tired from a day of teaching, and I just want to talk to people and play or eat instead of doing my work. So I usually waste a good hour that I could use to do work - every single day.

So today I'm going to use that hour in the morning, instead. And it won't be wasted. Oh, no. Since nobody else will be in to work that early - as they'll be going for Option A (of more sleep), I will have no distractions, and I can get my work done. If I am particularly productive, I can even knock out my planning for most of the week, allowing me to leave earlier every other day. And that, my dear friend Snow Delay, makes you a pretty great thing. Sure - I would love to have the whole day off, but you will actually make the REST of my week a little easier than if I had today off. Because if I just didn't go in AT ALL today (and played, instead), there would be no extra planning done. In fact, I would have lost this afternoon's planning, which would have put me slightly BEHIND.

So - from a work standpoint (which I shall seldom take, but I will in this particular case) - you are actually BETTER than a cancellation. And for that, Snow Delay, I appreciate you. And I certainly won't ever take you for granted (at least not while I live here in Portland, where you happen so seldom). I'm not going to be wishing that there had been more snow and the whole day had been cancelled. No - not me. I shall just appreciate the extra time you have brought me, and the extra ease you have inserted into my school week. Thank you, Snow Day. Thank you.

About to Take My Time in Dressing,
CVT

Dear Stuffed-Up

2008-01-26T09:21:00.000-08:00

Dear Stuffed-Up,

I'm sick right now. Have been all week. And it doesn't really seem to be getting any better. And I just wanted to write you today to respectfully ask you to move on and just leave me be. If you aren't sure WHY I would ask that, Stuffed-Up, then I shall give you a few reasons.

First of all, being you pretty much sucks. It's that annoying kind of sucking that isn't enough to make a REALLY big deal about, but that can slowly drive a man (or woman) crazy. I can pretty much do all the things I normally do while you, but just a little bit worse. The sickness that comes with you makes me have less energy. Being you keeps me from breathing as well. I get dried up (in the mouthal area, mostly). I have to make snorting sounds as I constantly suck the snot back into my nasal cavity to prevent it from falling to the ground. Being you makes it much more difficult to sleep at night, as I wake up regularly trying to breathe. I can't sleep on my stomach when I'm you, because then I can't breathe at all. I probably snore. Being you sucks.

Right now, my lips are all chapped-up because I'm breathing through my mouth all the time, and that dries my sh-- out. If I wasn't you, that wouldn't be a problem.

Wow. I actually just sneezed as I finished that last sentence because being you made it happen. I've been sneezing a lot recently. Although, sneezing more isn't exactly a bad thing because it feels so good to actually do, even if it is a bit annoying. So I'll call that one a wash and move on.

Being you makes my voice all weird and prevents me from being able to record lyrics on my amazing new microphone because it sounds weird AND I can't breathe through my nose while lyricizing, so it's punctuated by huge audible breaths as I run out. And that's incredibly frustrating because all I WANT to do is play with my new toys all day long, but since I can't get the right sound from it as something worth KEEPING as a recording, it just isn't as satisfying as it should be.

Along with that, the sickness that comes with being you - or causes me to be you - takes away JUST enough energy and mental faculties to make the rest of the music-creation process less enjoyable. I have been playing with my new electric guitar as well as my new mic, and it is freaking awesome. However, my usual penchant for multi-hour play-time has been crushed under the heel of my sickness. This is because I just don't have the right energy-level to get truly inspired and stay in the creation "zone" as I play. My mind is too fuzzy to write quality lyrics. And so I just find myself giving up in the middle - something I would never do if I wasn't sick and you.

And the worst part is that I just don't think I'm getting any better. I seem to be just as bad (or worse) than I was at the beginning of the week. Four days later, being you and groggy persists, and there seems to be no end in sight. And that's frustrating. Because I just don't feel like going another full week of ass-dragging at work and at home. I want to be able to have energy at the end of a school day again. I want to be able to run home and make hours of quality music without a pause. And I can't do any of those things while I'm sick and you.

And so I ask that you move along, Stuffed-Up. I know why I'm you. I do. It's not exactly your fault. It's the sickness' fault. You're just trying to protect my nasal passages and get rid of bad germs and what-not. You are actually trying to help me get better. I get it. But COME ON! Enough already. Clearly, being you hasn't cured anything at all yet - so either get on with your job and make something happen here, or just leave me alone. It's your choice, I know, but I am begging you to leave me alone (or help the sickness leave, so you don't have to be doing your thing). Okay?

Please.

Eyes Getting Watery Pre-Sneeze,
CVT

*Incidentally, one cool thing came from being you. My co-worker, Andrea, told me about a home remedy she knew to help clear up the nasal passage when going to bed. She told me to soak my feet in warm water while soaking a pair of cotton socks in cold water. Then I rung out the cotton socks and put them on my feet (out of the warm water). Then I put dry wool socks over everything and went to bed. Sounds absolutely crazy and totally counter-intuitive, but it worked like an f-ing CHARM. My nasal passage my have never been clearer than Thursday night when I tried this out. And this showed how desperate I am that I would try something as - seemingly - nuts as this. But it really worked. Amazing.

Dear What I Really Think

2008-01-22T19:00:00.000-08:00

Dear What I Really Think,

Before I even start writing this letter to you, What I Really Think, I just want to warn you that it's not going to be particularly funny. Yeah sure, I'm a hilarious guy, so some of it might be accidentally hilarious - I just can't help it sometimes - but that won't be the over-arching theme of this letter. Just wanted to give you a heads-up on that one, What I Really Think. Although you should have probably already known that. And are probably pretty used to non-hilariousness.

Right. In my letters, I don't really censor myself (outside of keeping my language mostly clean). I choose something to write to, and then I let it know exactly you about it. I'll rip on it a little bit, or shamelessly worship it, and then thank it for some sort of life lesson at the end. That's how it usually goes. And it's all pretty much you about the whole matter. No making things up here. I'm not so into that.

However, in CHOOSING the concept or thing to write my letters to, I DO end up holding back a bit. I'm not really going to choose to write a letter to something that I get particularly angry about (in a real way). Or sad about. Or other such strong emotions. Why is that?

Well, first and foremost - I have a Readership to entertain. If I was to tell them you about every major issue in the world, I would likely lose them quite quickly. Because it's great to have strong feelings about things, but it's quite another thing altogether to make other people share in those strong feelings on a regular basis. I have seen far too many blogs in which the blog-runner writes all sorts of heart-felt, emotional tirades about injustice and world issues and the like - only for me to stop reading about halfway because I get tired of it. There's a REASON most people only have a few close friends with whom they share their intimate secrets - because only a few people really want to hear it. And I'd even argue that maybe even less than that (most times).

Second, most of that sort of writing ends up coming off as whiny, melodramatic, and/or pretentious when spit profusely on a regular basis. None of us listen to the "God Guy" who yells at people in public parks about how they're going to Hell. I, for one, think it's likely true for most of them, but I STILL ignore him. And that's because nobody really wants to listen to a man (or woman) on a soapbox for more than about five minutes uninterrupted. People are made to enjoy frivolous pursuits that keep our minds OFF all those serious issues out there, so the last thing we want to do with our free time is get reminded of it all. Too much of that kind of writing starts to feel like reading somebody's diary, and that just feels creepy and a little bit sad.

Third, it's not much of a writing challenge. It's easy to spit emotions into a vat and call it "writing." Anybody can write "Dear World Hunger" and come off feeling like a Poet Laureate because nobody is going to dare critique that with anything but an over-arching, "That's deep." Or - even worse - "I KNOW, Man!!! That just SUCKS!!!" It's more difficult to try to write something entertaining on a lighter level while still giving a little bit of insight into you, What I Really Think. Deep writing - if done right - is meant more for lyrics and novels, in my opinion.

Fourth, I don't feel up to it. Most of my Readership knows me. And therefore most know that I don't particularly like to share the innermost workings of the CVT on a large-scale level with people that matter. I want to say it face-to-face, so I can read the reaction in somebody's face. If I'm going to say something about you on a serious level, I am not about to give the person I'm sharing that with an opportunity to ignore it and pretend that it didn't happen. I'm obnoxious like that. If I'm going to spit fire, I want to be able to see the look on the face of the person I singed.

And finally - because it's scary to share you with people whose opinions that matter because they might not like it. And that is sucky.

So why did I feel the need to address you in this letter, What I Really Think? Because I've been distracted from writing letters recently because I've been busy doing other things in which I share you. Writing music. Having conversations with people. Doing my job and planning for it. And it seemed odd that that should keep me from writing in this. That it should make it hard for me to come up with a "good" addressee for my letters. Because it would seem natural that I should just write to whichever concept was occupying my mind at the time. But when that concept had something to do with you, What I Really Think, I would balk.

Odd, and yet not odd at all (due to the previously-stated five reasons). And writing this letter isn't going to really change all that. Just thought it was a good idea to address it. And that's you about that.

All that said, I still thank you, What I Really Think, for all the creative inspiration you give me and all the great conversations I've been having lately. It's been grand.

Really Thinking About Eating Some Dried Mango Slices,
CVT

Dear Dropping Money Like It's Hot

2008-01-20T09:09:00.000-08:00

Dear Dropping Money Like It's Hot,

Yesterday I was you all day, Dropping Money Like It's Hot. And I'm not quite through yet. And it was kind of liberating and fun, in a way, so I felt like I should write you a letter of appreciation in response. And here it is.

So why was I you all day? Good question. The answer: I finally decided to just pull the trigger and make my upgraded recording studio dream come true. And so it began. I started out with a trip over to see a man (Dylan, if you know him) about an audio interface, and I ended it buying MIDI cords and a mic cable on my way to meet a friend (Gate, if you know him) at a bar last night. But that is just the beginning of the story.

This is what I've learned in the past months while researching digital recording equipment: I don't know anything, AND it costs tons of money to do well. And that's what kept me waiting. With all the money that was necessary to be dropped on a quality mic, a decent audio interface, better software, mic stands, new instruments, etc., I was understandably anxious about pulling the trigger. With so many options out there - what if I got the wrong thing? What if I threw down all this money and ended up regretting it? That would be terrible.

Because anybody that knows me at all knows that I am a relative cheap-a%%. I don't spend money on anything (except shoelaces, of course). I have the social tendencies of a 50 year-old married guy with kids still in the house (without the legitimate excuses). I (currently) don't drink, smoke, or do drugs. I don't "date," so I am not paying for fancy excursions with ladies. I don't dress particularly well (although I'm a bit better now). I only eat out with friends, and I only have four of those. And so I just don't spend money. And the more I don't spend money, usually, the more painful it is for me to spend large sums of it at once.

And yet, sometimes, I find myself you, Dropping Money Like It's Hot. Because there are those times when I realize that - BECAUSE of my lack of social tendencies of my age-group - I can afford to splurge every once-in-a-while. While my peers are dropping $50 a weekend on smokes and alcohol (to be conservative), I'm complaining about the smoky bar and drinking a glass of lemonade. Do the math: over the course of one year of having anti-social tendencies, I save a bare MINIMUM of $2600 over my peers. That's A LOT of money. And realizing that is what makes me capable of you.

So I finally decided to do just that yesterday. I finally checked out Dylan's audio interface and determined that it will work with my laptop. And with that piece in place, the rain came showering down on me. Because, if I am to truly appreciate the loveliness of said audio interface, I need things to plug into it. And it all starts with a quality microphone. I am tired of my vocals not matching up to the background music and ruining everything, and so I ordered a good microphone. Then I went ahead and bought an electric guitar - because distorting a mic'd acoustic just isn't going to cut it, anymore. And those purchases necessitated other follow-up purchases . . . Until I ended up you all day long.

And once the dam has burst, there's no stopping it. Sure, it hurt me intensely to spend the first $100 so quickly. But after I put that down, it was easy to justify further money-dropping: "$6 for two-day delivery? Why not?" "For how much I just spent on that mic, I better get a decent mic stand for it." "I save $100 on that guitar, so what's the big deal if I spend an extra $20 on some software?" It goes on and on. And on.

But it's falling into place. By the middle of next week, I should have my next-level recording capabilities in place, and I'm sure the results will be shared. I am excited. And anxious. And a few hundred dollars lighter.

But I know it was worth it. I do. I am going to get so much more out of that money spent than those social peers of mine and their next two months of bar-hopping. I will. And you felt pretty good while I was doing it, Dropping Money Like It's Hot. It was nice to have a near-"Money is not object" moment or two. I wouldn't mind doing it again sometime. Maybe I'll order up a really good software instruments package . . .

And so I thank you, Dropping Money Like It's Hot, for not only giving me a glimpse of another world, but for the exciting recording capabilities you will have brought me by the middle of next week. And after a year or two, when I get better at what I'm doing, I'm sure we'll meet again when I have to go up another level (and THAT'S going to cost some REAL money). Until then.

Thinking About a Glorious New Keyboard,
CVT

Dear Conspiracy Theory

2008-01-16T19:17:00.000-08:00

Dear Conspiracy Theory,

In the last two days, I have had a little taste of what plants the seed of a you, Conspiracy Theory, and I felt the need to share it with the world (or at least the MORE than 5 visitors I have coming to this site).

It all starts with this question: how did I know that MORE than 5 visitors come to this site?

Mwahahahahaha!!!!!

Was that cackling premature? Probably. Because anybody who has noticed my little "hit counter" at the bottom of my home page wouldn't be too shocked by that (although they would probably be shocked by the over 50 hits I got the last two days). So that's not really enough to spark a good you. How about this question: how do I know that my original Loyal Reader (the King himself) checked this site yesterday at EXACTLY 6:48PM and 34 seconds? -cue the cackle-

Mwahahahahahaha!!!!!!

Now, as a proper appreciator (real word or not, I like it) of a good you, I am sorely tempted to just leave it at that. Say a couple new, unrelated things about my day with no explanation whatsoever. I could very well just start writing about the fact that I finished grading today (we end the term tomorrow), and it felt really good. I could also go into detail about the fact that I have realized that writing out comments for my grades (for EVERY kid for EVERY class) makes me feel almost exactly the same way as I do when I am running. I could just write about that.

Or I could say that "Glotto" must have woken up REALLY early this morning to have passed through this website at exactly 05:49AM and 32 seconds.

Mwahahahahaha!!!!

Or that "Gannoni" should have been working harder at 10:00AM and 31 seconds yesterday instead of checking up to see if I had put up a new post.

Mwahahaha!!!

Ha!

Mwa!

Haha!!!

Ha.

I could say all of these things and really build up the suspense and anticipation. I could continue to do so by writing about how I could do these things as I am in the actual process of doing them. I could keep my readership in absolute thrall by not saying a word and allowing them to postulate all sorts of fabulous new yous in the "Comments" section until they went crazy.

I could. Or I could share the visitations of Petunia, such as one that came at 11:52AM and 47 seconds yesterday.

But I am not that kind of guy. I don't want people to freak out. I don't want to share all sorts of semi-personal information with just anybody that feels like going through the trouble of reading a little bit. I don't want just ANYBODY who has a computer and a web connection to be able to know those things. Of course, it looks like none of us really have that option.

Why? Is it because I went ahead and wrote it, anyway? Actually - it isn't. No, the reason is a lot scarier than me just being an a-hole. No, the reason is because I put a special code into my site that sends information to another website that then tabulates full statistics on all the various visitations to my blog. The intentions seem innocent enough - if I want to try to make any money off this, it's good to know who is checking it out and why. It also just satisfies some curiosity. But the implications are pure evil.

Because it should scare all my readers that it is this easy to have this information. That if I feel like it - I can just go ahead and figure out EXACTLY when they checked my site. I feel dirty just having that capability (and I am seriously thinking about ending it). Think about it for a second. Is anybody really so naive as to think that I'm the only website that does that? The real question is: how many sites do NOT have those capabilities? I could very well have just not said anything at all, and nobody would have been the wiser, and I have this sneaking sensation that that thought didn't occur to only me.

Now that we're at this point, let's take it to the next step - that of you, Conspiracy Theory. If I can do this (for free, no less), what in the name of you is the GOVERNMENT capable of? All these laptops and desktops that come equipped with webcams and what-not - would it really be so hard to tap into them and be filming my Readers AT THIS VERY MOMENT? I don't really know, but now that I know what I do know about tracking website "hits," it suddenly doesn't seem all that difficult.

And that's a very scary notion. It takes the whole concept of "privacy" and flips it on its ear. How many Readers did I possibly lose by letting them know that I can know when they log on? How many will check MUCH less often out of a creepy feeling of "being watched" every time they do so? I don't know. It's enough to make me think about getting rid of it. Very seriously. It kind of makes me feel like a voyeuristic pervert, actually.

And that's just when the power is in my wonderful hands. Imagine if the forces of EVIL had a hold of it. Now realize that they probably DO. In this world of increasing Wi-Fi and BlueTooth and cellular capabilities, what is there to keep any evil hacker with a computer from knowing somebody's life? Can people figure out all the calls somebody has made through their Iphone? Can they track people every time they play their PSP? Is the government doing that right now? Am I going to mysteriously die of "natural causes" tomorrow for sharing this new you with the blog-reading world?

So many possible "yes"s. Makes me more than a little glad that I was so Actually Productive recently. Although maybe the government will punish me by erasing all of my letters and music files remotely upon my death.

Scary.

And I think I'm just going to leave it at that. There is no positive spin to this one, only a dire warning: beware of the internet. BEWARE!!!!

Finishing This Post at 7:48PM and 23 seconds,
CVT

*Incidentally, people from Singapore, Portugal, and Sweden have checked this site in the last 24 hours.

Dear Actually Productive

2008-01-15T18:39:00.000-08:00

Dear Actually Productive,

Hey Actually Productive, how's it going? It's been good being you recently, and I just wanted to write a letter to you to thank you for all you've brought me (as well as using you to explain my follow-up to "Dear Blog Fatigue" with no new letters). So I'll just get into it.

Oftentimes, I find myself writing a letter in this blog to make myself feel like I'm accomplishing something. I find myself thinking about how I haven't written in a long time, and I should get on that. I think about my Reader(s) and all that, too. But the main reason I write is because I have found that - in my personal life - if I don't feel like I'm "accomplishing something," I don't feel so hot. I feel a little bit worthless. Lazy. I feel like I'm "wasting my time." I don't enjoy straight leisure time as much as I should. And so I get myself onto the computer to type up a little letter, so I can write it down on my "Use of Life" calendar and think - "See, I DID do something this week."

Of course, that's not exactly the best reason to be writing. And when that's the case, my letter usually ends up being of a lower quality than on those days when I feel like I have something good to share with the world, or have some particular abstract concept or thing to appreciate. All that being the case, I find myself writing a lot less when I have other things going on - things that make me feel like I'm engaging in being you, Actually Productive.

Now I know that's not exactly proper grammar (I'm not sure if it's actually "splitting an infinitive," but it's something close), but it's the best I can do. You get the point, anyway. The point being that being you keeps me from feeling the need to make nonsense for the sake of nonsense. It lets me only turn to my blogging ways for the purpose of being you. And that's nice. Maybe not so much for my Loyal Reader(s), but it is nice for me.

So what kind of things do I count as you, Actually Productive? Good question. Recently, it's been a lot of writing and making music. There's just something about creating something TANGIBLE (like a song on a cd or a painting or drawing) that just always trumps anything I can write and post to a website. I can physically HAND somebody a cd. They can listen to it over and over without it losing its luster. Same thing with a painting or other visual art. That doesn't really apply to a letter to an inanimate object or concept. And so I'd rather be you than just write letters on this blog.

Not to say that I don't get anything from writing these letters. There is plenty of satisfaction writing something that I know three other people are going to read. I mean, it's such an honour. Not to mention the cumulative effect of all this writing - it's REALLY satisfying to know that I have over 160 letters to different concepts or objects on file on some website server somewhere. How many other people can say the same thing? Even those thousand-plus other bloggers that are EXACTLY like me probably can't say that. I don't think.

So writing this can definitely be you, as well. But it's just less likely. Because things that feel you tend to be things that take a little more time. If I was to only write one letter a week and really spend time editing and perfecting my writing, then I guess it would probably match up. But it still wouldn't be as satisfying as when I finish a song and get to listen to it. Or look at a painting I just made. That just feels GOOD. Like I could get run over by a car tomorrow, and at least there would be something REAL out there in the world that I made. And that's a cool feeling. Hence, my appreciation of being you, Actually Productive.

And there you have it. You are awesome and you bring me great joy. And you are a sufficient letter-recipient after a (second) long day of doing grades in preparation for the end of the term. And that's all that a guy could ask for. So thank you, Actually Productive, for all the little random things that my loved ones can sort through if I get hit by a bus.

Thinking About Always Wearing a Helmet,
CVT

Dear Blog Fatigue

2008-01-10T16:00:00.000-08:00

Dear Blog Fatigue,

I don't know what to say here, Blog Fatigue. I kind of have you these days, and it's not helping my creativity or motivation. Not at all. Why? Why?

I find myself thinking from time to time, "I should write another letter for my blog." And then I try to think of a good topic - something really WORTH writing a letter to. And I start flailing. I look at all the random objects in my vicinity and try to measure its blog-letter worth: "Hmmm. 'Dear House Plant?' No. What about 'Dear Water Bottle'? No, that sucks. I could always write 'Dear Nothing Creative to Write' or some other such half-assed excuse semi-topic. No - that would be stupid."

It goes on and on. So many random objects and concepts in my life. So many of them that I use from day to day. Yet I still struggle to come up with one that really enables me to WRITE something of any worth. And when I struggle like that, you sets in, Blog Fatigue.

What do I mean by that, exactly? Well, I mean a lot by that, actually. Thanks for asking, Rhetorical Reader. What I mean by "you" is that feeling I get when I just don't want to do it. When I feel a little bit beat down and unable to write something of any worth. When I remind myself of those thousands of other bloggers out there EXACTLY like me, and how bad their blogs are. When I think about how stupid "Dear Pencil Sharpener" really sounds, and how much of a stretch a "Dear Not Wanting to Write This At All Right Now" is. Writing a blog of any nature is a very self-centered endeavour by definition, and it becomes quite difficult on those days when the self isn't feeling so kick-ass as it normally does.

And then come those Loyal Reader(s). I think I have like four or five of them now. And even though that is a pitifully low number (considering family and almost-family makes up half of that, leaving me three friends in the world), I still feel this (albeit mild) pressure to "produce." I mean - just read those impatient "Write More Now!" comments from Glotto, and you can see how you happens to me, Blog Fatigue. My adoring fans need more CVT letters, so I put my hands on the keyboard and try to bang out something readable, and all I can come up with is "Dear Driving Five Miles Above the Speed Limit?" Ridiculous.

The flip side of that coin, of course, is having TOO MUCH to say. Those days when I have at least five or six REALLY GOOD topics to discuss, and I can't choose which one should be my focus for the day. Although I have done multiple letters in a day before, that's not really going to be a regular thing for me, so it is quite difficult to choose between equally wonderful letter recipients. Hell, I STILL haven't written that "Dear Cornnuts" letter that I've been meaning to get to for so long. And with that, there's the knowledge in my mind (while trying to make a decision) that I'm not likely to end up writing those other letters that I do not choose at the time. Because there is a RIGHT time for writing "Dear Watching Guys Trying to Hit on Girls on the Bus," and there is a WRONG time. And if I don't choose the RIGHT time to write that letter, it's just not going to happen.

And so these things add up and pile on and give me you, Blog Fatigue. They give me that feeling that I'm just writing nonsense for the sake of nonsense, and it's not even particularly well-written. And when I'm PHYSICALLY fatigued, as well (like I am today), it makes an especially good excuse to just screw it and not write at all for another day.

So how do I go about combatting you, Blog Fatigue? Another great question. Sometimes, I don't do anything at all, and that's when I end up going letter-less for days on end. However, I DO have a secret weapon for dealing with this situation when I'm not tired enough to just give up. And that secret weapon is called "writing a letter to a descriptive phrase for how I am feeling at that very moment." Like "Dear Somewhat Tired But Not Ready for Sleep." Or "Dear Not Really in the Mood to be Writing a 'Dear Anything' Letter Right Now." Or "Dear Blog Fatigue."

Does this secret weapon work? I don't know if I even need to bother answering that one, as this letter likely speaks for itself. It's a terrible, cheap gimmick, and I acknowledge that and take full responsibility. That said, it works like an f-ing CHARM, and I'm not about to stop anytime soon. And so you, Blog Fatigue, will never get the better of me in a long-term sense. Sure, you'll get me for a few days or so, but I can always pull out my secret weapon when necessary and just blast you out of the freaking water. And that's that.

But I still respect and appreciate you, Blog Fatigue. For without you, there would be no challenge in this whole writing process. Without you, I could knock out "Dear Misty, Drizzly, Haze" and "Dear Goodwill Glove Grasping" until the proverbial cows came home. And people would be entertained. Perhaps even impressed. But there would be no true satisfaction in my writing. No challenges overcome. No pride or character built. And that would be a damn shame. And we don't like damn shames around here.

And so I thank you.

So Many New Letter Topics In My Head After Writing This One,
CVT

Dear Too Relaxed

2008-01-07T16:45:00.000-08:00

Dear Too Relaxed,

A two-week Winter Break from work is a great thing on a number of levels. First, it takes a full week to finally get into the "vacation" of it all, coming from a pretty high-stress and high-energy job, so once that finally falls into place, I still have a full week to really enjoy it. It's also long enough to go somewhere for a real visit without making that have to be the full break - so I don't have to give up the nice, relaxed time at home that I really wanted. It's also enough time to almost forget about the job I left. Which isn't always the best thing.

Why isn't that a good thing? Well, because I become a little bit you, Too Relaxed. Two weeks is long enough for me to almost get used to NOT working. Being able to go to sleep (and subsequently wake up) whenever I want. The joys of running errands on days (and times during those days) in which other people just can't. Being able to completely waste a day doing nothing without feeling particularly guilty for it. All those things. And that's great. But the problem with being you is that - eventually - I have to go BACK to school, like I did today. And when I'm you at school, it's trouble.

First of all, I was tired. And I would have been tired no matter what, because two weeks was plenty of time to get my body used to going to sleep much later than I need to when school is happening. That being the case, even though I tried to go to bed nice and early last night, it just didn't happen. I was in bed, but I couldn't sleep because my body was telling me that I was supposed to be awake and doing something. "Let's stay up a little bit longer, CVT," it said, "we can just sleep in a little later tomorrow morning - no big deal." But it was lies. And so I woke up bright and early (in the darkness) this morning, and my body just didn't want to be awake. Or at work.

Because that's where I had to go. And because I had gotten you over the break - and I was tired, as well - I was in no shape to be whipping those kiddies into shape. And because they had also gotten you over the break - and were tired, as well - they were in no shape to be LETTING me whip them into shape.

Long story short - I am REALLY tired right now. I'd almost call it exhausted. Kind of like I used to feel back in the day (before I started using my Light Therapy Lamp). The kind of feeling that makes me think about taking a nap. But that must not be because that would likely keep me from being able to sleep tonight, which would simply cause the whole process to repeat itself. And that would be no good, indeed. Indeed.

So that's all I really have to say about that right now. I have no problem with being you in a general sense, Too Relaxed, but that kind of bit me in the ass today. That's all.

About to go sit on the couch for a couple hours,
CVT

Dear Shoelaces

2008-01-04T16:39:00.000-08:00

Dear Shoelaces,

I don't know what's happening to me. Some might just call it "growing up." Some might call it other things. Whatever it is, though, I'm super-conscious about my shoes, these days. And I know I've already mentioned that in a previous letter, so I don't want to go into it too deeply right now, but the gist of it being that I've become conscious of shoes matching the rest of my clothes as part of an "outfit." Strange, right? Because I am hardly a fashionable guy. I pretty much alternate between two pairs of pants. I doubt anybody that knows me would think of me and an "outfit" in the same breath. And yet I am suddenly fascinated with the concept of matching my shoes to my shirts, pants, jackets, etc.

The problem with this, of course, is four-fold (can I really say that?). First, it is difficult to find cool shoes that are in a colour other than white, black, or brown. Second, being a two-pants kind of guy, those cool (colourful) shoes out there that I CAN find don't always match the clothes I have (and I'm not really going to buy new clothes just to match them to my shoes). Third, it's hard to tell if shoes are going to match other clothes when those other clothes aren't present. So if I'm at a shoestore wearing one particular selection of clothing, and I want to get shoes that match a different selection that is not present, I could very well screw it up and get shoes that don't match anything at all (like I already did with my white shoes). Fourth, I'm not rich, and cool shoes are expensive. To get the amounts of shoes I'd really need to adequately match everything I have and just be COOL, I'd have to spend a fortune. And that's a problem for a suddenly shoe-conscious guy.

But I have come up with a solution. One that I think is pretty clever, actually. And that is to simply buy many pairs of you, Shoelaces. To be more specific, many differently-coloured pairs of you. Because, ultimately, my black shoes can more or less go with whatever I am wearing - just not terribly well, and in a boring sort of way. However, were I to change the colour of the you on my black shoes, then suddenly I can match any colour shirt or jacket that I may want to wear without having to buy a million different pairs of shoes. Sure, it won't look as cool or nice as it would if I were to get specific cool shoes of every colour, but it's better than what I have going on now. And it's cheap.

So now I'm pretty excited about my plan. I even bought some you on my way home from lunch (with Glotto) because I was so excited about the idea. And I just want to put my plan into action RIGHT NOW - but it's not to be. Because I happen to be wearing a black shirt right now, and any brightly-coloured you that I would like to wear right now wouldn't match that. And I have too much pride (and am not fashionable enough) to change what I am wearing halfway through the day simply to have an excuse to use my coloured you. But don't worry - tomorrow I will. Nothing too crazy, I don't think - but the colour of my you will NOT be a simple black or white or gray tomorrow. Oh, no. The world shall tremble with the colour-matching that will occur.

If I do it right. And if my limited pants-choices can work. And if the colour you I purchased actually match the colour of shirts I own. Right.

So wish me luck in my current attempt to have well-matched you. Because, if this works, you and I are going to be VERY close indeed, Shoelaces. VERY close, indeed.

Thank you for a cheap alternative to cool shoes. I definitely needed it.

Putting Even More Thought Into a New Pair of Pants,
CVT

Back from the Ashes: A New Drawing

2008-01-03T09:46:00.000-08:00

So I actually did go back to a drop-in figure drawing session yesterday (one of those options I mentioned), and this is what I came up with. It's not the best thing I've ever drawn, but I really liked this woman's tattoo, so this is the one I am posting. She was actually the first model who I recognized from a previous session (because of the tattoo). I definitely started out pretty rusty - which was a bit frustrating - but I was able to get through it. No Gatorade or fruit this time, so maybe that was the problem. Instead, I had a gyros pita sandwich and ice water. Not quite the same.

Dear New Year

2008-01-02T10:07:00.000-08:00

Dear New Year,

Let's all make it bum permanently in the endless life! Okay? Good.

I haven't written in a while, so I felt like I should. And, today being the day after the first day of the you, it seemed that you would be the most logical concept to write a letter to. The thing is, though, that I don't really have much to say to or about the you. I mean - as far as I'm concerned, today is no different from the last week or so, except other people have to be back at work, and I don't. Which - now that I think about it - is a very good thing. Okay, then.

So I guess I appreciate you in that you have created for me the opportunity to do things that others cannot do. What I mean by that is that one of my most enjoyable activities when I am off from work is to just head on downtown and wander around a bit at my leisure. I usually end up at the library at some point, maybe go to Powell's Books, catch a movie if I'm so inclined . . . But none of that is particularly enjoyable when everybody else is (or is ABLE) to be doing the same thing. And that is generally the case, because I don't usually get days off that other people don't also get.

However, for the next three days, that is not the case. For the next three days, I can go around and do whatever I want while all sorts of other people have to WORK. While I am trying to decide if I feel like seeing a movie or just buying unnecessary art supplies, other people are going to be making decisions that may or may not enable them to be paid money as part of their livelihood. And then I'll debate with myself whether or not I really need popcorn or if I should just smuggle in some Goldfish or something of that nature. And that's a great feeling.

I like wandering to the carts downtown (which are only open on weekdays) to get my lunch, waiting in line without a care in the world while the other people with me are feeling anxious because their lunch break is only so long. I like being extra friendly and to not even sweat it when the person making my food apologizes for any delay because it really DOESN'T matter to me. Because I don't have to work while everyone else does. THAT'S what I enjoy about the you.

I like having the option of finally going back to an open figure drawing session at 1pm today because - for once - I won't be at work at that time on a Wednesday (or tired during the other days/times they have it). I probably won't actually end up going, but I like having the OPTION of going. I like telling myself that I can do a little bit of shopping and run some errands that I haven't gotten around to without worrying about long lines or crowds. Again - I'm not likely to actually DO any of those things, but I COULD if I wanted to. And that's what I like about the next few days of the you.

Maybe I'll go purchase myself some jeans - just to try them out, finally. Or maybe I'll purchase some other pair of pants that would go with white shoes. Maybe I'll finally bother to inflate my car tires to maximum pressure. I'll have the shoulder pads removed from some of my Chinese shirts and coats. Maybe I'll finally just bite the bullet and go buy some better audio equipment and record some quality music.

Or maybe I won't do anything at all. Because I have that option, too. And that's the joy of not having to work on a day in which most other people do - options. And so I very much appreciate that opportunity the you has provided me for all of that.

As for the rest of the you? After the next three days? Yeah. Not so excited. Not that I'm dreading it, either, but I'm not a big fan of arbitrary cut-off dates. Today is no different than a week ago is no different from a week hence. No big deal. I'm a little bit of a fan of the Winter Solstice, but that's just because it represents the fact that every day after that will have a little more daylight than the day before it. And that's exciting. But the you? Not so impressive.

But - for now - you HAVE brought me three days of no work while most other poor saps have to get to it. And for that, I am most appreciative. And for that - I thank you, New Year.

And that's all I have to say about that.

About to Take a Leisurely Shower,
CVT

Dear Toy Guns

2007-12-25T08:32:00.000-08:00

Dear Toy Guns,

I felt that, in honour of this holy day, I would celebrate something very special, indeed. Something that has brought joy to me as a child - AND as an adult. Something that mass consumerism has made an important part of the Christmas holiday for so many good little boys - you, Toy Guns.

Now, I wish I was the type of good, moral citizen that would be writing this letter as a condemnation of you. Being a middle school teacher who works with kids who are attracted to the real versions of you, I should be wholly against the existence of you. I really am not for violence of any sort. I am not inclined to ever go hunting. I don't think that people really DESERVE the right to bear arms. I don't think owning a real gun "for protection" is necessarily a good thing. I don't think that even police use their own weapons for good all the time. And yet. And YET . . .

I kind of love you, Toy Guns. I really enjoy the feeling of holding you in my hands, taking careful aim, and then launching some sort of projectile at high speeds at the intended target. What brought this on, you may ask? Why did I suddenly decide that I needed to write you a letter? Allow me to recount the tale.

Yesterday, my brother and I were a little antsy, as we normally are when home for the holidays. We decided that we needed something to DO, as there were no college football Bowl games happening anytime in the next two days (which is a crime - but that is for another day). So we decided that the best use of our time would be to purchase a 3-D puzzle to complete at our leisure, and we headed to a local game and toy store to do just that.

And we walked out the door with a lovely 3-D puzzle of a German castle. And three you. Three sets of Nerf dart guns, complete with protective sunglasses and velcro vests and targets that were to be strapped onto the bodies of the targets. We had walked by the you section of the toy store, and we couldn't be stopped. Flashes of our childhoods pulsed through our brains - images of the two of us and my best friend Gannon yelling while charging forth and shooting each other with you in our basement. We remembered the games we had invented for the most enjoyable use of you, such as "Young Guns" and "Hostage Situation." And we needed to relive that joy (hence the third set for Gannon's use).

So we bought a bunch of you. And I called Gannon and let him know that his afternoon was now booked. And three hours later - after some frustrating-but-productive 3-D castle building - three grown children were yelling and laughing as we shot each other with dart guns in my parent's basement. It really was like nothing had changed in the preceding 15 years. We reverted directly back to those times, coming up with the best game and "situation" to play out in order to maximize our fun. I found myself, at one point, holding two you in my hands, back to a wall, getting ready to make a rush at my brother, and it was exhilarating. It was wonderful. And it most certainly could never have happened without you, Toy Guns.

And I know it was so faux-violent in nature. The whole game consisted of pretending to kill each other. It was childish, totally immature, and somewhat immoral. And SO MUCH FUN. I mean - honestly - I'm not entirely sure why I ever stopped playing these types of games with my friends. Nobody can possibly "grow out" of that kind of enjoyment - we just pretend to. Except me. And my brother. And Gannon. We will not pretend that you aren't for us. We will not pretend that you aren't some of the most fun things in the world. Because we aren't liars, like everybody else.

And as for the violence thing - I'm not buying that, either. Sure, it would be nice and sweet if all anybody wanted to play was games of sharing and helping others, but it just doesn't work like that. Boys are going to play fight and long for the feel of a gun (toy or otherwise) in their hands. That's just how it is. And that doesn't mean we're going to grow up to be terrible people. Now, that may be debatable in regards to myself, but I can certainly say that I am not a violent person. I still don't want to own or use a real gun. And that's that. People need to just relax on that whole thing.

Video games, however. Video games are bad. Yeah, right. It's all about the environment, without a doubt. If a kid is in an environment where real guns are readily accessible and (sometimes) necessary, then they are going to want to use them to some extent. If not, they will be perfectly content to play with you and leave the real ones for others. And that's that.

And so I thank you, Toy Guns, for bringing me and so many other young children joy (notice I said "children" and not "boys" - because I think young and old ladies would enjoy you just as much as anyone else if society would allow them to). And thank you for filling my yesterday afternoon with laughter and (limited) exercise. While so many others will damn you out of jealousy - I never will.

Wearing Protective Glasses for a Reason,
CVT

Fruit Tree Project (fixed link)

2007-12-20T22:17:00.000-08:00

For my friend's birthday, I produced this newest hit single. Make sure to listen to it on a system with good bass, because otherwise you'll lose half of it.

Go here to download (this is the real, working link, if it didn't work for you before): http://download.yousendit.com/7113134D1EFEA121

For more information on what the hell I'm talking about in the song:

http://www.growing-gardens.org/portland-gardening-resources/fruit-tree-project.php

Enjoy.

CVT

Dear Other Blogs

2007-12-17T18:20:00.000-08:00

Dear Other Blogs,

Before I start this, I will just say it: yup, TWO letters in one f-ing day!!! Ridiculous. I wasn't going to do it, but I was so blown away by the information I am going to share in this particular letter that I couldn't resist. So just sit back and prepare to be doubly-entertained.

So, after writing my letter to "Eating for the Sake of Eating," I randomly clicked on my 'View complete profile" link on my main blog page. On my profile, I have written pretty much nothing except that my favourite movie is "Big Trouble in Little China." Okay - nothing special there. But why is the name of that wonderful movie highlighted in blue as if it is a link of its own? Hmm. Don't know. There's only one way to find out, right? I clicked on that link, and my world - and mind - were completely blown apart. Why? Because that link gave me a glimpse into the world that is the one of you, Other Blogs.

So how did that happen? Well, it turns out that the link I clicked on showed me every other profile on this particular blog website (blogspot.com) that had "Big Trouble in Little China" as a favourite movie. Hmm. Well, it's a pretty obscure, cult-ish movie, so I figured that the list might be kind of interesting - because what other kind of weirdos would be claiming it as a favourite movie? I started looking through the list, and when I got to the point of going to the next page to see the rest of the profiles with that specific listing, I noticed something: there were 1,700 you listed with profiles that fell into that category. I'll write that out - SEVENTEEN HUNDRED you!!!!

I clicked on a few of those you and read some of them. And they are all pretty much the same. And then I realized something else - mine isn't all that different, either. Suddenly, I have been confronted with the sobering fact that I'm just one of SEVENTEEN HUNDRED bloggers in the world that writes the same old sh-- while also claiming that "Big Trouble in Little China" is my favourite movie (or one of). How pathetic is that? Not only am I completely unoriginal in the fact that I have a blog or in how I write it, but I am not even original enough to write an unoriginal blog while claiming a favourite movie that SEVENTEEN HUNDRED you don't also have!!! So then I mentally crunch some likely numbers, and that suggests that there are probably well over a HUNDRED THOUSAND you out there that are nearly identical to mine that just don't happen to have profiles claiming "Big Trouble in Little China" as a favourite movie. It's so horribly depressing, I can't stand it.

And it only gets worse. Because now I know I am horribly unoriginal and pathetic. Alright - it happens. I knew there were a lot of you out there when I started. I didn't start writing this thing for anybody else. It was supposed to be practice just writing on a regular basis. And that's cool and all. But then I saw how many people commented on these you, Other Blogs. And there are SO F-ING MANY!!!!

So let's reiterate how pathetic I am:
1) I am like hundreds of thousands of crappy bloggers, with very little in the way of an original idea or writing style.
2) I am SO much like SEVENTEEN HUNDRED other crappy bloggers that I even have the same obscure movie listed as a favourite.
3) And they all have a billion more readers and posters than I do.

Not only am I unoriginal and pathetic like thousands of others, but I am so pathetic that only about five people who really know me well even read my sh--; while tons of people take the time to read those pathetic you. I think I'm going to throw up.

And that's all I really have to say about that. Thank you, Other Blogs, for showing me how very insignificant I really am. Thank you.

Doubled-Over in Pain,
CVT

Dear Eating for the Sake of Eating

2007-12-17T17:43:00.000-08:00

Dear Eating for the Sake of Eating,

Today, after school, I wasn't hungry. Not at all. It had been a long day (we're just clawing our way to Winter Break as the kids get steadily edgier), and I was tired. But I wasn't hungry. I had had two huge bowls of macaroni and cheese (homemade, of course) with a slice of ham at lunch, so I was actually pretty full. Pretty unusual for me. But still - I wasn't hungry. And yet, when Fred asked me if I wanted to go get some King Burrito after the kids went home, I said "sure." Why? Why did I do that? Because I partake in you, Eating for the Sake of Eating.

Now don't get me wrong - I am often hungry. I have a pretty big appetite, and I will put down large portions of food with little hesitation. No problem. But quite often I find myself simply you. Not because I am hungry, but because I just enjoy eating food. And - overall - I don't think that's the worse thing in the world.

And I know that that kind of behaviour can lead to obesity. Actually, by strict definition (due to my weight-to-height ratio), I AM very nearly obese. There are a lot of responses I have for that fact, but there's no need to go there right now, because that is not the purpose of this particular letter. What I wanted to say is - in spite of the possible health risks of you - I get great pleasure from you, and I think I always will.

Let's take this afternoon, for example. There are some people out there who may think that eating a ridiculously large and greasy burrito on a nearly-full stomach would be an unpleasant experience. And I pity those fools. Because, for me, that was actually quite an enjoyable experience. Because I really LOVE food. That should be no surprise to my Loyal Reader, but it is true. I don't need to be hungry to savour every delicious bite of a carnitas burrito with sour cream and extra avocado. No - I enjoyed the wonderful break from all other sensations that it brought me. For the 10 minutes that it took for me to eat it (I will forever "work on" eating slower, but it will never happen), I was in a blissful state of mind. And that is true whenever I am in the process of eating. No matter what else is going on in my life or the world, I will always be happy for that period of time in which I am physically in the act of eating. Which is, of course, why I like you so much.

And social eating (as an excuse to just get out of school for a little minute and decompress) is not the only time in which this is a beneficial trait - although it often is. I also get a nice little boost from you when I'm bored. When nothing is going on, and I just can't find anything to get excited about, a snack or a next meal is a perfect filler. Other times in which I engage in socially you is when I am around a group of people that I'm not comfortable with, and I need something to concentrate on to get past my anti-social awkwardness. That's when I just go find the food table and munch on things, so at least - for a little bit - I am relaxed, enjoying myself, and have something to do other than stare at the floor or try to read labels off of containers in my immediate vicinity. It works most times, I'd say.

And, of course, there are meetings and trainings. I don't need to go in-depth into the hell that those represent, but if it weren't for you, Eating for the Sake of Eating, I would NEVER survive those. When I find myself on the verge of shaking somebody by the neck while screaming "SHUT UP!!! SHUT THE F--- UP!!!!!!" I instead turn to my plate of -anything- and munch, munch, munch. A few minutes later, I am still bored, but my violent urges have subsided, and I am relaxed again.

And there are likely a number of other occasions in which you saves my ass that I did not mention in this letter. But I think you catch my drift - you are a wonderful thing in my life, and I will never let you go. And so I wrote you this letter to not only show my appreciation, but to directly thank you for all the help you've provided me over the course of my young life. Thank you, Eating for the Sake of Eating, for the thousands of hours of pleasure you have brought me - 10-15 minutes at a time.

Thinking About Having a Cookie,
CVT

Dear Beef Stew

2007-12-15T12:40:00.000-08:00

Dear Beef Stew,

Right now, as I type this, my mouth is watering. My stomach is rumbling. I've got that "gulpy" feeling in the back of my throat that indicates hunger. Yeah - I'm hungry. And THEN SOME. And it's that special kind of hunger that only comes from simultaneously being hungry and smelling delicious food cooking in the background. What's cooking in the background? Well you, of course, Beef Stew. You.

Tonight we're having our Middle School staff holiday party at my boss's house. Nothing particularly fancy (we're doing a "White Elephant" - a topic for another day), and everybody is supposed to bring some sort of offering. That's right - pot-luck. Pot f-ing LUCK.

I'm not sure if I've mentioned it before on this hallowed bloground, but I'm not so down with the pot-luck. Or - at least - I'm not down with MOST pot-lucks. Because, most of the time, pot-luck means a bunch of crap in small amounts. There's usually the rice dish that's okay, but nothing to write home about. Then there's some mysterious creamy, mash-y stuff that may be some sort of bean, but could also be porridge. Then - always - there's a salad of mixed greens (the weed-y, especially bitter stuff), and the only dressing to be had is some sort of "favourite" vinaigrette that runs out by the third guest. Spell that with a casserole-type dish that is always horribly disappointing (and cold upon serving), some chips, artichoke dip, and cheap beer and wine, and you have a pot-luck. Here in Portland, there's generally some sort of bland veggie-and-tofu-dish, as well, because nobody eats any f-ing meat. In layman's terms: eat BEFORE arriving. And probably arrive late, so it's not even necessary to bring anything.

That's what a USUAL pot-luck is, at least. However, the CVT refuses to take part in any USUAL pot-luck. Because USUAL pot-lucks suck so bad and offend him on so many different levels. No - if the CVT goes to a pot-luck, he is going to do everything in his power to make it very UNUSUAL (in the best of ways). And that's where you come in, Beef Stew.

I was going to do another Goose. I was. I was going to roast a succulent, juice-tastic, make-me-close-my-eyes-after-every-sumptuous-bite Goose. But then I found out that it wasn't going to be just current middle school staff at the party. On top of all the staff members and their various partners, any staff-from-the-past were invited (with significant others, of course), so suddenly this small, Goose-sized affair turned into more of a double-goose party. And I can't really afford to be double-goosing it.

There were some, of course, who told me to go ahead with the Goose and just have it be a side-dish. An appetizer to go along with all the other food. They told me it didn't have to be a main-course. We didn't have to have large amounts of it. But you know what I said, Beef Stew? I told them to go ____ themselves.

Okay - so I didn't do it in words, but I did it in action. I'm not going to serve my Goose as an f-ing APPETIZER. I'm not going to cast an UNUSUAL light on this pot-luck with side-dish portions. No f-ing way. CVT don't play that. No. I wouldn't stand for that. I'm not going to spend my time cooking something that people will only NIBBLE at. So I made a decision. To cook up a huge pot of you.

Yes, you was the answer. But not the kind of you that most people make. No water-based mixture of tomatoes, carrots, and potatoes. No Irish you. F--- that. No German you. No - I was going to do this right, and so I found a FRENCH you to make. One that involved Shiitake mushrooms and liberal amounts of red wine. A little bit of squash. Yeah - there are still potatoes and carrots (you can't thicken up a you properly without those), but this is going to be GOOD. This is going to be FINE. This is going to be UNUSUAL (in the best of ways).

And I can smell my you as you simmer on the stove right now. You smell delicious and savoury, and I can't wait. The best part is that I still have SIX hours until this little party, and you are only going to get better as you ripen in the meantime. You ain't no peasant dish, I can tell you that.

And so I will bide my time. I will look at you and breathe you in, all the while getting hungrier and hungrier and more desperate to enjoy you. I will eat some cereal. I may make a sandwich. Little things to keep me from passing out, but not enough to make the hunger go away, because I want to truly APPRECIATE you when I finally get to fill my bowl and partake in your deliciousness. You smell so good right now, I'm tempted to just go to the store and get some mixed greens, so I can have you all to myself.

But there is plenty to go around. That's the beauty of you, as opposed to something of more limited size. Everybody will get to warm and fill their bellies this evening with you. And everybody will weep tears of joy as they thank God for giving them the opportunity to have attended such an UNUSUAL pot-luck as this - one in which you, Beef Stew, are the guest of honour.

And so I thank you in advance. I thank you for bringing joy to my day, and for the future joy you will be bringing to a select group of middle school workers and their loved ones tonight. Thank you.

Slightly Drooling,
CVT

Dear Scraping

2007-12-13T21:05:00.000-08:00

Dear Scraping,

I finished something today. It took me a while, but I actually finished it. And if it wasn't for you, Scraping, I don't know if that would have been possible. At least not to my satisfaction. So what did I finish? Allow me to explain.

For the last month or so, I have been painting a cereal bowl. Or GLAZING a cereal bowl. Or painting a cereal bowl with glaze. I'm not exactly sure how I'm supposed to describe that. But that's what I was doing. As part of my hang-out routine with the Good Sis, I have had the pleasure of going to a little shop that specializes in ceramic-glazing. What that means is that I went in, chose a pre-thrown ceramic bowl, and then paid a small fee to get to paint/glaze the bowl to take it home. Quite a wonderful activity. And - for me - it proved quite cost-effective, as well.

And that's because I took my sweet-ass time. It turns out that there is no time-limit on the glazing/painting of the ceramics at this shop. And that meant that I could take my time and spend many hours painting/glazing my bowl without having to pay an extra dime. Talk about getting my money's worth. With that in mind, I chose to get more and more intricate with my detail at every visit. And since each colour needs three coats to come out right, that meant I was more and more intricate times three.

But it didn't stop there. Because Ms. Sis made a mistake on our second visit: she showed me where they kept dental tooth-scrapers for fine-detail work. And that's where you come into the story, Scraping. Had I been unaware of the possibility of doing intricate you on my bowl, I probably would have just called my job done on that visit, having finished my three coats of each colour. But the presence of the tooth-scraper brought out a whole new world of possibilities.

For, with that scraper, I was able to start you away every little bit of stray glaze on my bowl. Any line that had been slightly wavy or lumpy turned into a smooth, graceful curl under the steady barrage of my you. Pretty wonderful for a self-critical artist such as myself. I was able to clean up any mistakes that I could see. That was the good part. But - sadly - you isn't all roses, as the Sis would attest.

Because it turns out that the sound of you ceramics is not a pleasant one. Imagine the sound of a dental teeth-cleaning and all the associated feelings with that. Then throw in the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard. Then alternate that sound with regular sharp exhalations as I blew the freshly-scraped glaze off of my bowl. Repeat. FOR AN HOUR. Get it? This letter is as much a thank-you to you, Scraping, as a testament to the extreme self-control of the Sis. Because, had I been sitting next to me that whole hour, listening to those f-ing you sounds, I probably would have smashed my head in with a ceramic mug. Or at least screamed and cursed. She did, neither, and I was impressed.

But I was also impressed by you, Scraping. I was impressed by your addictive qualities. In spite of the horrible sounds you created - the grating, painful, spine-numbing chills you sent through me - I couldn't stop. I kept seeing just one more little spot that needed some you, and then I would pick the tooth-scraper back up and get to work. And then I'd put it down only to decide that there was some other spot that needed you. Had the shop not been closing up, I probably would have kept going for many more hours.

But even though I did stop and tell the helper-lady that I was finished and she could finally fire my bowl, you satisfied my anal artistic tendencies, Scraping. You allowed me to get to that ridiculous level of "fixing-up" that I always desire and subsequently keeps me from ever declaring any artistic thing I do as "finished." And that's a pretty big deal. Perhaps, after I get my bowl back, I will decide that I wasn't truly finished. But if that doesn't happen, I only have you to thank, Scraping.

So thank you for your help. And for all the ideas you inspired in me of ways to torture annoying people (or kids) by just carrying around a ceramic tile and a dental tooth-scraper. ESPECIALLY for that.

Scritch-Scritch-Scritch,
CVT

Dear Snow Fake-Out

2007-12-09T19:36:00.000-08:00

Dear Snow Fake-Out,

It snowed today. That's right. Today, in Portland, Oregon - it snowed. I was out there this morning, playing some good old recreational flag football, and it was snowing the whole time. Kind of cool, really. Except for one thing: it was really just a you. Yup - a Snow Fake-Out.

Now there are likely those out there that don't really know what I mean, when I refer to a you, Snow Fake-Out. You, of course, know what you are. I think. But not others. And so I shall explain, if I may. A you is when it snows, but nothing really comes of it. Flakes fall, it seems pretty cold, and there is the hope that it is even cold enough for those very flakes to stick. And that hope builds. It builds into the hope that those flakes stick, and then more flakes stick onto those flakes that have already stuck. And that more flakes will stick to the flakes that have already stuck onto the flakes that have already stuck (to the ground). Etcetera. And this is where the fake-out comes in. The fake-out in a you is when none of these flake-sticking wishes come to fruition. Instead, it snows - even for an extended length of time - but no sticking occurs. THAT'S a you, Snow Fake-Out.

So who cares, right? So the freaking snow didn't stick - big deal. Exactly. Big Deal. It IS a Big Deal, and I shall now explain why.

It is a Big Deal because some people actually WANT the snow to stick - and stick BIG. Because some people really enjoy the snow. Some people enjoy the beauty of a fresh, new-fallen snow. Some people like to see a soft, yet glittering, carpet of downy whiteness blanketing the world in which they live. That beautiful, pristine whiteness makes an ordinary, run-of-the-mill BLA environment fresh and new. It gives renewed spirit to a man when the doldrums of Winter have set in, and he needs just a little bit of beauty and newness to bring him back to life. Snow that sticks is that Big.

Oh - and it can cancel school. And when school gets cancelled, this particular Middle School teacher gets an extra day off of work. And this particular Middle School teacher enjoys an extra day off work, especially at this point in the school year. Now don't get me wrong - I love my job. I really do. I enjoy the children that I work with - those sweet little raggamuffins. But I also enjoy being AWAY from those same sweet raggamuffins at times. And tomorrow would most definitely have been one of those times.

However, you, Snow Fake-Out, kept me from that dream. The you put hopes and dreams into my fantasy-prone mind, and then snatched them away just as quickly. Instead of sleeping in an extra couple hours tomorrow to a Winter Wonderland, I will get up in the early-morning darkness, sore and limping from two hours playing football with cold muscles. That's what today's you brought me.

But is it really your fault, Snow Fake-Out? Can I blame you for just being you? It's not like you lied to me or anything. I could see with my very own eyes, as the snow was falling, that none of those flakes were going to stick. I knew - in my heart of hearts - that even THINKING about a snow-day was bound to end in tears. But I fed those thoughts, nonetheless, and here I am acting like the you is responsible for those thoughts. And so I must say right now that it is not your fault.

And, to be honest, I enjoyed even that little taste of the dream that you brought me this morning. I enjoyed playing football with snow falling (but not enough to get my feet all wet). And that would not have been possible without a you. And the you today will only make it that much sweeter when (or if, I suppose) a true Snow Day comes my day in the future. If that happens, I will think back to today, and that disappointment I felt, and then reverse it to celebrate my day off. And I can only thank you for that, Snow Fake-Out.

And that's that.

Setting My Alarm,
CVT

Dear Sunny But Cold

2007-12-08T13:22:00.000-08:00

Dear Sunny But Cold,

It's actually pretty sunny today. But it's cold. It's you.

And that brings up quite the dilemma. Because when it's sunny, I want to go outside and enjoy it. I want to walk around aimlessly - or just sit somewhere aimlessly - and feel the sunlight bathe my sun-deprived face. I want to let real sunlight wash over me directly, without any windows or walls between us. But it's a lot harder to do that when it's you.

When it's you, the internal battle kicks in: how bundled up am I willing to get to try to enjoy the sunlight? And if I get super-bundled up, so that I can tolerate the cold for any real length of time, does that defeat the purpose (since all the layers will prevent the sunlight from getting to my skin)? I don't know. I just don't. And so I find myself spending the majority of the day indoors, trying to decide if it's worth heading out to get some sunlight-enjoyment going. And then - guess what? I'll end up finally deciding to head out in the afternoon - when the sun is already on its way down, and the day is turning from you to just dark and cold. And dark and cold is pointless.

All this brings up a good opportunity for a Light Therapy Lamp update, of course. How bad do I really need the sun on this particular you day in Winter? Well - to be honest - not a whole lot. I feel a little bit lazy and worthless for not having gone out to enjoy it yet, but I don't feel a particularly strong urge to "make the most of it," or anything like that. I'm not depressed. I'm not anxious or feeling like I need to hide from the world. I just don't care for being cold. And so I'd continue to say that my good old Light Therapy Lamp is working. I've been dragging a LITTLE bit more this last week or two, but it's nothing compared to how I used to drag during the Winter, and I can't imagine my light can make me feel summer-happy through the whole Winter. So it's looking good.

Anyway - back on topic. Although, I don't know if there's much more to be said about this particularly dry topic. The only reason I really went with you as a topic was because I felt like I should finally write another letter today, and I didn't feel like waiting for something more inspiring to come up. I was going to write a few times this past week, but I wanted to wait until anybody commented on my last letter, but nobody did. And that made me just decide to wait. But these letters are not about receiving comments, and so I write again today, in spite of the lack of acknowledgment. "Acknowledgment" is a strange word. Why isn't there an "e" after the "g"? It's the same deal with "judgment," and that just drives me nuts.

Right. So that's all I've got. Thanks, Sunny But Cold, for being a boring topic and keeping me from leaving the house until now. I think I shall leave the house right now, though, so that's all I've got to say about that. Peace out.

About to Get Some Layers On,
CVT

Dear Toothbrushing

2007-12-04T19:47:00.000-08:00

Dear Toothbrushing,

Before I get going on this one, I just want to say that I am writing this while listening to a most wonderful classical composition by me, and it is simply MIDI-tastic. Because I am MIDI-tastic.

But want to know something else that's MIDI-tastic? Eating. Eating is MIDI-tastic. Ha. I bet you thought I was going to say you, Toothbrushing. But no. Instead I said "eating." Because eating is actually MIDI-tastic, and you is not. But I didn't write this to surprise let you down or anything else of that sort, so let me get to the point.

I ate some sweets today, and it made my mouth feel a little bit filmy. I had no choice, really (what else can a guy do to survive more hours of "professional development"?). So I ate sweets. I ate a lot of different things - some of them MIDI-tastic - but it was the sweets that were important, because I just didn't like that filmy feeling I had in my mouth afterwards. And there was only one thing to do to try to remove that film: drink water.

Ha. I bet you thought I was going to say you, Toothbrushing. But no. Instead I said "drink water." Because drinking water is actually the only good way to get rid of that filmy feeling. Oh - alright. And you, too. You, Toothbrushing, is another good way to remove that filmy feeling from my mouth after eating sweets. Sometimes.

Because sometimes, water really is all it takes. A couple swigs of water to counteract the imminent sugar-crash that comes from me eating sweets, and it's almost like all I ate was savoury things. But there are times where water just isn't enough. Times where all I find myself thinking about are the little sugar particles coating the inside of my mouth and the outside of my teeth and all the trouble they are likely to cause for me. And those are the times when you is necessary. And only those times.

I know, I know. Dentists and parents and all sorts of other "adults" are always saying how important it is to brush one's teeth all the time. It helps prevent plaque build-up. It fights gingivitis. It kills bad-breath germs. It reduces the likelihood of having cavities. We've all heard it a million times in a million different ways. And we all take it for granted.

But haven't you ever wondered if any of it is true, Toothbrushing? People say all these things about how important and wonderful you is, but don't you ever wonder if any of it carries weight in the real world? Because this is the thing: how often do people challenge the claims of dentists, parents, etc.?

The immediate response (when thinking about children, specifically) is; "all the time." We can all think about all these kids running around refusing to brush their teeth and ultimately paying the price. But does that REALLY happen? No - don't just answer without thinking. Does that REALLY happen?

'Well, of course!' One might hastily exclaim, thinking about all those kids out there getting cavities filled. But there's a little problem with this example - with so many kids getting cavities, can we really assume that none of them are brushing their teeth regularly? We DO assume that, but we all know what they say about asses and me (and you). Really - with all those adults and dentists yelling at their children and overseeing them and MAKING them engage in you, can we REALLY say that they aren't doing it regularly? Then there's a flip side - what about all those adults that get cavities? Are none of them brushing their teeth?

The issue is, of course, that nobody really tests the claims. How many adults out there don't brush their teeth regularly? How many kids past the age of 12? Not a lot. Because, even by then, they all assume that the claims about you are true. Trust me on this one - my kids all lay out these very same claims when the issue of you is brought up.

And so I return to: how do we REALLY know that you prevent all these terrible things? We don't. We just go along with the "common knowledge," even though we all know how often that turns out to be false. Case in point - my Loyal Reader and Brother used to brush his teeth regularly (and likely still does). However, he had a bagazillion cavities. So much for you in that case.

And then there is me, the CVT. Guess what I didn't do a whole lot of as a child? That's right - you. I distinctly remember going an ENTIRE MONTH without you at all. And how many cavities have I had? Zero. Nada. Zilch. Not ONE f-ing cavity. Hmmm . . . The status quo goes challenged.

And so I propose that all the claims about you, Toothbrushing, are a ridiculous farce. The manufacturers of toothbrushes and toothpaste have brainwashed the minds of the world and become powerful beyond our imagining to the point where nobody ever even questions the merit of regular you.

Of course, that doesn't mean you don't have your benefits. Like today, when you helped me remove the filmy feeling from my mouth after eating sweets. Other times, you removes that fuzzy feeling from my teeth. You sure makes me FEEL clean in the mouth. You also improves breath, at times (albeit only temporarily for some).

So I don't really have a problem with you at all, Toothbrushing. I really admire you in some ways. I just don't need you. And I think it is important that you know that. I don't want you or me to be living a lie, whether or not the rest of the world is living it. My breath is naturally neutral. I don't get cavities. This doesn't mean that I won't engage in you on a - somewhat - regular basis, of course; but I won't need to do so. I'll just do it for the previously-mentioned reasons.

And Reader - remember this next time you sit in a dentist's chair: no matter what they say, more Toothbrushing or even flossing never could have kept you from paying that bill. Only good genes like mine could ever do that.

Minty Fresh,
CVT

Dear Cold

2007-11-28T18:45:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-26T19:14:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-25T16:21:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-24T16:53:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-22T19:34:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-12T20:56:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-08T08:10:00.001-08:00

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

2007-11-07T17:48:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-05T14:40:00.003-08:00

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

2007-11-04T08:27:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-03T09:59:00.000-07:00

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

Dear Face Paint

2007-10-31T19:24:00.001-07:00

Dear Face Paint,

Anybody that has worked with me at camp knows three things about me: I like glowing things, food, and you (and not necessarily in that order). Those who have worked with me in other kid-friendly settings may not know about the glowing things (due to the daytime work hours of most other jobs), but they would know about the food and you.

So what's the guess on whether or not I like Halloween? Yeah - that's right - it's one of my favourites. And mostly because of you, Face Paint.

The thing is, most people my age find themselves in that uncomfortable area where they are most definitely "too old" for Halloween in a lot of respects. We certainly can't go out Trick or Treating at night for fear of coming off as creepy pedophiles. We generally can't dress up at our places of work because that's not exactly "professional" in most cases. So that leaves most of us only one opportunity for dressing up in costumes - Halloween parties. We all know how I feel about parties, so that one is usually out for me. So what is a you-loving, party-hating, twenty-something like me supposed to do on this most wonderful opportunity for glowing and painted faces?

Work at a middle school. That's right - the only reason I have the job that I do is because it guarantees me at least one day a year in which it is not only acceptable, but EXPECTED, that I paint my face. How great is that? And as you know, Face Paint, I have taken full advantage of this opportunity.

Today may have been my best school costume yet. I colour-coordinated a yellow-purple-green jester hat, a purple dress shirt (with bowtie), green knickers, and knee-high socks with my yellow-purple-green you. And I have to say I did a damn good job with my own you. A combination of mime, Cirque du Soleil abstract art, and Insane Clown Posse. I threw a tuxedo jacket (with tails), cummerbund, white gloves, and a recorder into the mix to round it all off, and let's just say - the kids f-ing LOVED it.

But as super-dope as my costume was, it didn't stop there. You, Face Paint, brought out my very best. Behind my painted mask of a face, the true Count came out. As I love to do while in costume, I proceeded to play the part of crazy painted jester throughout the day. The ultimate being a toss-up between: a) Playing Hot-Cross-Buns on the recorder with one hand while juggling two balls with the other; or b) Juggling three balls while jumping and side-heel-clicking at the same time. Have I mentioned that you make me more coordinated? I sometimes honestly think that I can do ANYTHING AT ALL with you on.

So when the school day came to a close, I had so much trouble letting you go. I set up a you-ing station at the kids' Halloween dance. I kept my you on during our weekly staff meeting after school. I considered keeping my you on for answering the door for young Trick-or-Treaters. But I didn't. I sadly washed you from my face (leaving a faint, eye-liner-like green residue around my eyes that makes me look very pretty, but unclean). It will probably take until tomorrow morning's shower to fully remove the you from my eyes.

And that's okay. Because I love you. And I see no need to get rid of you prematurely. If I could come up with legitimate reasons to wear you daily, I would do it in a heartbeat. It would never get old. I already regularly paint my face at camp (to the point where it is a new tradition for all staff to be you-ed for the camp-wide Capture the Flag game). As my friend Gate suggested, I should probably join some sort of performance troupe just so I can wear you on a regular basis. Even though most Performance Art is so ridiculous (see "Dear Performance Art"), I would be willing to do that just to have you on my face more often.

I was born to have you on. And to eat. And to play with glowing things. But mostly to have you on. And so I thank you, Face Paint, for making me whole every time I put you on. And I look forward to the next time I can come up with a reason for us to be together. Until then, don't ever forget what we can be together. Don't ever forget.

A Little Less of a Man with a Clean Face,
CVT

Dear Dark Chocolate

2007-10-29T19:37:00.000-07:00

Dear Dark Chocolate,

When I was a child, there weren't a lot of sweets at my house. As a child, I amost never drank soda or any sort of artificial juices. I only really had access to candy on Halloween (and the weeks afterward, when I would save my candy for as long as possible - and beyond). Only on special occasions did my brother and I get sugar cereal.

As a result, we had to get clever. And one of those ways we got clever was by creeping into the food pantry and getting our hands on . . . baker's chocolate. I remember many an occasion when I would stand in the darkness of the pantry (door closed to further the clandestine aspects of the activity) gnawing on a large, bitter chunk of baker's chocolate. And then I would wrap it back up and put it in the box where I found it. And to be honest, I don't know if it was really a secret, or the only reason we had baker's chocolate in the house at all was for me (and my brother, I think) to gnaw on in the dark. Because I don't recall any times that my mom baked some sort of chocolate goodness from scratch . . .

But I believe that my childhood experiments led to my current affinity for you, Dark Chocolate. That bitter, gnawingly tasty treat that you are. I enjoy you so much. I do.

But only on special occasions. Because if I were to eat you all the time, I would cease to appreciate you. And neither of us would want that. Oh, no.

So tonight was one of those special occasions. As I plopped myself down on the couch to enjoy some mindless Monday Night Football watching, my thoughts wandered, and I realized that I had a bar of fancy you sitting in my room - totally untouched. And I knew that I must have you. So I willed myself out of my seat, ran downstairs, grabbed the bar, ran back upstairs, sat down, sipped some water, turned on the game, and unwrapped my special treat. And as I gnawed on my bar of you, I smiled.

I was tired today. Really tired. Mentally and physically. I'm still battling sickness and trying to keep it at bay, but it I am definitely NOT 100%. And so today wore me down a bit, and I was looking forward to an evening of nothing. But as I settled in to eat my dinner and enjoy said nothing, fatigue was wearing down my bones. Something needed to happen. Something needed to change for me to get my second mental wind enough to even THINK about writing tonight (or anything else productive).

Enter my fancy bar of you. After eating a few chunks of you, I am more awake. More alert. And - currently - more productive. Not only were you delicious - a perfect blend of sweet and bitter and crunchy and soft - but you have also allowed me to write this letter in the first place. So, oddly enough, eating you has caused me to have the energy and desire to write a letter to you to let you know that I appreciate the energy and desire you gave me to write a letter to you to let you know that I appreciate the energy and desire you gave me to write a letter to you . . . etc. It's like one of those images of a reflection in a mirror of another reflection in a mirror of another reflection in a mirror . . .

Infinitely wonderful, I'd say. Because that's what you are. In small, carefully rationed doses, you bring joy untold. Once every five months, I enjoy a bar of you, and it is so special. It gives me this warm, cozy feeling - similar to sitting in front of a blazing fire in the fireplace with my family on Christmas Eve. Even more similar to standing on a stool in a dark pantry as a child. And that's a very good thing, indeed. Indeed.

So thank you, Dark Chocolate. For enabling me to write this letter to thank you. And for being so perfectly special. Every time I eat you, I feel like I just opened a present on a once-a-year, special day. And I hope that never changes.

Alert and Thinking About Another Chunk,
CVT

Dear Prophecy

2007-10-28T19:15:00.000-07:00

Dear Prophecy,

I'm going to say out right that I'm Multi-Tasking right now. Yup. As I type this, I am simultaneously listening to a television program all about Nostradamus and the mysterious art of you. I was just watching my usual Sunday evening football as I got ready for an early rest, but then I flipped the channel during an ad and found a show all about Edgar Cayce. That show was followed up by the current one on Nostradamus. And it all led to me deciding to write you, Prophecy.

First off, you is absolutely fascinating. Whether it's complete B.S. (as I believe it to be), it's still so much fun to learn about. There are few things that captivate the mind more than the concept of predictions of the future (especially future doom and destruction). As a curious human being, I can't help but wonder "what happens next?" I want to know how it all ends. If the world is going to end in flames and apocalypse, I want to know about it, and I want to be ready for it. And that's where you come in, Prophecy.

You claim to tell me just that. Through your vague references and confusing words, you imply all sorts of exciting things for the future of this world. The best part? Many different yous foretell an up-and-coming End Times - and that's just so fun! Because this is the thing - I have always felt that if the world is going to end, I want to be there. Sure, I'll feel bad for all the people getting blown up and all that, but at least I'll know what happens. I think it would be oddly reassuring, as I lay on my deathbed, to know that I'm not going to miss anything by being dead because it's all going to be gone. Because who really wants to miss out on anything because the world goes on after our deaths? I don't.

But if I AM destined to pass on BEFORE the apocalypse, I would still like to know what happens. And the only real chance of that happening is through true you, Prophecy. If a real version of you was to show itself, then I could read that and know what happens after my death - kind of like reading the end of all the books I didn't get around to as I take my last breaths. Not a bad way to go out, if you ask me.

Of course, that all falls on a big IF - necessitating TRUE you. And that's the problem. Because reading any of Nostradamus' (or other prophets') verses can quickly demonstrate the silliness of most you. All the verses are so vague and chopped up and randomly put together that they make no sense at all. From that knowledge, it comes as no surprise that nobdoy has ever used his yous to accurately predict anything BEFORE the fact. Instead, people are constantly going back to his verses AFTER something big happens and then trying to make all the vagueness fit the actual events. And that's the key. A little bit of common sense reveals that it's a lot easier to make vagueness mean something if you have a meaning that you're trying to attach to it. And that's why Nostradamus and most you is a bunch of bunk.

Which is really too bad, because I would love to believe in you. I really would. It's a lot of fun to think about and wonder about. I love to talk about the predicted end of the world (in the Mayan calendar) in 2012. I mean - that's exciting! I really hope it's true. But - alas - I know it's not too likely. And that's because of how ridiculous so many yous are. Which hurts inside. You hurt me, Prophecy. But you also bring me such joy. Oh, the double-edged sword of love . . .

But I digress. Whether you are true or a bunch of fluff is not important, because I'm just not going to stop reading about you and having fun thinking about you. That being said, I figured that a letter to you needs to have some of my own yous in it. And so I shall end this letter with some visions of the future. Reader, beware - the following yous are not for the faint of heart . . .

"And so shall the moontimes pass into darkness,
The Sun shall hide behind it's gloomy mask,
And the dogged Count shall see visions of darkness projected unto the Future Land -

He sees the Earth rocked by quakes and floods in the year of tree reduction and direness,
The Eastern edge shall slip skyward as the West becomes tied to the elemental,
And no man shall escape the grip of the horrid Blight;

A man of Evil shall arise in the Land of Crooked Temples,
Bringing great devastation in the form of fire and tears,
And only the banding together of Captains from the war-bound
Shall meet the Flayed Man with common fortitude;

And as the mountains bubble fire in the Rim of Mountainaiety,
The ice shall melt in the cold lands of Winter
And Summer shall see ice on the rooftops of the South
And we shall know that the End cometh;

Heed this warning, oh Watchful Ones
Dare not disregard the drudgery of careful contempt
Or all I say shall become Present
And the Count must needs shake his fist in magnificent suffering from his Earthy ashes
And say:

Idiots."

So I Have Written,
CVT

Dear Sore Throat

2007-10-27T10:42:00.000-07:00

Dear Sore Throat,

I've got a you right now, and I'm not so happy with that. Of course, with you comes the stuffed-up head and tiredness and a bit of aches, and I don't like any of those, either. However, it's you, Sore Throat, that bothers me the most for some reason.

Something about not being able to swallow comfortably is horribly annoying. The rest of the symptoms seem designed to emphasize how much you suck. I get all sorts of phlegm in the back of my throat, and that makes me want to (almost need to) swallow. But when I do, of course, my you hurts. So I end up walking this fine line between ball of phlegm sitting uncomfortably at the back of my throat and swallowing and aggravating my you. Either way - it's uncomfortable and quite annoying.

And then there's the cough. I have this obnoxious dry cough (the kind that doesn't actually do anything helpful at all), and every time THAT kicks in, I feel the pain of my you. And that's something I can't even really hold back. And what's up with the dry cough, anyway? This little hacking thing that sounds like I'm faking it because there's clearly no real purpose to it (due to the lack of mucous that ever comes out with it). It brings no relief whatsoever, and it happens out of nowhere whenever I least want to deal with it . . . Stupid dry cough. But - of course - if it wasn't for my you, it wouldn't matter so much.

At this particular stage in my you-development, though, at least eating doesn't particularly hurt. Drinking is a bit annoying, but it's not a struggle to eat yet, which is nice. Because when that starts happening (as I know it must), I am going to be hating you with all my heart. We all know how much I like to eat. We also all know that you're supposed to "feed a cold." And so your inflamed presence adds even more to my discomfort and sickness by slowing the eating process. It's totally un-called for.

And that's the thing - I don't know why you choose to act like this. On a general level, I think I take care of you pretty well. I drink water regularly and try to keep myself hydrated. I mostly say kind and nice things through you. I often take in wonderful, tasty food and pass it through you. And yet you still act like this. You still choose to cause me pain, frustration, and annoyance. And I can't really figure it out. I don't smoke. I don't drink alcohol (that could burn going down). Hell - I hardly even drink carbonated beverages. So what's the problem?

If you were only willing to communicate, we could work things out. Instead, you go this passive-aggressive route and get all sore on me without telling me what I could have done to prevent it. And so it's bound to happen again - an endless cycle that can only end when you choose to stop getting sore about things and telling me, instead. I just hope that happens sooner than later.

Trying Not to Swallow,
CVT

Dear Out the Door

2007-10-25T06:58:00.000-07:00

Dear Out the Door,

So I'm just about to head you for a two-day staff retreat. Not only do I get to miss watching BC fall out of second place in college football, but I will sit for hours listening to poorly-explained budget information that I don't really care about (or understand), anyway.

More to come.

You,
CVT

Dear 30

2007-10-24T08:23:00.001-07:00

Dear 30,

I am teaching probability to my kids right now. Here is today's warm-up question:

"My brother turns 30 today. Knowing that, if we randomly picked a year in which he has been alive, what is the probability that that year was in the 70s?"

Happy Birthday, Loyal Reader.

CVT

Dear Natural Sunlight

2007-10-22T19:55:00.000-07:00

Dear Natural Sunlight,

Okay. So I've been hyping up this Light Therapy Lamp a whole lot. A LOT. And I really think it has made a noticeable difference during this first month of the dark season here in Portland. I have more energy, overall. I'm more positive and cheery. It's made a difference, for sure. But you know what I discovered in the last 36 hours? It ain't got NOTHING on the real thing, baby. Nothing.

Nope - you, Natural Sunlight, are so much mightier. You, Natural Sunlight, bring me untold joy that my lamp can never hope to replace. You, Natural Sunlight, are God's kiss on the forehead of a blind man who didn't realize he could not see until God kissed his forehead and returned his vision. Yeah - that good.

So how do I know this? Well, you came out for the first time - for real, at least - in close to a month yesterday. And yesterday was the first time in quite a while that I didn't use my Light Therapy Lamp. Why? Not because I suspected that I was going to see some you, but because I had the first of two football games starting at 9am in the morning (on a weekend), and I didn't want to wake up an extra half-hour early to bathe in artificial light. I figured the day's athletic endeavours (after close to three weeks without) would make up for it.

And the football felt great. REAL good. I had been eagerly anticipating my game(s) for weeks now, and it was everything I hoped. It felt so good to be running around, competing, and challenging myself physically. And the kicker? Towards the end of the first game, you came out from behind the clouds.

And this was no average winter-you that peeks out from the clouds in a hazy wash. Oh no. THIS was the you that I only really expect from Spring or Summer. It was WARM. And bright. And oh-so-cheering. Sure, we got beaten in the second game by a crappy team that we should have handled easily, but I didn't care. No way. I was playing football under the amazing rays of you beaming down from the sky. To feel warmth on my face caused by ANY sort of light was a miracle. For it to be you . . . Heaven.

But it didn't end there. It stayed more or less delightful for a chunk of the day and then went away. And I thought that was it. But then today happened.

I walked out of school to supervise the kids on buswalk, and I felt warm. Uncomfortably so in my short-sleeve shirt and long pants. I didn't know what to do. How could this be? What could make the outdoors warm enough for me to feel the desire to take off my shoes and let my feet BREATHE? What could keep me from thinking about how I had left my sweatshirt inside while I waited half an hour for a late bus with the children? I looked up - and it was YOU. And again - the glorious you of other months. The you that I had thought I had bid farewell many weeks ago.

And I loved it. I bathed in you. I was actually HAPPY that the bus came so late because it gave me extra time to soak in your seemingly-undiluted-rays. I smiled. I looked up in wonder. And I felt SO GOOD.

And then I walked back in the building and proceeded to get no work done at all as I just happily ate and chatted with some visiting high schoolers (graduates from the middle school last year who just can't stay away) while they carved pumpkins with another teacher. And I didn't want it to end. I stayed at school longer than I normally would because I was just so damn chatty and energized. When I kept trying to go back to my room to get some work done, I'd get distracted and then find myself wandering back into the cafeteria to hang out some more. I never ended up doing anything work-related at all. And I don't care. Because you made me feel so good.

So then I left school with Gate (who is my co-worker these days), and we just sat outside and enjoyed the remnant warmth as you faded away. And the whole time my leg was bouncing, and all I could do was think of various "master plans" that would be funny to do and ridiculously crazy. So much so that I couldn't stop even when he probably didn't want to hear it, anymore.

And I'm STILL there. I still feel all excited and chatty and energized. Normally, this is when I start thinking about bedtime, but right now, I'm just typing away, wanting to share every little moment with my Loyal Reader, even though - deep down - I know he doesn't particularly want to hear it. But again, I don't care, because I feel GOOD.

And I owe it all to you, Natural Sunlight. YOU have made me feel this way. You must have tired of hearing "Light Therapy Light - this" and "Light Therapy Light - that" when you knew the truth all along - it's not even CLOSE to you. And I appreciate you coming along to lay the smack down and reclaim your rightful throne forevermore.

Does that mean that Light Therapy Lamp isn't great? Hell no. Without my Light Therapy Lamp, Winter would kick my a-- all over again. Without my Light Therapy Lamp, my kids would hear me get all tired, stressed, and/or frustrated from time to time. So I am NOT saying that my Light Therapy Lamp is anything but great.

But I AM saying that you are so many steps above. And that I love you. And I always will. And no artificial light will EVER stand between us. It will only keep me pushing on until we can be together again.

So - until that day comes - thank you, Natural Light, for kissing me on the forehead these last two days.

Truly SEEING Again,
CVT

Dear Bad Parents

2007-10-18T20:51:00.000-07:00

Dear Bad Parents,

Overall, my job doesn't get to me the way it really "ought to." In my line of work, all I do is deal with kids who have been screwed every-which-way and who often end up without a future because of all of that injustice. I watch kids with no chance start overcoming the odds and then fall back into the f-ed up life they were dealt and disappear. I develop relationships with kids who - by nature and situation - are likely to fizzle out, drop out, and vanish. And yet, I've learned not to let it get to me - because there's simply no good that can do. I just enjoy the ones that are there and try to teach some math. Anything else that happens is a lucky accident (because, doing the work I do for any length of time and getting even halfway good at it delivers the message that there's no "changing" or "saving" lives in this line of work). And that's okay. Because life was never fair to begin with, and getting worked up over every single injustice is a sure-fire way to end up locked up or jumping off a bridge. Some things end up positive, too.

But some days . . . some days . . .

Some days I get slapped across the face with the blatant awfulness of some you, and I can't just shake that. Insecure, f-ed up, selfish, scared you that take it all out on their kids because they don't know what else to do. Now, these you aren't exactly bad people, either, but there are times when it's hard to feel that way.

Today was one of those days. And I'm not really going to go into it. But I had a parent come in today with his child and meet with me. It ended up poorly. Basically a whole lot of threats and anger aimed at the kid for one little slip-up in a school year full of perfect grades and great behavior. The mom apologizes to me for all the problems her kid has brought on. A kid who I think of as one of my easiest and highest-performing students.

And then they wonder why their kid decides to lie every once-in-a-while. Maybe because that's the only time the kid can get some f-ing AKNOWLEDGEMENT.

So here I am, having to listen to this crap without punching anybody in the face. Without setting the you on the defensive or having the kid see the you get called out by a teacher. Without letting on that we're not all on the same page. And I was able to deflect a little, but it's another one of those times when I know that there's just nothing I'm going to do to make it any better. Because this was ten minutes. If I did anything to make those ten minutes slightly less horrible for the kid, I still have done nothing (and will end up doing nothing) that keeps home from being horrible. And that's that.

And so I find myself thinking about it tonight. Trying to put it aside and relax on my time off. But it's just not happening.

So I'm writing you, Bad Parents. To let you know that I see you. I get it. In spite of how awful you are, you are not the same as bad PEOPLE. Insecure people - yes. Scared people. People terrified of their inability to raise their kid. People insecure about their own abilities. So they put it on the kids. Just like everybody else puts their own fears and insecurities on everybody but themselves. I get it. I see it. But how do you tell a kid that without it being even more detrimental?

"It's okay. Your dad just says that because he's sad and insecure about his own ineptitude, so he desperately latches on to hurting you to show that he's 'trying.'" Right. Tell a kid to pity their own parents. That's a sure-fire way to create comfort and satisfaction.

The best part is knowing that my kids (the ones I work with) are going to internalize the sh- they get now and pass it down to their own children. That's the best part.

But I want to be clear here, Bad Parents. This is not an "alternative school" thing. This is not an "at-risk" youth thing. It's not socio-economic or race-related. Oh no. The greatness of you is that you exist everywhere. And I mean EVERYWHERE. I'd say that you are equally represented in every demographic. Terrrible rich parents. Terrible poor parents. Terrible young parents. Terrible old ones. Mind-damagingly terrible white parents. Mind-damagingly terrible black parents. Straight parents. Gay parents. Doctors. Teachers. Clerks. Electricians. They all suck equally. It's probably one of the few ways in which all people truly ARE created equal. Go equality. Thanks for that, you.

The one thing I can't say for sure is whether or not this is a global phenomenon. I lean towards thinking that Americans happen to make especially you, but I can't be sure. Statistics would probably show me that parents the world over are awful and producing sad, angry children. That's probably why war is never going to end. Because you create these children that eventually end up running all the major corporations and governments of the world - who take out what you did on the rest of the world.

This isn't my most positive letter, is it? Oh, well.

I WOULD like to take this opportunity to mention that - in spite of all my experience with you in my line of work (and overall life) - I never had you of my own. I have my mental problems, of course. But it certainly isn't my parents fault. I think they did a really good job, overall. Because they are part of that .5% of the world called "GOOD parents." So thanks for that, Mom and Dad.

Too bad you couldn't raise the rest of the world.

I think I'm just going to wrap this letter up now before I think of more depressing things.

This didn't feel particularly cathartic.

Dark,
CVT

Dear Fall

2007-10-16T21:22:00.000-07:00

Dear Fall,

I know I complain about Portland weather a little bit. Or a lot. Okay - I complain about Portland weather about 8 months out of the year. And then I spend a good portion of the rest of the year complaining about how the weather is GOING to be when the good weather ceases to be. I know I do that.

However, today I want to appreciate the weather. And I want to do it during a season of (somewhat) darkness. And what I wanted to appreciate was you.

Actually - let's back track a second. Because - when I think about it - I'm not really appreciating the weather. Not really. I'm appreciating the season of you, and not necessarily the weather that comes with you. Because, to be honest, I don't really appreciate you weather. I don't like the rain all that much. I don't like the darkness. I don't like the slowly disappearing hours of sunlight.

But I DO like the prettiness. That's right, Fall - you're pretty. REAL pretty. That combination of changing leaves with sunlight shining through post-stormy clouds . . . Now that's something beautiful. Real beautiful. I mean - there are times during the summer when it's really pretty. I love a 9 o'clock sunset as much as anybody. But there's no season that is as pretty as you, Fall.

And I can't really explain it to those who don't understand. The fiery combination of reds and yellows and browns and oranges in the trees overhead when driving down the street. Seeing various muppet-head fiery shrubs and groomed maples in lawns. The beautiful wash of colour on the streets after the leaves have fallen. It all just goes so well with the dramatic you weather.

When winter rolls in, it's all the same. A whole lot of darkness and gray. Summer is constant sunshine (which I love, of course, but it's not exactly "dramatic"). And then there's you. A battle between yellow sunlight and rainstorms. Dark, shiny wet streets gleaming in the late-day sun through a brief cloudbreak. Patchy clouds rolling back in and blasting us with rain. You is a time of high contrast - a black and white and gray world set off by random bursts of you leaves and passing sunshine. About once a day during you I find myself catching my breath and thinking, "That's beautiful."

And it's time that I acknowledged that publicly. Because I so often complain about the weather or get all dark and gloomy about how it's going to be. But I need to live in the now for a second and just appreciate what you brings. And just admit that I enjoy you. I LIKE wearing vests. I really do. And I like playing football in weather that's cool enough to keep me from feeling my skin burn and dry out while running around.

Not to mention how much I love watching college football - which occurs throughout the you. And it's actually not a bad time to be doing the job I do. Things are slowly shifting as I type this, but the kids still have a little bit of appreciation and seriousness during this time, and they aren't as rowdy and angry as they will definitely get come winter.

You're the beautiful calm before the storm, so to speak, and I appreciate that. Time to catch my breath before the true darkness sets in. And I thank you for giving me that opportunity.

Yes, thank you, Fall, for the transition you bring. Thanks for easing me into the dark times. Thank you for the beautiful sights and inspiration.

No thank you for raking.

But I'll take it to get the rest.

Enjoying Vest-Weather for a Few More Days,
CVT

Dear Back on Track

2007-10-15T20:14:00.000-07:00

Dear Back on Track,

It's really tough getting you after being sick. Especially after being sick and then having to work the whole weekend, and then having to go back to work without having gotten any real rest from working even after being sick. It's tough.

I had a few opportunities over the last couple days to get you with this blog thing. I did. I'm not going to lie about it because there's nothing to lie about. That's just how it is. I could have done it. But I didn't want to. The act of recovering from sickness puts me in this state of mind where I don't have to do anything I don't absolutely want to do in the name of "getting better." It's kind of nice, really. But then there's always the battle with myself when I start reaching that point in time that signifies the line between being lazy and recovering. And it's a tough boundary to cross.

Why? I think we've been over this, mostly. It's due to my whole momentum-based life. If I allow myself the excuse of sickness to not do something, the more days I allow myself to use that excuse, the more momentum that builds up. Then, next thing I know, I've been okay for three weeks, and I haven't done anything but lie around "feeding my sickness," and I feel worthless and overly full. It's dangerous. Getting you is no easy feat for a momentum-based man such as myself.

But that doesn't mean it's impossible. Because - of course - I have this thing called pride. And that pride causes me to need to be productive with my life or else feel like a piece of excrement. And I don't like feeling like a piece of excrement. Therefore, I find myself getting you in spite of my natural tendency to latch onto any excuse for NOT doing something productive with my time.

And it's really quite amazing, I think. If I could share the experience of being inside my own head, I think people would realize what an epic struggle that can be and become very impressed with my extraordinary strength of will in being able to overcome that and do something like write this letter. Very impressed, indeed. Sometimes, I get so impressed and proud of myself for overcoming that struggle that it almost overwhelms me and causes me to use being overwhelmed as an excuse not to continue. It's kind of crazy, really.

But I am getting you. For real. It starts with this letter, but it continues with getting back to work on the song I began before my little sickness took over. Then it moves into catching up on my teaching preparations at school, so that I'm not scrambling every morning to get ready for the kids (because I usually do all of that in the afternoons, but my sickness and need for recovery caused me to leave earlier than usual, taking away from that valuable time). After that? Play two football games this Sunday and try to get back a little bit of that shape I lost over the last two weeks of near inactivity. And then I'll be completely you.

Of course, that makes me think of all the other ways I could get you in terms of things I was doing in the past that I stopped doing. Drawing is one of those things. Cooking is another (although I DID cook up some halibut for dinner tonight - not bad). Reading would be nice. Calling various friends with whom I have not conversed in many months.

There are a lot. So many, that it's almost overwhelming. Which makes me not want to do it at all.

But I shall overcome. Because getting you is important to me. And I have this Light Therapy Lamp, and the only way to prove that it truly works is to up my productivity and keeping-in-touch-ness over the course of this winter. And so I shall start with this letter, continue through football, and keep going all the way through writing the next great novel.

That's how important getting you is, Back on Track. So thank you for providing that motivation and keeping me focused. Because - otherwise - I might just be lying on a couch eating salty potato chips right now - and forevermore.

Sitting in a Chair in Front of a Computer, Instead,
CVT

*It's also hard to get you when this website won't allow me to attach a photo to go with this letter, as I have become accustomed to. ARGH.

Dear So Much for That

2007-10-11T06:53:00.000-07:00

Dear So Much for That,

Remember that last letter I wrote to Rest about how much it had done for me and how I felt much better? Well, you! I woke up this morning feeling a little bit left of awful, and I don't see it getting better anytime soon. My stubborn a-- is going to still try to go to work and teach the children (because that's the kind of thing I do when I'm sick). We'll see how that all works out.

Getting better, getting shmetter. You.

Trying to Hydrate,
CVT

Dear Rest

2007-10-10T20:56:00.000-07:00

Dear Rest,

What a difference two days make, no? We go from a letter to "Energy to Burn" to one to you. The world flipped upside down in blog form.

So - yesterday, I was sick. From the beginning of my school day, I was feeling out of it, and a little bit nauseous. I had some beginner's stomach troubles, and I just couldn't focus. Everything in that told me that I was about to come down with something bad. Probably a flu. So I made the decision to leave work (relatively) early and get my a-- home to you.

And so I did. I came home and immediately got myself into my sleeping clothes. Then I played around a little bit with some music (because too much you would be a problem) for an hour or so. And after that, I was ready for a lot of you. And I'm talking A LOT.

Because I got myself into bed around 6pm. Just laid down and watched an episode of Blue Planet on my computer. It was good. But even while I was watching it, I found myself getting sleepy and thinking about turning plain you into actual sleep. So, the minute I was finished watching the show, I closed it up and went to sleep.

That was about 7pm.

And guess what? Although I didn't sleep all the way through to the morning, I still slept until morning. Sure - I woke up a few times, but I pretty much spent 12 hours in bed yesterday, and about 11 of those hours in some close proximity to sleep.

And today - I felt better. Not 100%, of course, but better. It was Parent Night tonight, and I was able to be my usual charming, witty self as various older versions of my kids came through the building. In fact, when it was all over, I found myself lingering a little bit to chat with the rest of the staff about all sorts of random things. And I could have left immediately.

And so I wrote this letter as a testament to how important and powerful you can really be, Rest. And to thank you for it. From the quality of this letter, it is obvious that I'm not totally clear in the head, but I have come a long way from my fearful yesterday when I thought I was going to have to use some personal days for - gasp - actual illness.

That would have been horrible.

So I just wanted to thank you. But I'm not going to linger over it or write anything better, because I'm not dumb, and I don't want to play with fire. So I'm going to get some more you right now. So tomorrow can be even better.

That's all.

Still Not Entirely With It,
CVT