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Until fairly recently, I thought I knew what it meant to have faith. If you'd asked me what I thought it meant, I likely would have responded by quoting the following to you:

"Behold, I say unto you that whoso believeth in Christ, doubting nothing, whatsoever he shall ask the Father in the name of Christ it shall be granted him; and this promise is unto all, even unto the ends of the earth." (Moroni 9:21)

Sounds pretty good, doesn't it? As long as you believe in Christ, anything you ask Him will be given to you. That's the way I understood it, and it sounded to me like I had a ticket to anything I wanted, so long as I asked in faith.

This led to some confusion on my part when I asked for things in what I believed was faith recently. I've been searching for a job as a high school teacher lately, since I've just graduated from college. Getting a job is the next reasonable step. I did what I felt was my part. I searched through school districts. I filled out applications. I made phone calls. I networked with people in administration. I created attractive resumes. I felt like a pretty attractive candidate. Yet I never got any further than an interview. Six times I drove out to meet people for a job, and six times I was told to wait for a phone call in return. That phone call never came. I spent entire days staring forlornly at my phone, begging the display to light up with the glow of an incoming call. (Fun fact: it's difficult to hold a conversation when most of your brain power is spent training your ear for the cheerful ring of your phone.) Nothing ever came.

I couldn't understand it. I'd prayed for a job. I believed that the Lord could give me a job. Why wasn't it coming? Wasn't this a righteous desire on my part? Wasn't it a good thing I was trying to do? Why on earth would I not be rewarded? I found myself doing some pretty serious soul-searching, struggling desperately to figure out what I was doing wrong. After my sixth interview and sixth rejection, another faith-related scripture came to mind, illuminating my problem somewhat. This comes from the Old Testament book of Daniel, when Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego are to be cast into the fiery furnace at the hands of King Nebuchanezzar for not worshiping him.

"If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of thine hand, O king.
But if not [italics added], be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up." (Daniel 3:17-18)

But if not. In those three little words are found a treasure trove of faith. These three men has faith that the Lord could deliver them from the furnace. He could. He absolutely could. As an all-powerful being, he was in no way less than capable of doing so. The question lay in whether or not He saw fit to do so. But if not. Even if He chose not to, they would still be loyal and true to Him. Therein lay their faith. They did not believe in Him contingent on His providing them with a reward. That would be somewhat like a child agreeing to play a game so long as he or she was guaranteed to win. No, these men were God's men through and through.

I thought about this, and compared it to my own situation. I believed that God could give me a job, but I hadn't given any thought to what might happen if He, in His infinite wisdom, should choose not to. It's entirely possible that He, seeing as far as He does, knows that I don't need a job in education right now. Part of faith, then, is trust in a higher power. I may not know where my path leads or what lies ahead, but He does, and I simply need to trust in Him. Developing that trust, however, is something else altogether, but I think this episode in my life is helping me to cultivate that trust.

Now, if you were to ask me in five years if I thought I understood faith, I'm sure I'd have a lot more to tell you. For all my prattlings on about the subject, I'm sure I'll be wrapped back up in a blanket of false assumptions before too long.

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The concept of an afterlife terrifies me, and for a member of the LDS Church, that's pretty unusual, I think. LDS doctrine states that members who have striven to follow Christ in their lives will be rewarded with exaltation - essentially, assuming godlike powers and having the opportunity to create worlds of one's own. Sounds like a pretty good deal, right?

For some reason that I cannot for the life of me figure out, it terrifies me. I lie awake in bed at nights, breaking out in cold sweats and having panic attacks. The notion that I will endure forever - absolutely, unequivocally, irreversibly forever - scares the daylights out of me. The trouble is that the converse scares me just as much. I cannot fathom nonexistence. If possible, that scares me even more than living forever. There aren't any other possibilities - one can only exist or not exist - so I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place here. I've tried everything I can think of to solve the problem, but nothing's working. I've prayed, fasted, studied the scriptures, all without improvement. Then, a few nights ago, something amazing happened. I was worrying about what I would do for a job in the fall, when I had an image of myself flying back, back, back from the Earth. I could see the timeline of my life, and I was struck by how small and insignificant (eternally) events here on Earth were. It disappeared quite as quickly as it came, but it did wonders for my perspective.

Everything looks different out here.

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Elder Carp got his glasses fixed this morning without any problems. It turned out to be a simple repair, and he got into the MTC on time. God lives and answers prayers.

Seeing him leave for his mission was very different than when I left for my own. I remember being anxious, nervous, and excited, but primarily nervous. Elder Carp seemed enthusiastic and ready to go. Nothing seemed to faze him. When the obligatory missionary video ended after about six minutes, he said (uncomfortably loudly), "Is that it?" My mom responded, only half jesting, "Don't embarrass us."

He gave everyone a big hug, even Genuine Draft, who isn't technically part of the family just yet. Especially touching was watching him hug my youngest brother (whom we'll call "Matt"), who he was especially close with growing up. They shared a room for maybe eight or nine years. Matt is terrible at remembering the birthdays of even his family members, but he never has any trouble remembering Elder Carp's. (It's May 31, in case you were wondering.) Elder Carp walked to Matt, looked at him, and said, "Happy 18th, 19th, 20th, and 21st birthdays," since Matt will hopefully leave for his own mission just before Elder Carp gets back. This sent poor Matt over the edge. The two of them held each other for probably a full two minutes, Matt bawling. It's been years since I've seen Matt cry. It was a tender moment.

Elder Carp quickly shattered the moment by attempting to run off through the missionary exit without his suit jacket. Only him. Once fully robed, he headed through the door, only to turn around, look at us with the glint of the promise of a young man in his eye, and form the Weezer sign with his hands.

Look out, Florida. Hurricane Carp is coming your way on August 28.

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Elder Carp enters the MTC in about twelve hours, and I just got a call from my mom informing me that he shattered his glasses in a freak soccer mishap. For one heart-stopping second, I thought she was going to tell me that he shattered his leg or something, which would have been terrifying. As it is, it's nothing more than an annoyance.

Still, though. Only him.

(untitled 175)

Yesterday's lyric: "Song 2," Blur, Blur

The contest is over, primarily due to Somewhat Human's clinching the victory, but also due to a general increase in apathy from the contestants. Well done, everyone. You've all competed nobly. You can see how you finished by checking the leaderboard in the sidebar on the blog. For those of you that read this blog via RSS feed, that means that you get to take a special trip to the blog itself. Congratulations.

As far as an update on my life goes, I'm increasingly convinced I'm never going to get a job.

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Yesterday's lyric: "Desire," U2, Rattle and Hum

Since we're already got a winner decided, I'll just make this the last lyric for a nice even total of eighty points.

Lyric the last

when i feel heavy metal
when i'm pins and i'm needles
well i lie and i'm easy
all of the time but i never show why i need you
pleased to meet you

(untitled 173)

Yesterday's lyric: "Bye, Bye, Bye," N*SYNC, No Strings Attached

Lyric the nineteenth

she's the dollars
she's my protection
yeah she's a promise
in the year of election

(untitled 172)

Yesterday's lyric: "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)," The Proclaimers, Springtime for Leith

Lyric the eighteenth

just hit me with the truth
now girl you're more than welcome to
so give me one good reason
baby come on

(untitled 171)

Yesterday's lyric: "Girl," Beck, Guero

Lyric the seventeenth

but i would walk 500 miles
and i would walk 500 more
just to be the man who walked 1000 miles
to fall down at your door

(untitled 170)

Yesterday's lyric: "Today," Smashing Pumpkins, Siamese Dream

Only five more days, friends.

Lyric the sixteenth

and i know i'm gonna steal her eye
she doesn't even know what's wrong
and i know i'm gonna make her die
take her where her soul belongs

(untitled 169)

Yesterday's lyric: "The Sound of Settling," Death Cab for Cutie, Transatlanticism

Lyric the fifteenth

pink ribbon scars that never forget
i’ve tried so hard to cleanse these regrets
my angel wings were bruised and restrained
my belly stings

(untitled 168)

Yesterday's lyric: "Southside," Moby, Play

Did I mention that the grand prize is going to be a commemorative Theodore T-shirt?


Lyric the fourteenth

our youth is fleeting
old age is just around the bend
and i can't wait to go grey

(untitled 167)

Yesterday's lyric: "There There," Radiohead, Hail to the Thief

Lyric the thirteenth

see myself in the pouring home
see the light come over now
see myself in the pouring rain
i watch hope come over me

(untitled 166)

Yesterday's lyric: "Paint it, Black," The Rolling Stones, Aftermath

Maybe I've made these a bit too difficult.

Lyric the twelfth

there's always a siren singing you to shipwreck
steer away from these rocks
we'd be a walking disaster
just cause you feel it doesn't mean it's there

(untitled 165)

Yesterday's lyric: "Lithium," Nirvana, Nevermind

Lyric the eleventh

no more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue
i could not foresee this thing happening to you
if i look hard enough into the setting sun
my love will laugh with me before the morning comes

(untitled 164)

Yesterday's lyric: "Cornflake Girl," Tori Amos, Under the Pink

No one? Really?

Lyric the tenth

sunday morning is every day for all i care
i'm not scared light my candles
in a daze cause i've found god

(untitled 163)

Yesterday's lyric: "O! Valencia", The Decemberists, The Crane Wife

In the face of criticism that this lyric wasn't hard enough, I give you...

Lyric the ninth

rabbit where'd you put the keys girl
and the man with the golden gun
thinks he knows so much
thinks he knows so much
rabbit where'd you put the keys girl

(untitled 162)

Yesterday's lyric: "Chicago," Sufjan Stevens, Come on Feel the Illinoise!

And now, to kick things up a notch.

well the shot it hit hard
and your frame went limp in my arms
and the lull of love was your dying cry

(untitled 161)

Yesterday's lyric: "Losing My Religion," R.E.M., Out of Time

That lyric went a long way toward separating the men from the boys, so to speak. So will this next week. This is the last lyric before I kick it up a notch. (Bam!)

Lyric the seventh

if i was crying in the van with my friends
it was for freedom from myself and from the land

(untitled 160)

Yesterday's lyric: "Float On," Modest Mouse, Good News for People Who Love Bad News

Lyric the sixth

every whisper of every waking hour
i'm choosing my confessions
trying to keep an eye on you
like a hurt lost and blinded foal

(untitled 159)

Yesterday's lyric: "Birdhouse in Your Soul," They Might Be Giants, Flood

Good job, everyone. Lots of people got that one right.

Lyric the fifth

well a fake jamaican took every last dime with that scam
it was worth it just to learn some sleight of hand
bad news comes don't you worry even when it lands
good news will work its way to all them plans

(untitled 158)

Yesterday's lyric: "Say it Ain't So," Weezer, Weezer (blue album)

Remember, dear readers, you need to include the album title if you want the full four points. Many of you correctly identified the song, but forgot to specify the album, and thus are slipping in the standings.

Lyric the fourth

there's a picture opposite me
of my primitive ancestry
which stood on rocky shores and kept the beaches shipwreck free

(untitled 157)

Yesterday's lyric - "Clocks," Coldplay, A Rush of Blood to the Head

Lyric the third

flip on the telly
wrestle with jimmy
something is bubblin' behind my back

(untitled 156)

Yesterday's lyric: "Just a Girl," No Doubt, Tragic Kingdom

Apparently that one was a little tricky for most readers, so I'll go with something easier today. Also, for those of you that visit via RSS feed, be sure to come to the actual site to see the leaderboard.

Lyric the second

come out of things unsaid
shoot an apple off my head
trouble that can't be named
a tiger's waiting to be tamed

(untitled 155)

Lyric the first

the moment that i step outside
so many reasons for me to run and hide

Did I mention the fantastic prize for the winner of the contest? Because there is one. And it will be fantastic. Let this be your motivation.

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Some years ago, Robert Poste conducted a lyric identification contest that I participated in. I did well, but not nearly enough so to win. Regardless, I remember it being a lot of fun. So much so, in fact, that I'm going to host one of my own through this blog.

21 days, 21 lyrics. Each day I post a lyric, you are invited to submit what you think are the artist, song title, and album title. I imagine album titles will be more difficult to come up with, so I'll make those worth two points (compared to the one an artist or song title correctly identified will earn you). All told, that means a perfect score will be 84 points. Here's a sample of what you can expect starting tomorrow:

when i find myself in times of trouble
mother mary comes to me
speaking words of wisdom

The answer "Let it Be" would earn you one point. Responding with "'Let it Be' by the Beatles" would earn you an additional point. For all four points, however, you would have to respond with '"Let it Be' by the Beatles, from their album Let it Be."

Email (theboardoptimistic at gmail.com) is probably the optimal way to send me your responses; blog comments, while effective, will give those after you an unfair advantage. Please refrain from doing so. Also, this contest will be conducted on the honor system. Looking up lyrics on the Googles is easier than a drunken cheerleader. It's also easy to tell when someone is cheating. As the contest goes on, the lyrics will get progressively more difficult. If I post a lyric from the Deftones and you get it when I know you've never heard "Engine No. 9" in your entire life, I'll know something is afoot. Cheating will not be tolerated.

Artists will not be repeated. I'll try to stay away from covers as much as possible to avoid confusion.

Be excited, readers. It's going to be a thing to be remembered.

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More stories from work:

The building is nearing completion, which means it's finally time to put the floors in. Most of them have already been installed, such as the marble floor in the atrium and most of the first floor (which looks really nice, but is going to be a pain to clean) and the basic carpet on the second and third floors. They've been holding off on the really expensive stuff, though, so it doesn't get sawdust and the like all over it. One of the expensive floor coverings was a Persian rug that cost about $27,000. (They decided to wait until the dedication to lay down the $30,000 rug.) They have black plastic covering the rugs so they don't get dirty before Saturday, so it looks like the rugs are covered in enormous garbage bags. The other carpet they were waiting on was for the gallery, and it's nice stuff. It's also extremely furry stuff; I was vacuuming the room today and managed to fill two (two!) vacuum bags with carpet fuzz. It took me nearly an hour to clean the thing out.

The carpet gets progressively more expensive as you climb the corporate ladder here, too. The basic carpet costs $30 a square yard, if I remember correctly. The vice presidents get nicer carpet in their offices; this stuff costs about $90 per square foot. It's quite a jump. The jump from the vice presidents to the gallery, however, is even more impressive. The gallery carpet costs a whopping $270 per square foot. I hear they imported it from England, which, as we all know, is renowned worldwide for its superior carpet. It's nice stuff, but I don't imagine I'll purchase it for my own home. I did like it enough to snatch a bit (about two square inches) of it and take it with me. This piece of carpet would have cost me around four dollars.

Maybe I'll go home and rub it against my face or something to get my money's worth out of it.

(untitled 152)

Actual story from work:

Recently, I threw my back out, as attentive readers of this blog will already know. I went to a physical therapist to get things fixed, and he gave me some stretches to do to strengthen my hamstring, which was the cause of the whole problem in the first place. (He also gave my back an ultrasound, which was a surreal experience.) I do these stretches at work as I see fit. One of them involves me starting on my hands and knees and lowering my weight onto my feet, leaving me in a sort of kowtow position. I was in an office with a closed door dusting, when I decided to do this particular stretch. A construction worker came in to find me in the kowtow position facing toward - you guessed it - Mecca.

He seemed surprised, and quickly backed out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

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My younger brother, who I'll call Piece-a-carp, has been the source of many a fantastic story throughout his life. (Most recent was a conversation with him, myself, and Genuine involving drinking paint and beating babies.) One of his greatest is how he earned his online moniker. When he was three, we were living in Colorado in the lap of luxury, a phrase which here means "buying really, really crappy off-brand cereal because we couldn't afford proper cereal." We had a box of fourth-tier Froot Loops with a neon green background and a white tiger with Froot Loops for spots advertising the cereal to unsuspecting consumers.

"Piece-a-carp," it seemed to say to young Piece-a-carp.

None of us were really quite sure what he was talking about when he first referred to it as Piece-a-carp. He just gestured toward the box with increasing intensity, saying, "Piece-a-carp." We assumed he was referring to Froot Loops in general. When we came into a bit of money and could move up to third-tier cereals, we got another brand of Froot Loops. Young Piece-a-carp was presented with the box in grand fashion. "Look," we said. "Piece-a-carp."

Clearly, we were mistaken. The cereal we had procured was a cheap (or, rather, slightly more expensive) counterfeit of the real Piece-a-carp, and my brother would accept no imitations. We found him the real deal forthwith.

He never explained to us why he called it Piece-a-carp, and fifteen years later, he can't remember. (He doesn't even remember ever calling it Piece-a-carp, actually.) Something in his warped little mind made him call it Piece-a-carp, and it made perfect sense to him. This story is a perfect way to summarize him. And now he's being sent out as a missionary to CALL NOT RECEIVED AS OF 08 JUN 2007. It's going to be exciting. He's going to be a riot.

(addendum, 21 jun 2007: florida, ft. lauderdale.)

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While walking to work today, I got caught behing a young woman on the stairs who was walking slightly slower than I was. I don't feel that it's in keeping with traffic etiquette to pass someone on the stairs, so I waited until we both got to the top to take an alternate route that would allow me to pass her. As our paths converged again about forty yards later, I found myself slightly ahead of her. Silently congratulating myself on this maneuver, I continued on my way.

Imagine my surprise when I find that she was catching up to me. She slowly came even with me and then passed me, only to move to another path. We were neck and neck, and I wasn't about to back down. I tend to take it a bit too personally when someone passes me, whether it's on the road or on foot, and I wasn't about to let this woman strut past me like she owns the world. I increased my pace. She seemed to match. Once again, our paths met, and once again, I came out slightly ahead.

We entered a straightaway. The two of us tore down the sidewalk, neither offering nor asking for quarter. I had the slight advantage, but I kept casting glances over my shoulder to see how much room I had. She wasn't gaining, but she was keeping pace. I was about ready to open up the throttle on her when I saw her enter another building, presumably to go to class.

I won, of course, but I don't think she knew we were racing.

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Every so often in my life, I have moments of doubt and second-guessing. Who doesn't? I'll be at the grocery store, for instance, with a Jones soda in my cart, when I'll catch myself wondering about the correctness of my intended purchase. (Note: This is especially true when it's something I haven't tried before. For the sake of this discussion, let's assume that I've never had a Jones soda before.) Will I like this soda? Wouldn't I be better off with something else - something safe?

Sometimes I buy the soda, and sometimes I don't. Sometimes I end up liking the soda, and sometimes I don't, and if I don't always like the soda, you can imagine why there's more than a small amount of hesitancy when I make larger, more life-altering decisions.

Some of those recent decisions follow, in ascending order of life-altering potential.

I tend to stock my iPod with music that I know and am familiar with - the old standbys, like Radiohead, the Decemberists, Joanna Newsom, the Arcade Fire, and so on. Recently, I decided to empty my iPod completely and fill it with artists whose music I'd never heard before (2G of it!) just before an eight-hour workday. While walking toward work, I began to have second thoughts. What if I didn't like Built to Spill? What if A. C. Newman wasn't who I wanted to hear? What if it turned out that the Flaming Lips were a sound I wouldn't agree with? Wouldn't I have been safer with Radiohead?

Of course it turned out for the best. I can imagine more than one of you out there screaming at your monitor, "Built to Spill? The Flaming Lips?! How could you not like those bands?" Yes, in retrospect, of course it was a good idea. That didn't stop me from worrying about it beforehand, though.

I was scheduled to start my student teaching experience in January of this year. The last three and a half years of my undergraduate education had been building up to this point, and I was pretty excited about it. However, as the date drew nearer, I began to worry. What if this wasn't what I wanted to do after all? What if those last three and a half years had been a waste? What was I going to do with my life after that? Maybe it wasn't too late to back out and do something safe - something where I'd never have to deal with people. Something where I could just read books all day.

Of course, it turned out that I loved the experience. It was insanely difficult and demanding, but it was one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. It's definitely what I want to do with my career. It's scary, and it's going to involve me putting myself out on the line sometimes, but it's what I want to do.

About a month ago, I managed to convince Genuine Draft that she wanted to marry me. At the time, it not only seemed like a good idea, but a perfectly rational one - one that felt inevitable. I came back home feeling as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. When I woke up the next morning, though, the full impact of what I had just done hit me. What on earth had I done? Supposing I made the wrong decision. Had I just tied my fate to someone who was going to bring me down in life? What if I ended up miserable? And was I anywhere close to ready to start a grown-up and responsible life?

Between that moment and now, I've had about a thousand little moments where I realize that yes, I made the right decision. (We made the right decision, Genuine.) Really, I've had those little moments that come after I make big decisions nearly every time. I'm a worrier, by nature (and I know that I'm not the only one), so it's nice to have little things like this to reinforce my resolve every so often. It's nice to know that every once in a while, I make the right decision.

More than ever, I'm realizing that God is in the details.

(untitled 148)

I destroyed my back at work a couple of days ago. It started hurting a little more than an hour into the shift, and it just intensified as the day went on. It's a miracle that I made it home at all, teetering and tottering down the street. Once I got home, I threw myself on my couch and didn't get back up for quite some time.

I'm not actually looking for sympathy here. Rather, I've found quite a few things that were normally second nature to me that have become extraordinarily difficult. There are few things like losing the use of part of your body to give you perspective. For instance, standing up is a chore now. My sister took me to a health center so I could get things looked at, and it took me the better part of five minutes to stand up and get to her car, something which would have normally taken ten seconds. I even had to crawl for part of the way.

Coughing doesn't hurt. Sneezing hurts like you wouldn't imagine. Who knew that back muscles contracted when you sneeze?

Sometimes I'll be laying on the couch when my phone rings. I reach and reach for it, but it lies just outside my grasp, and moving to where I can pick it up causes far more pain than answering the phone is worth. (Friends, if you've called me and I haven't answered lately, that's why.)

Going to the bathroom is surprisingly difficult, as well. Standing up is difficult in and of itself, but finding a way to remove my pants and reclothe myself is far more arduous than I could have imagined. Taking a shower today was every bit as difficult. Holy cow.

Here's hoping this never happens to you, dear readers.

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Across
1 Action star ____ Damme
4 "Once _____ a time..."
9 After noons?
12 "Dies _____"
14 Really funny, online?
15 Computer support org.
16 "_____ Yankees"
17 Rabbi ben Joseph
18 Peter Fonda title role
20 Advil rival
22 Indiana Senator Bayh
23 D'Back, say
24 "No way!"
27 "_____ a Bad, Bad Man"
30 Second Amendment org.
31 It's often found in brackets
32 Car starters?
34 One of twelve?
37 _______ Lama
41 "No way!"
44 James and others
45 Jazzy Fitzgerald
46 Thermal beginning?
47 Student activist soc.
49 One of two?
51 Like Br'er Fox's baby?
52 "No way!"
58 Concerning (abbr.)
59 Profanity
60 Four A.M., say
64 Nevada Senator Harry
65 To incur excessive costs, as a bill
67 Movie watchdog (abbr.)
68 Sash
69 The year (Sp.)
70 Tall tale
71 Marsh
72 Ntwks.
73 Jet ______

Down
1 "La _____ Loca," Ricky Martin hit
2 Russian sea
3 1995 Goo Goo Dolls hit
4 Lithuanian river
5 Start to a game
6 Occasional pizza topping
7 The Office's BJ
8 Rocker Morissette
9 Weighty dessert?
10 Singer Vanilli
11 Dutch painter Jan
13 One of seven?
19 Energy unit
21 A long, long time
25 Genesis author
27 "_____ have faith..."
28 Irrelevant
29 To be next to
33 Like sardines, say
35 Part of CNN (abbr.)
36 Twister co-star
38 Navel development?
39 Words before partridge
40 J. K. Rowling's Karkaroff
42 Food regulation assoc.
43 Rockies catcher
48 Fungus propagators
50 Washington to New York dir.
52 IP address org.
53 "You're _____ a kind"
54 Clan, e.g.
55 Shore of Biodome
56 Vesuvii?
57 Shandling or Olandis
61 Middle Eastern currency
62 Tomb Raider's Croft
63 Part of a Taoist symbol
66 Not neg.

I wrote it myself. Enjoy.

(untitled 146)

Genuine and I took a trip back to Portland this last week. We had initially planned on going to take in an Andrew Bird concert, but we added more and more things by the time we headed up. We ended up seeing the Decemberists live in Eugene, meeting the family, and picking out a ring (which I gave to her in a windmill outside of Baker City). It was a pretty exciting trip. There's a lot to be said about it, but at the insistence of nearly everyone I know, I'm just going to provide a review of the concerts.

In order of how much I was impressed by them:

4. Apostle of Hustle. The opening act for Andrew Bird and the only act of the four that I hadn't heard of before. They're a band from Toronto that had a really solid sound. What was funny about the group was the near-constant references to marijuana that the lead singer made. At one point, he told a story about a horse that had a sack of peyote on its right side and hashish on its left, mounted by a man holding the severed and bleeding head of George W. Bush in one hand and the severed and bleeding head of Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper in the other. He was quite the character. I liked the music, though. Go to their MySpace page and listen to it.

3. My Brightest Diamond. All I knew about this group was that Shara Worden, the lead singer, got her start as an Illinoisemaker on Sufjan Stevens' masterpiece, Illinoise. It turned out that her sound was very different from Sufjan's. She sounded a lot like PJ Harvey, actually. It was a very pleasant surprise. She would have been more lively in concert, but apparently she dislocated her left knee during her previous concert in Las Vegas. Even relegated to a chair, however, she put together a pretty entertaining show. She took everyone by surprise by ending with Softcell's "Tainted Love," a song that nearly brought down the house in the opening act. Solid.

2. Andrew Bird. I was really excited for this concert, and even though it didn't turn out like I thought it would, it was still impressive. Bird is a really intense performer in person. He seemed very distant from the crowd, talking in low tones and standing close to the microphone with his hair conspicuously in his eyes. The way he makes his music is extremely interesting to watch. He tends to play the violin most of the time, opting to pluck or strum it rather than use the bow. He sets up loops that he builds upon slowly, causing the songs to grow and become more intense as they go along. They're great to watch, but not especially entertaining. The biggest impression I was left with upon exiting the Crystal Ballroom on Friday was the pain in my knees from having stood still for so long.

1. The Decemberists. This was easily the most fun concert I've been to in my life, and I've seen They Might Be Giants in concert. It started out fun before we even went in the theater - two guys were standing around the corner asking for money so they could "get drunk." No beating around the bush here. They just wanted money for beer. The show got even better inside the theater. Colin Meloy is a natural showman. He took songs like "The Island" and stretched them to nearly 20 minutes. At times, it felt like being in a jam session with the Grateful Dead. Members of the band started acting out bits of the songs in the background, my favorite instance of which was from "The Landlord's Daughter." Rhythm guitarist Chris Funk drew a mock gun and sword during the lyric "Produced my pistol/Then my saber/So make no whistle/Or thou will be murdered," dragging his index finger across his throat for emphasis.

The Decemberists are famed as a hyperliterate band, and they didn't disappoint. One can hear semicolons in their lyrics. Toward the beginning of the show, the band were debating what someone from Eugene could properly be called. After rejecting ideas like "Eugenies" and "Eugenites," Meloy announced, "I've got it! Eugenots! With a T! It's French!" Lest you worry that they alienate fans with such references, however, you can rest assured that they go out of their way to have a good time. Meloy opened up three dance circles during "The Perfect Crime #2," crowd surfed at the end of the show, and even took a fan's camera on stage to take up-close pictures of the band. He also combined hyperliteracy and entertainment at the beginning of "The Mariner's Revenge Song." He asked us to provide the sound of a theater full of people being devoured by a giant whale with this caveat: "You may think that the secret is in the screaming. Not so. It's in the moaning. And the groaning. And the lamenting." He had us practice not only our scream, but also our moans, groans, laments, gnashings of teeth, and our death rattles. It was incredibly fun.

The way that I knew it was a great show, though, was seeing the look on Genuine's face throughout. She absolutely loved it, jumping up and down and clutching my hand tight during the whole show. I would have had a great time seeing the Decemberists by myself, but having her there made it about a thousand times better. It makes me wonder if I shouldn't settle down in Portland after all so I can catch shows like this more often.

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I've been through about a hundred different versions of this in my head, and I can't think of a clever or lyrical way to put this, so I'm just going to say it the way I announced it to the family tonight.

We're engaged. And I couldn't be happier.

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Two cool things, in the order that they happened to me:

1. I fell asleep at work. In my boss's office. With him watching me. While I was reading a book.

I am the man.

2. I got the following email from the Kellog's Corporation in response to my earlier query about what the K in "Kellog's Special K" stood for:

Mr. [Optimistic.],

Thank you for contacting us concerning what the K stands for in KELLOGG'S® SPECIAL K®. We appreciate your interest in our company and products.

In naming our products, we try to choose words that describe the cereal and can be protected by a trademark. KELLOGG'S® SPECIAL K® cereal was developed in the mid-1950s as an entirely new kind of cereal. Since we felt that most Americans were familiar with the 'K' in our logo and that this was a special kind of cereal, the name KELLOGG’S® SPECIAL K® seemed quite appropriate.

Here is a little more information that might be of interest to you. The name KELLOGG'S® FROOT LOOPS® cereal describes the flavor and shape of this product. By changing the spelling of the word “fruit,” we selected a name that could easily be registered as a trademark. The name KELLOGG'S® POP-TARTS® Toaster Pastries is also descriptive. These toaster pastries are “tarts,” and they “pop” up in a toaster when heated. When KELLOGG’S® APPLE JACKS® was introduced in 1965, the apple ingredient was promoted on our package and in our advertising. In recent years, our market research with kids tells us that they do not necessarily separate the apple flavor in this product as the one they most enjoy or even perceive. They simply agree that they like the taste and the combination of flavors that KELLOGG’S® APPLE JACKS® provides. KELLOGG'S® PRODUCT 19® cereal was the nineteenth product introduced in the Kellogg’s™ line of brands. Since the cereal had been referred to in this way during the development stage, we decided to keep this name and register it.

We appreciate your interest in our company and products.


Sincerely,


Idalia Acosta
Consumer Affairs Department

4IXA/cl

012571681A

Kellogg North America
PO Box CAMB
Battle Creek, MI 49016-1986

And now you know.

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Today's action daydream:

In light of the recent events at Virginia Tech, everyone at my high school was on their guard in case a copycat assailant should show up. It turned out I was the first one to see him walking through the parking lot. It's fortunate that I was observing other teachers today, since my usual classroom doesn't have any windows. This one looked out directly over the parking lot. He didn't seem especially intimidating when I first got a look at him - just a scrawny kid who happened to be dressed in black and toting a submachine gun. At first, I wasn't sure what to do. Should I run and tell the main office? What happens if he seems me in the hall, though? I'd be gone for sure, but someone needs to know so we don't lose dozens of students. After a moment of indecision, I get up and head to the door. No sooner do I reach to open the door, however, than I realize that he's on the other side, trying to get in. It's a heavy door, so I know he won't be able to shoot through it. This emboldens me, convincing me to push the door shut on him. He manages to get the barrel through the crack of the door, pointing it around wildly and trying to shoot anyone he can. My mind is clear, however, as I calmly instruct students (and the teacher) to stand against the walls and out of the line of fire. I surprise him by pulling the door open, causing him to fall on the floor. A wide-eyed look of disbelief comes over his face as the gun slips falls from his grip and comes to rest under my waiting foot. "Not on my watch," I declare.

Instantly, I'm a national hero. I have single-handedly prevented a second school shooting in as many days, and a grateful nation lines up to congratulate me. My face is all over the news. President Bush extends a personal message of gratitude and names a county in Kansas after me. Word gets out that I'm an aspiring teacher looking for a job, and districts across the country line up to offer me teaching positions. After all, what greater qualification can there be for a teacher than of saving students' lives?

When I came back to reality, however, I found out that a student in my regular classes had a seizure, and that my cooperating teacher was tending to him. Turns out he's the real hero in this school.

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It's 1.16 AM. On my plate are two chocolate chip cookies, a cupcake with purple frosting and sprinkles, and a donut. I have a tall glass of orange Fanta to wash it all down, and I'm watching the roommates play Wii Bowling.

Yup, looks like I'm done with my undergraduate career. You can tell how much I've matured.

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I'm mad. People I care about are being taken advantage of. Their lives are being corrupted. Precious things are being ruined, and there's nothing I can do about it.

One of my students came up to me before class with a set of keys he'd found. One of my students from an earlier class had left it behind. It wasn't anything fancy, just a pair of keys attached to a Jurassic Park keychain with his name on it. It had an air of innocence in my view; it was nothing more than a young man proclaiming to the world that he liked Jurassic Park. He thought dinosaurs were cool.

I think dinosaurs are cool.

This young man came back after school once he'd realized he'd misplaced his keys. I handed them back, glad he'd returned; they didn't look like car keys (frankly, he's not the sort who would drive a car to school), but they did look like house keys, and I had a fleeting image tinged with melancholy of him sitting by his locked front door, waiting the three hours until his parents got home. As soon as he got them, though, he cast a quick glance around the room and said, "Was there a flash drive attached to it?"

Someone stole his flash drive.

This made me mad. It was painfully obvious that it was his flash drive. The keychain had his name on it. How on earth can anyone justify taking something from a Jurassic Park keychain with someone else's name on it? That keychain rang of innocence to me; whoever stole his flash drive corrupted this young man's innocence. He's lucky I don't run the justice system in this country. I probably would have done something rash and violent.

I have a friend who had a bad day, but it's really symptomatic of a bad couple of months. She has someone who she clearly cares about deeply. I don't blame her. I have someone like that of my own. This young man, however, isn't returning the favor. The latest in a series of alternating professions of love and indifference was too much for her. Fortunately, she had someone nearby to be there for her. I wish I could have been there, but really, I'm glad I wasn't. I would have given her a hug and done something extremely inadvisable to this young man. He's lucky I don't run the justice system in this country.

While I don't know him, somewhere out there is a young man who raped one of my friends. He raped her. I can't think of a more horrible thing to do to anyone. Not only did he inflict that unimaginable crime on her, but he also corrupted love for her.

He corrupted trust.

He corrupted happiness.

He's lucky I don't run the justice system in this country. I probably would have done something I would have regretted for a long time. I would have made him suffer. I would have done all kinds of unspeakable things to him. It's a good thing I wasn't there.

The destruction of innocence around me makes me really mad. I can't think of anything that affects me more powerfully, except possibly the fact that there's nothing I can do about it. The world is full of awful people, people that I would hit with a baseball bat if it wouldn't drag me into the muck they live in. I guess it makes the good that much more precious, though. It gives us something to cling to.

Still, though, I'm mad.

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Weird, weird dream last night/this morning, friends.

I'm never sure who reads this blog, so whenever I mention anything that has to do with LDS theology, I feel a need to explain it. I imagine most people know that young men in the LDS Church (specifically 19 year-olds) are asked to serve as missionaries for a two year period. Mission assignments are determined by revelation, so these young men can be assigned to go nearly anywhere in the world. I went to Japan for my mission. It was a wonderful experience, but no one warned me beforehand how intensely difficult and demanding it was going to be. I found out firsthand. Robert Poste and I used to joke about how we would probably refuse to serve a second mission if we were asked to.

On to the dream.

A companion from the mission (aside: LDS missionaries work in sets of two; said missionaries are referred to as "companions") came to talk to me. He was one of my Japanese companions, and said that he was heading back to Japan to serve a second mission. Admittedly, he was on his way out, but he was stopping by to see if I wanted in. "Why not," I thought to myself, and packed up a few white shirts and ties. Off we went to Japan.

After a couple of months of missionary work, I began to wonder about the logistics of my decision. I realized that I hadn't actually told anyone at home of my decision. I just threw some clothes in a duffel bag and jumped on a plane. All of my things were still in my apartment, too, and I only had a contract through August. I didn't know how the people moving into my apartment in May were going to deal with all of the things I'd left there. On top of that, I was quickly realizing that I wasn't especially enthusiastic about full-time missionary service anymore, to say nothing of the fact that I was far less than excited to serve for another 22 months.

How to get home, though? I hadn't really considered that, and I didn't have the money it was going to take to get back home. However, I quickly remembered that Genuine Draft was going to a foreign exchange school in Japan, so I decided to pay her a visit. (Of course she was in Japan. Why wouldn't she be?) I tagged around with her for a while, curious to hear what her Japanese sounded like, since I didn't remember her speaking any Japanese the whole time I knew her. I settled into one of her classes and sat down next to her, only to find that I was actually sitting next to Uffish Thought. Also, apparently the school was an American international school, so the whole class was conducted in English. I never got to hear either Genuine Draft or Uffish Thought speak any Japanese.

Clearly emblazoned in my mind when I awoke, however, was the thought, "What was I thinking? Why on earth would I want to serve a second mission?"

Dreams. What bizarre things we subject ourselves to every night.

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It has come to my attention that spring has sprung. So long, winter. Rear your hoary head no more. Spring is here to stay.

I've started walking places now. I was heading to a Happy Pirates show last night and decided that rather than driving, I would prefer to walk the ten or so blocks. It was a pleasant evening and I wanted to enjoy the breeze and the cool air. (I also wanted to enjoy the walk home with Genuine Draft, but we ended up taking a detour to the hospital cafe and drove home with Thirdmango. Ah well.) Part of the reason I wanted to walk had to do with a piece on NPR I was listening to about mass transit and protecting the environment, but I think that most of it had to do with the overwhelming pleasantness of the evening. Winter has definitely left us. If nothing else, you can see it in the trees. Blossoms are slowly peeking out of the skeletal trees lining the streets, adding a rainbow of color to the neighborhood. I was worried that the late snow we had last week was going to kill off the fledgling blossoms, but, almost phoenix-like, they came back and are now flourishing.

I'm wearing my sandals again. I reserve my sandals for the summer, usually, but I can make allowances for the spring. There's just something about the feeling of wind between your toes that makes you feel like a million bucks. It's liberating. It's the same feeling that I have when I wear shorts, but I don't think I plan on subjecting the world to my ivory legs for at least a month or so.

During the spring and summer, when I'm out of school, I make a point of going to the library and checking out dozens of books at a time to make an effort to culture myself. I went to the library for the first time this year yesterday (well, at least the first time this year to check out books; I checked out a couple of Rocky movies a few weeks ago) and picked up four books for myself. There's just something about reading that I adore. I love having a book and time to take for myself. That's part of the mystique of spring for me. I read close to fifty books last summer and felt great. With only four books, I still have a long way to go yet, but I'm off to a good start. Once I get out of classes and other obligations, I'll be able to read even more. It's going to be great. I'm starting with Voltaire's Candide, and it's been hilarious so far. Having never read it before yet talked about it all the time as a historian, I felt a need to take a look at it. I love it. If you haven't read it yet, you really ought to make a point of it.

The one drawback to the new season that I can think of is the overwhelming odor of flowers. A few flowers are nice. I like smelling flowers here and there. It's pleasant. What I don't care for is walking around feeling as though a burly Scotsman is ramming begonias into my nasal cavity. I don't need the overwhelming stench of spring to remind me that winter is over. I could tell, thank you. So long as I stay away from the cavalcade of flowers that parade about on campus, I'm fine. In fact, locked here inside my living room cell, I can hardly tell that it's spring at all. It could still be February, as far as I know. I really ought to get outside and enjoy the day. Maybe I'll take my library books and read in the grass somewhere.

Then again, maybe I'll just take a shower and watch Jeopardy!

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I had a dream last night in which I listened to a bunch of music, violating my Lenten vow. I felt awful when I woke up, thinking about what a horrible person I was for not carrying through on something so small.

Thank goodness it was just a dream.

Lent has been a really good thing for me this year. I feel like it's actually doing what it is supposed to do - bring me closer to Christ. Forsaking the use of written commas, while fun and excellent material for stories, wasn't especially useful to me in that regard. I'm finding myself more able to focus on things that really matter to me instead of playing a segment of an Arcade Fire song over and over in my head, trying to remember what that one lyric was. (It was "from my window to yours," in case you were wondering. "Neighborhood #1 (Tunnel).") The biggest problem I've encountered, though, is that removing music from my life has created a fairly substantial vacuum in my brain. Anything and everything gets stuck in my head now that there's no music to push it out. I get things like ringtones in my head now (such as Robert Poste's ringtone, which is the Toreador March from Bizet's Carmen), as well as the theme music from NPR's Business Morning. It's a bit ridiculous, but I think a relatively clear mind is worth the cost of having random bits of music stuck in my head.

I made a conscious decision not to choose a "last song" before starting my Lenten silence, if only because it seems trite and cliche to do so. Actively choosing a last song also seems to defeat the purpose. I'm trying to reduce the importance of music in my life. Deciding that I want to enter Lent with Hot Chip or Sun Kil Moon in my head keeps me just as connected. It's like I'm trying to endure Lent rather than embrace it, and since I'm going into it willingly, it seems a bit ridiculous to try to keep a foot in both camps.

That's not to say that I don't miss my music, though. I do. I bought a new (well, new to me) Andrew Bird CD yesterday while I was out running errands. Would that I could have listened to it. Instead, I lent it to krebscout for the next couple of weeks so she can find out if it's worth my listening to or not. (Based on a conversation with her last night, it seems like it is.) I'm also going to pick up a couple of tickets to see him in concert so Genuine Draft and I can see him in Portland. I'm still just as much of a fan as ever. I just want to realign my priorities in my life, and I think Lent's as good a time as any to do just that.

Here's hoping it works.

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And now, a short list of surprises from the last few days.

• Playing on a jungle gym uses your abdominal muscles. A lot.
• When your abdominal muscles are sore, it hurts to do a lot of things (i.e., moving).
• A pith helmet, when worn correctly and by the right person, is pretty attractive.
• Even when life seems to be going really, really well, it can get better.
  

Who knew?

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It's Lent again, and unlike last year, I'm not making any sort of lexical vow. (You'll find two commas in that last sentence; two more than I wrote during the whole season of Lent last year.) This year, I've decided to give up something substantial - an actual vice. I'm abstaining from listening to my music until Easter, and I think it's going to be really good for me. I've worried for a long time that I'm unable to focus on anything that actually matters in life, and this seems like the perfect time to start.

The last two days haven't been without problems, though. I've had various songs stuck in my head, which makes me feel more than a little guilty. The Shins are a frequent visitor to my mind, as well as Radiohead and Andrew Bird. I do my best to kick them out when they come, but it's really, really difficult. I knew the first few days would be the hardest. The strangest thing, though, came when I woke up from my second nap at work today. (You know life is good when you have a job that allows you to take two naps.) As I opened my bleary eyes and stood up to return to work, I heard a tune playing in my mind. Almost instinctively, I tried to brush it away so I could remain true to my Lenten vow, but before I did, I realized that I didn't recognize the song. I let it play a little longer, trying to figure out what it was. It turned out to be a song that I'm pretty sure doesn't actually exist. It had some driving, feedback-heavy guitars holding down the bass line, with a warbling male voice mumbling the melody. It sounds like something that could have been out of a Radiohead song, but the overall feel was different enough that I was sure it wasn't them. Maybe I'm writing new music in my head.

Anyhow, it's going to be an exciting 47 days. I'm looking forward to it.

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(written from McCarran Airport in Las Vegas on Friday, February 16.)

I knew something was wrong as soon as I landed.

The entry into Las Vegas was pleasant enough. Every once in a while, my mind goes into stream-of-consciousness mode; thoughts and ideas came rushing into my head as we soared over the Vegas cityscape. It was all I could do to jot some of them down above my Daily Universe crossword. There were just too many of them.

The city looked like a giant Light Bright set, all laid out in perfect geometrical patterns. Even at only 7.00, the sun had already gone down, creating a stark contrast between the light and the darkness. It was almost as though the city was made of a million candles floating in a sea of darkness, adrift, yet staying in flawless formation. The Shins - whose concert I would have been at had I not been en route to your wedding, fine print - softly sang "Kissing the Lipless" in my ears over the insistent roar of the jet engines.

I wouldn't have had it any other way. It was beautiful, perfect and beautiful, and it fit in with the ridiculously good mood I'd been in for the past few days. (Anyone who knows me can guess why I've been so happy; those who know me well understand how long it's been since I've been happy at all.) I had a big grin on my face as I stepped off my plane and into the ironically yet aptly named McCarran Aiport.

It took seconds for my mood to turn on its head.

Welcoming me to Las Vegas was a gaudy, skin-deep and loud woman demanding that I look into getting a free souvenir T-shirt from her tawdry kiosk. Being a savvy traveler, I know better than to even approach people like this, but something about her commanded my attention. Her insistent demeanor and callous indifference to my fellow traveler who asked her for directions stood in sharp relief to the serene view I'd just had of the city. Everything here is loud. Everything here is superficial. I hate this city, and if I didn't know that I had to fly through it on my way back home, I'd swear right now that I'd never set foot in it again. (note, 2/18/07: I got to fly home through Phoenix, saints be praised.)

I walked past row after row of eager and seductive slot machines, their screens prostituting themselves, their brightly colored wheels spinning and creating a nauseating blur. Gambling has always struck me as a hopeless and bleak exercise. I've seen too many people lose their humanity to slot machines, sitting and pulling the lever until they become soulless automatons feeing in dollar after dollar. Seeing so many slot machines seemed to tug at my own soul, filling me with a misery that I've become all too familiar with over the last year.

I thought I'd left all of that behind. So help me, Las Vegas, if you steal my hard-earned happiness, I will never forgive you for it.

I sat down to eat something during my two-hour layover, still feeling ugly inside. I shook ketchup packets back and forth, driving their contents to the bottom and catching a fleeting image of myself doing the same thing the night before, sitting in a Taco Bell, safe, secure, and loved with Genuine Draft, krebscout, and Yellow. My heart hurt just a little bit more. I would have given anything for any of those three to have been there with me right then (and probably in that order, too, with my apologies to Yellow). I tried to think of someone I could call. Anyone. As I went through my list of phone numbers, though, I realized that anyone I would have wanted to call was either travelling somewhere or was famous for having her phone permanently set to "off."

It's just as well. It would have been an embarassing phone call, and writing all this down is cathartic, anyway.

So here I sit at gate B-10 in McCarran Airport, waiting for forty more minutes to go by so I can leave this awful place. I never want to come back. I'm just going to sit here and write, sheltered by my protective iPod bubble that shields me from the outside world. I've listened to My Bloody Valentine's "Sometimes" so many times tonight I've lost count. "Sometimes" is my song for when I feel alone in the midst of a throng of people; for when I want to feel lost, cast off in a black sea, and having seen that black sea covered by a million candles as I gently descended into this city, I should have expected it.

(note from 2/18/07: I realize this sounds really, really dark. I promise I had a good time. I'll temper this with my next post, honest.)

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From an actual essay that I graded today:

Social Security Act
Also known as the Old Age Pension act, the social security sets part of your money aside so you can eventually use it when your old. [Optimistic.] will be using this pretty soon because he is way old, like twenty-four or something. Not to mention he wears a suit and tie, which makes him age faster.

For the record, I've never actually worn a suit to class, though I make a point of nearly always wearing a tie. I like wearing a tie.

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You're all familiar with Ben Stein's role in Ferris Bueller's Day Off? For those of you who aren't, he plays a high school economics teacher who delivers a famously boring lecture about the Great Depression, particularly about the Hawley-Smoot Tariff Act of 1930.

I gave that same lecture today, since we've moved up to the 1930s in my U.S. history class. It took all of my self-restraint not to deliver it in a Ben Stein voice; even if I had, though, I doubt many (if any) of my students would have caught the reference, all of them having been born after 1990.

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I did something really nerdy at work today, but I'm really proud of it. I created an all-star basketball team composed entirely of dead presidents. What's more, I even assigned them positions. (I considered assigning them numbers based on their number of vetoes, but Jackson had over 400, so I gave up on that idea.)

Here they are.

Starters

C Johnson, L
PG Lincoln, A
SG Jackson, A
PF Polk, J
SF Washington, G

Reserves

G Ford, G
G Grant, U
C Jefferson, T
F Roosevelt, T
F Coolidge, C

Coach Roosevelt, F

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I have a few vignettes that wouldn't merit a blog post of their own, but they're interesting and on my mind enough that I want to share them with you. Thus, you get four of them in one go. Enjoy, dear readers.

1. Today at school, a kid in my student government class was writing random words and drawings on my whiteboard. I made sure he erased everything before he left for his next class, though. When I stood up to teach my next class of the day (which was actually two periods after student government, since I'm in a team teaching environment), I saw that he'd left one word on the board, tucked away behind the podium in tiny letters. There it was, waiting for me to discover it.

"Feces."

2. I was listening to Radiohead's "Karma Police" yesterday while at work, and I was wondering how many times I had heard it over the course of the last decade. Five hundred seemed like a good round number to me, so I decided that this time would be the 500th time. You'd think something like that would have been terribly significant to me, but it turned out that it was a fairly typical (albeit representative) experience for me. I was alone, walking through the lightly falling snow and looking at the last rays of sunlight desperately glimmering over the intersection of 900 N and Campus Drive. Most of my experiences with Radiohead have been like that. The music never gets old.

3. A girl in one of my classes turned in her WWI essay, which I was reading and grading during our current issues class. I forget what the sentence that she wrote was, but I do remember that she included a smiley face at the end of it. I never thought I'd see the day when emoticons became standard punctuation. Given the grade I gave her for it, I doubt I will, though.

4. I had the most terrifying night vision of my whole life last night. I dreamed that my younger brother was possessed. (It's funny how in dreams you rarely have information given to you explicitly. I never heard the words "your brother is possessed," but I knew. Somehow, I just knew.) He had the redeye look that people often get in pictures where the flash doesn't go off quite right. My dad and I were driving him somewhere, presumably to have him exorcised, when I looked at him in the rear view mirror. He was just gazing out the window with a deadened, haunted look on his face. I looked into his shiny red eyes and felt absolutely terrified. He was gone, and there wasn't any way to get him back. Even after I woke up, I was really worried that he was lost and gone to us.

It still scares me to think about it.

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I woke up to the insistent clanging of my twin-bell alarm clock at 6.45. I'd gone to bed late the night before - foolishly late. I always remember being tired in the morning, but somehow, it's hard to bring that to mind when I'm talking to friends at 2.30 AM. I'm never talking about things that are critically important, either. I just feel a need to keep talking and not go to bed. (Sometimes, I even dread going to bed, and I'm not quite sure why. Perhaps that's a topic for another day.)

I digress.

I woke up to the insistent clanging of my twin-bell alarm clock at 6.45. It looks like one of those clocks you see in old cartoons - the kind that you activate the snooze feature by smashing it with a rubber-tipped mallet. My mallet wasn't within reaching distance, so I had to settle for manually hitting the snooze button. I hit it several times, since I just wasn't ready for my day to start. I wasn't looking forward to going to school. The weekend felt like it had gone by too quickly, as though it had gone past at double speed. By the time I looked at the clock again, it was already 7.10. There wasn't going to be time for a shower, and that wasn't going to help things at all. This was going to be a rough day.

And then I remembered that it was Sunday. A contented smile creeping across my exhausted and sleep-disfigured face, I fell back into my bed and asleep.

When I woke up again at 9.45, I felt a certain uneasiness about getting out of bed. I didn't have anything to be worried about, but I felt that if I got out of bed, I'd set a chain of events in motion that would lead to pain, suffering, and general discontent on my part. E-mail was going to play a pivotal role in this crisis, and I knew it. I could just feel it. From the safety of my bed, I cast a glare at my computer, knowing that within its silical catacombs, it held the key to my undoing. I had a meeting at 10.30 and knew I had to get up to start preparing, but the portent of an evil e-mail kept me cornered in my bed.

By 10.15, I knew I couldn't avoid it any longer. I needed to get up, out of bed, and face the day. I flipped open my laptop and stared at the screen through bleary eyes, dreading my fate. The computer, sensing my trepidation, prolonged my agony by taking an extra long time to connect to the wireless network. Eventually, Google Talk vomited out the e-mail that was going to ruin my whole day. I squinted at it, so as to properly read my fate.

"1/1 - Slate Magazine: Today's papers: A Surge of Discontent - Slate Magazine today's papers A Surge of Disconte"

Not surprisingly, today was a mostly ho-hum, ordinary day. Looks like the morning e-mail sets the tone for the day, after all.

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Actual phrase on my frozen Freschetta Naturally Rising pepperoni pizza box, opened at 8.31 PM, MDT:

COOK BEFORE SERVING

What a ridiculous world I live in.

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I was crossing the street near my apartment the other night when I saw a car coming in the distance. I don't think of myself as a particularly morbid person, but my mind jumped to the possibility that this car was going to hit me, or at least steer toward me and try to hit me. Obviously, I needed to be prepared for this possibility. I imagined myself leaping toward the curb as the car smashed into the fence. My heart still pounding, I look through the shattered windshield to see what maniac would swerve so far out of their way to hit me. The door flies open, sending my heart rate back through the roof. The driver, his head bloodied by the impact, steps out of the car, pulling a handgun from within his jacket and aiming it directly at me. I hit the ground as a bullet flies past me. In an instant, I realize that I need to wrest this gun from the madman; he's clearly not going to stop at anything to kill me. I make my way toward him, dodging the hail of bullets he's firing at me. The police arrive to see me with his gun, insisting that I don't want to shoot, but I will if he tries anything funny. How am I going to explain this to the police?

All of this takes place in the five seconds it takes for me to step onto the sidewalk and start moving around the fence.

I excel at creating imaginary situations. I imagine I'm not the only one. However, I'm probably among the small minority that feels that I have to be prepared to deal with these same imaginary situations. I go to great lengths to plan out my reactions. I wouldn't want to be unprepared in case a hijacker wanted to kill me. These situations aren't limited to near-death experiences, though. I also have to prepare for women to walk up to me and profess their undying love. How do I let them down gently? Alternatively, if these are women I'm interested in, how do I respond in a way that's dashing and debonair?

Mine is a hard life, really. I have so many realities to deal with.

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Lavish just pointed out to me that "we're all growing up." I think I've realized that for a while subconsciously, but it's still a little strange to have it pointed out to me like that. I just turned 24 this last Saturday, which isn't all that old, I know, but it does mean that I'm moving along in life. I'll be out of school (well, college) in a few months. I'll be looking for a job soon. I'll probably end up in a high school teaching 15 year-olds about US history and why the sinking of the Lusitania may have been a British conspiracy, after all.

Student teaching has been particularly eye-opening in this respect. It's easy to forget how old you are when you associate primarily with people your own age. When you start to spend your days with high school sophomores, you realize what an age gap there really is. (I can only imagine how this is going to feel to me when I'm 40.) It's just a strange feeling to be perceived as an "old" person now. I wear a shirt and tie every day to school. Isn't that something adults do? Can't I just wear a nice polo shirt and call it even? And what happened to my first name? Losing my first name places me squarely in the adult camp.

It's not all bad, of course. I'd much prefer to be an adult than to be 15 again. I don't mind taking responsibility all that much, but the sense of my upcoming loss of freedom does get to me a little. I'm already working 13 hours a day with the jobs I have. I imagine myself living on my own, doing nothing but grading papers and watching SportsCenter with a single tear running down my cheek, looking back wistfully on the days when I had friends who would come over and watch Scrubs with me or play games. I'm really not ready to move away from here just yet, and I'm terrified that's what my future is going to bring me.

Wow, these last few posts have been pretty dark. I'll write something happy and upbeat next time, I promise.

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This is how Toothpaste for Dinner chooses to recognize my birthday. I'm flattered.

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I've turned into a walking cliche, and I'm not sure how I feel about it.

For those of you not fully stepped in my life, I'd like to take this opportunity to tell you that I started student teaching this week. It's the culmination of my undergraduate career, and I'm pretty excited about it. It's hard not to be excited about something that you've been looking forward to and working toward for the last four years. I've had countless hours of practice in my classes, and I finally get a chance to try things out in a real classroom setting.

As I suited up on Tuesday morning and headed to my school, though, a wave of uncertainty came over me. This is nothing new for me; every time I go through a major change in my life, I have nagging doubts telling me that maybe this isn't the right thing after all, and wouldn't I rather be at home in front of my switch-controlled fire with a cup of hot chocolate and my copy of Sarah Vowell's Assassination Vacation. (In case you're wondering, the answer to that question is always yes. It's true for nearly everything in my life, though.) I plugged along the snowy road to Timpview High, though, and marched resolutely into my class.

After two days, I'm starting to wonder if those nagging doubts didn't have a point, after all.

The classroom setting is completely different than anything I'd imagined it would be. I'd forgotten what it was like to be in a high school. There are things that I remember with fondness, like carrying around a planner with your school colors and mascot on the front and with pointless inspirational platitudes scattered within (like "be a safe haven for thosee in need of security. The return will be substantial," which I found by literally opening to a random page). I remember having classes that end at bizarre times (like 11.21 and 1.53) because classes last 52 minutes and your passing period is six, not five. I remember making a lunch every day and putting it in the fridge the night before so the sandwich wouldn't get all stale. What I didn't remember, though, was the fact that students try to dodge learning at every chance they get. Everyone told me that kids try to listen to iPods and send text messages during classes. I didn't realize that it was exactly as prevalent as they said it would be. I don't think I've been in a single class that didn't have a kid either surreptitiously (or so they thought) listening to an iPod by running the cord up their sleeve and putting their hand to their ear in what they clearly thought was an innocent manner or hiding their cell phone in their lap to send a clandestine text message or seven. I didn't realize how easy it is for a class or thirty students to get off track. I didn't realize that as a student teacher, the students immediately recognize that I'm not the same as their regular teacher and treat me as such.

I came home from school on Wednesday completely dejected and ready to quit. I'd been told that student teaching was hard, but after a day like that, I was ready to be done. Forget the last three and a half years. Forget all the work I put into this. Forget all of the education classes full of emotional and feel-good tripe that I endured. I was ready to switch majors and find something else that worked.

Yet that same day at work, I found myself thinking about my kids. I couldn't stop. I still have some of them pop into my head, and I haven't even been to class today. (Timpview had teacher inservices today, and they only lasted for about thirty minutes. Who knew teachers wanted to get out of school as much as students did?) I sat there, sweeping and mopping, thinking about all of the students I work with - even the ones that were driving me crazy by listening to iPods and playing on cell phones. Some of them were even playing StarCraft on the school computers. Whose idea was it to install StarCraft on school computers, anyway? It was just strange for me to be thinking about these kids, many of whom I'd only known for a couple of days. I've heard countless tales of teachers saying that their pay was awful and the school system was horrid but that they stuck with the profession because they loved their students so much.

And now here I am, doing and saying the exact same thing. I'm at a loss to explain it. I'm a cliche - something I've spent my whole life trying not to be. And strangely enough, I don't mind it at all.

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I know too much for my own good.

I know that sounds arrogant, but it's going to grab your attention, which is why I put it first. Based on certain recent events and conversations, I'm learning that I know a lot about what I want in life, and what a bad thing that is for me. I'm referring here to the arena of dating, something that's been on my mind increasingly over the last few months. As I date more and more women, I find more traits that I'd like to have in my future wife. One ex-girlfriend taught me the value of straightforwardness (two, actually). One taught me that I can't be around someone who thinks I'm smarter than she is. Another taught me how important sarcasm and wit are, and still another taught me just how much my emotions really matter to me. Every time I associate with a woman, I make a mental note as to what traits I am and am not looking for.

Clearly, this is what dating is all about. It's a trial run, of sorts. It's very similar to trying on different articles of clothing and seeing what fits. If you find a pair of straight-cut jeans that don't quite fit, you wouldn't go out of your way to buy another pair of them. (No pun intended.) If you don't quite like the way you look in a turtleneck sweater, you won't buy any in the future. To me, dating is the same way. The problem lies in the fact that I tend to reject women in my mind before giving them a fair shot because they don't match up with my list. I probably miss out on some great opportunities this way. I might meet an attractive woman with a nice smile, quick wit and keen intellect, but if she listens to Rascal Flats, she's done for. (No offense to those of you who listen to Rascal Flats - country music just has a negative place on my list. Indie rock, however, earns one a lot of points.) This might be the same as my refusing to wear jeans because I don't like the way one pair worked for me. Most might not work for me, but there might be one pair that would do wonders that I'm refusing to give a chance.

I don't wear jeans, in case you were wondering. I also don't date those who don't like my style of music.

I've found women, recently, who have met nearly every qualification I've got on my list. Both of them stomped all over my heart - one inadvertently and one unwittingly. Despite all the time I've spent creating this elaborate list of characteristics The One is going to have, it just doesn't seem to be working. The more I try to think things through, the worse my situation seems to get - and that's a statement I'm not restricting to the dating world.

It might be time I gave jeans another try. I am going to insist that they be straight-cut, though, and this time the pun is intended.

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More wisdom for you from The Arcade Fire, this time coming from "Neighborhood #1 (Tunnel)."

"And since there's no one else around,
We let our hair grow long
And forget all we used to know,
Then our skin gets thicker
From living out in the snow."

If there are more appropriate words to describe how you ought to spend your winter break, I can't think of them.

Happy finals week, everyone.

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If you only buy one CD this year (even though all my sources say you should buy at least five), you'd better make it Thom Yorke's The Eraser. In my opinion, this was hands-down the best album of the year. Yorke stays with his increasingly electronic theme with this album, only taking it a step further. This album was really creepy the first time I listened to it, if only because the disc burned improperly and skipped all the time. (It was also 1.30 AM when I first heard it.) Now, several months later, I can still listen to this album over and over again. Songs like "Black Swan" and "It Rained All Night" just never get old. It's such a clever sound that I can't help but recommend it to everyone I know. You can listen to snippets of it through iTunes or NPR's "All Songs Considered."

If you decide to buy two new CDs this year, though, you should consider picking up Beck's The Information. I was skeptical of this release, since I'd heard less than favorable reviews of it, but a friend of mine let me listen to it about a month ago and I was hooked. Beck uses really clever and innovative sounds in his music (like a dial tone in the opening "Elevator Music"), which makes it really intriguing in my mind. The album is really solid the whole way through. No problems here putting this as my number two album of the year. It's no Eraser, of course, but honestly, there aren't any musicians out there that can hold a candle to Thom Yorke (unless it's Radiohead, of course, but that's hardly any different).

If you decide to go out on a limb and buy three CDs this year, you might want to look into the Decemberists' new release, The Crane Wife. A lot of people found this release less accessible than their earlier albums (especially Picaresque), but I think it's very nearly their best. (Castaways and Cutouts still reigns supreme in my mind. Man, it's good.) The trick is that you can't listen to just one song at a time. For starters, some of the best songs on the album are over ten minutes each; "The Island," a three-part epic that conjures images of Led Zeppelin, is nearly twelve minutes long. Even better, the first and penultimate tracks are parts of the same song ("The Crane Wife 3" and "The Crane Wife 1 & 2," in that order). You have to listen to the album as a whole to really get the sense of it. It's been a long time since I've found an album that demands to be listened to as an album. It's worth the time. Don't be afraid to sit down for forty minutes and really appreciate it.

If you're willing to buy a fourth CD this year, you'd do well to make it Joanna Newsom's Ys. Nearly everyone I've introduced Joanna to has thought her music was creepy and strange. (Tolkien Boy, in particular, had a strong, bodily reaction to it.) That said, you really ought to give her a chance. You just aren't going to find a more innovative sound out there. What other recording artists play the harp? To make things better, she wrote an orchestral accompaniment to her music for this album - it's absolutely beautiful. This is another album that asks you to invest some time, however. There are only five tracks, despite it being a full-length album. (They average about twelve minutes in length. They're worth it.) This is easily the most original new release of the year. Do yourself a favor and try it out.

You're looking for more? If you're buying five CDs this year, you should take a look at Sufjan Stevens' Songs for Christmas. We all know that Sufjan makes beautiful music; one only need look to his magnum opus, Come On Feel the Illinoise! from last year for proof. With this collection, though, he outdoes himself. Over the last five years, he has quietly been recording Christmas music, finally releasing an enormous five-album compilation this year. Don't be alarmed by the amount of music, however; he only released enough music to make an EP each year, so despite it being a five-disc set, the cost is still comparable to that of a regular LP. His penchant for amusing titles continues with songs like "Get Behind Me, Santa!" and "Did I Make You Cry on Christmast Day? (Well, You Deserved It)." His track record of making amazingly beautiful music continues as well, most notably with the ballad "Sister Winter," found on the fifth disc. It's not often that you find a Christmas song featuring the singer apologizing for his cold indifference, but it does the trick. Stevens has the album available for streaming at his label's website, so those who aren't sure they want to buy the album can listen to it before deciding that they really ought to buy it, after all.

There are plenty of other albums that you should probably look into purchasing this year, too. Sufjan Stevens' The Avalanche comes to mind, as well as Christopher O'Riley's Hold Me to This, both of which are beautiful. If you can only buy five CDs, though, this is a solid bunch. As one who has all five, though, you should buy them (or borrow them, or whatever) in the order I've listed. I didn't go to all the trouble of ordering them so you could just ignore it.

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Just a note to all of you loyal readers that Theodore t-shirts are going to be available starting now. I need to have your contact information, shirt size, and design so I can make a shirt for you to wear around, proudly proclaiming your affiliation with Theodore if you want one. They'll be ready for pickup starting January 4, 2007. I'd like to have all orders in by December 31 so I can create them all without too much rush on my part. All shirts will be sold at cost, so you're just reimbursing me for buying shirts for you.

Orders can be left at my email address (theboardoptimistic at gmail.com).

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I realize that a lot of you read my blog via RSS feed, so you don't actually visit the site. This is a shame, because I have a lot of really cool sites linked to my blog that you should be checking out. I've added a few recently, but since they're really easy to overlook, I'm going to sum them up for you. Add these to your list of places to check out when you need something to do.

• The 100 Hour Board. Your questions, our answers. 100 hours to the answer to any question you can think of. Most of you probably arrived at this blog from there, actually.
• Stuff on my cat. Picture of people putting stuff on their cats. I find this to be immensely entertaining.
• Create a snowflake. This is a page run by Popularfront that lets you create a Flash snowflake with just a few cuts here and there. It's really cool - I managed to spend nearly an hour playing with it a couple of days ago. As more and more snowflakes are made, the site managers donate increasingly more money to the Salvation Army.
• KEXP. 90.3 FM, Seattle. The best indie rock station out there. Love it.
• last.fm. Another really solid Internet radio station, though I must confess I haven't touched this one in months. I used to love it, though.
• Pandora Internet radio. I love this one. Pandora lets you enter bands and artists you like to listen to, then creates a radio station out of those and similar artists. It's fantastic, and all free. Enjoy.
• Pitchfork Media. News outlet for indie rock and the like. I like it, at least.
• 3hive. Same thing, but with music sharing.
• Subpop Records. One of the indie rock standards, featuring bands like Band of Horses, Wolf Parade, and the Postal Service.
• Uncyclopedia. Like Wikipedia, but full of humorous lies.
• Book-a-minute. Amusing and extremely brief summaries of famous books and films, usually to about a sentence or two.
• Theodore - friend to all. My webcomic. Love it.
• The encyclopedia of manliness. What could be more manly than a lumberjack punching Santa?
• Jews for bacon. This explains itself, I think.
• Look Around You. This is a BBC educational spoof that I find absolutely hysterical. They're a bunch of programs that purport to be factual, but are clearly full of lies. You'd be remiss if you didn't at least watch one.
• Timothy McSweeney's Internet Tendency. An overeducated online humor magazine. Just witty articles such as "Short, Imagined Monologues" and "Open Letters to People or Entities Who Are Unlikely to Respond." I love them.
• Paint like Jackson Pollock. Drag a cursor around the page and splatter paint everywhere. It's a surprising amount of fun.
• Kingdom of Loathing. An online role-playing game that makes fun of real role-playing games. If I didn't have a near-constant amount of work to do, I'd play this game every day.
• Toothpaste for Dinner. The most addictive comic on the web (at least, until Theodore gets off the ground).
• Web sudoku. America's fastest-growing puzzle game. Great if you need to kill a few minutes.
• Samurai sudoku. For those of you who feel regular sudoku are too easy, why not try five grids at once?

Seriously, if you aren't paying attention to the sites I link on the sidebar, you're missing out.