Perpetual Optimists Club

I am part of an e-mail group of friends and near strangers called The Perpetual Optimists Club. It's a nice thing. Tonight someone sent this uplifting, inspiring video that makes me wish everyday was my birthday.

30 gifts to 30 strangers in Sydney from Lucas Jatoba on Vimeo.

Pictures of My House: Two-ish Months Ago

I wrapped the gifts with students' old poster projects.

Dad's old stereo. That's the Elvis Christmas album.

Note the Menorah: see earlier post.

Some of my favorite stuff is on/around that shelf.

Thackerland find. A little tweaking and I got it tweeting.

The Dillards on Andy Griffith

Classic.

Five Months Later: I started this in October

Molly's apartment looks great, doesn't it? Well, I've got some new digs of my own. After going through subsequent roommates and realizing I had enough money in my life to pay for only one more month of living in my beautiful old home on Lafayette St. (some of you have visited), I decided to get desperate. So I kind-of looked for another roommate while simultaneously breaking the lease agreement with my renting company in a rather pleasant way. Then, without really even kind-of looking, I found a roommate at G.F. Jordan's yard sale. He bought an mp3 player for three dollars, and was fresh from Israel. I told her she should have charged more for it. His name is Yaniv.

With the utmost composure, I frantically called my land-holding company and said something like, "Hey I know that I was desperate to get out of my lease but now I've found someone I've really finally found someone and he wants to live with me so can I go back on everything I've said in the last month," to which they responded, "We wish we could but we just signed with someone yesterday."

Knife in the back. And they made it sound so official, too: like it was a record deal or something. They offered me a condo uptown, but I decided to do my - and my new roommate's - shopping elsewhere. Enter the world of Penguin Ed.

Penguin Ed is Fayetteville's own Baron of Barbecue. He has three or four stores, including one around the block from one of his rental houses that I now call home. That's where I pay, and from stealthily glancing at all the other BBQ-sauce and grease-stained rental receipts, apparently he owns the whole street. It's like a molasses-infused Pottersville with vinegar- and mustard-based options, except much better: Welcome to Penguin Edford Falls.

I'll add some pictures soon.

Nice Apartment

Psst. Did you guys know I'm in grad school now? No? You're not alone. Most people don't know what happened. Including me. In the past month I have:

• applied for grad school kind of on a whim
• been offered a graduate assistantship
• signed up for and took the GRE without time for studying
• moved into my first apartment
• started working toward a master's in journalism

Remember in The Wizard of Oz when Dorothy's house is tossing and turning through the air during the twister? Well my life has been kind of a whirlwind lately, too, and I also have landed in a new technicolor dreamworld, not counting a hellish load of homework from textbooks the size of Oxford English.

I'm rather pleased with how my apartment is shaping up, so let me show you around.

Here's my green wall. I've been eyeing that green chair at an antique store for months but only finally had a need for it two weeks ago. I found that floral upholstery fabric at a garage sale for a couple bucks, but it's saving me paint money now.

When I first moved in, I had no furniture, save for an air mattress and a folding lawn chair. So I set about making the new apartment feel like home by covering the walls with scarves. And maps. I've always wanted to do that. High-five, Koko.

This young chap is a Very Nice Thing that constitutes his own long-overdue post. His charcoal and pastel portrait was the only thing I truly wanted from my grandparents' house when they moved out, and the family graciously complied. He looks as bored with his new view as he did with his last, but maybe he'll reflect on prettier things after I fix up that corner the next time I am procrastinating on a 10-page book report.

Finally, here is my favorite of three bicycles currently hanging around the apartment. I got a deal on a Craigslist bike rack so I could be a better commuter. But what I saved on the rack I quickly realized will end up costing me more as I conveniently pick up every vintage bike at every yard sale I see. This one was a mere $40.

I'll sell the other two so I can buy more textbooks next semester!

Two Owls

Two nights ago, while scooting, I noticed a large owl perched on a stop sign. Directly following, I noticed another large owl--similar in color and markings--across the street perched on a grill installed in a small corner park.

Alone, this is a nice thing. But it was twice as nice.

The Thread

Oh, hello! It would seem that the Real Idealists have been overwhelmed by so many nice things lately that we haven't even had time to write about them!

Here is just one of those nice things that I love today.

At the risk of this turning into a (rarely updated) music blog instead of just a general loveliness blog, I'll spare you the exciting (to me) info about who is in this band. You can read about that here if you are into that sort of thing. Otherwise, just enjoy the pretty music.

Burying the Lede (Tyler James to tour with Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros)

Great news! A while back Nathan posted about Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, and I promptly fell head over heels for them. "Home" has been my #1 heartsong for months. Especially after I bought the album and saw this news.

I even made my mother listen to "Home" and a couple other songs on a road trip.

Me: Wasn't that great? Didn't you just love that? Oh my gosh. I love that.
Mom: I guess.
Me: You guess? Could you not understand the words?
Mom: No. I heard the part about "Home is wherever we're together," but the rest just sounded like mumbling.

Moms. I love mine. She hasn't loved many musicians since Bobby Sherman, though. We had all day on the road, so I made her listen again while I clearly enunciated every line before Alex Ebert and Jade Castrinos sang it. (At another in-car listening party, my dad loved it. He thinks Jade channels Janis Joplin, a highly rare and admirable quality, he said. He waxed nostalgic for a moment, and then we listened to it again.)

The band has been my biggest collective friend-crush ever since that night on Letterman. So if one of my friends actually got to be friends with them, I would die of happiness, obviously. Or blog about it, at least. It would be a very nice thing.

Well, the time has come, the frontman said. Tyler James is about to tour with Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros.

I met Tyler James when he played at my college in Searcy, Ark., a couple times. Here is a picture I took in 2005 where Tyler (left) looks just like my friend Jairus (right).

Neat!

So obviously we are B.F.F. now. (I wish. Tyler James is the bomb.) According to that Cream article, verified via Tyler's Facebook profile, he will "assume duties as a touring keyboardist for a jaunt that will take him from festivals such as Bonnaroo and Coachella, to destinations as far reaching as Australia." So way to go, Tyler James! You've come so far since performing at Harding, being named Paste's Artist of the Year, touring with Ten out of Tenn... The Zeros are lucky to have you.

And his new album comes out tomorrow. Order it today!

All Things Anniversary

My good friend and co-writer reminded me that, after 31 posts, we have been online for a whole year! While this in itself is an accomplishment (disregarding the past month's lack of activity), I would like to point out the fact that I am currently listening to The Anniversary to celebrate. Is this an accomplishment? No, not really. Did I pull up The Anniversary primarily because of the seeming relevance associated with the name? Yes, yes I did. Shamelessly.

But really, The Anniversary is one of my favorite bands, especially of yesterhighschoolandalittleintocollegeyear and days past. I consistently prove this to myself by never seeming to be able to exclude a track from them on any mix cd I try to make. They mean that much to me, or something.

Here's a popular track of pure early-aughts genius:

What bands or songs do you always go back to in making mix cds or maneuvering through milestones?

And Randy is my father's name.

Next Blog

Just so you know, this is what I got when I used the "Next Blog" function at the top of the page, and I wanted to share it with you. ITP, no doubt!

watch a weigh my sense

This morning at church a young lady I hardly know was baptized. I’d been upstairs helping out with the kids’ class, but we all headed back to the auditorium to watch. We crowded in at the front of the auditorium, and I had one kid on my lap and more all around me.

Just as the Chloe’s father was about to immerse her in the water, usually a quietly profound and moving moment for the congregation, the eight-year-old boy next to me leaned in and whispered, “Did you know she plays the bagpipes and she’s only in the second grade?”

“Really? That’s cool,” I said admiringly. Then she went under and then she came up clean. We all clapped and rejoiced.

After service, I ran into her as she and her mom were leaving. Her hair was still wet when I hugged her and congratulated her on becoming a Christian.

Then I said, “I hear you play the bagpipes.”

She looked at me the way most kids would look at me if I handed them a set of bagpipes.

Then her mother, who I’d also never spoken to before, caught wind of our conversation and said, “What?”

“Bagpipes,” I repeated, looking back and forth between Chloe and her mother. “Don’t you play the bagpipes? Jack Henderson told me you play the bagpipes…”

She shook her head and her mother laughed. “Oh, Jack. He just made that up.”

I babysit Jack a lot. He’s one of my favorites, so somehow I found myself defending him even in this preposterous situation. “He doesn’t usually lie,” I said, as if I believed there must have been some occasion when Chloe had at least pretended to play the bagpipes and Jack remembered it. I pictured her playing a Scot in a school play, kilted and winded. "You know, Jack Henderson, age eight, reliable source."

They both laughed. I blushed for having believed that a little girl could play pipes that take the air out of full-grown men, and for this being my very first conversation with Chloe or her mother. I suppose it was a good ice breaker.

I told her that next time I see Jack, I will tell him all about how much I enjoyed her recent bagpipe recital.

Surprise!

Have you ever walked into something wonderful, completely unaware of where you were going and without expectation? Have you seen a performance of some sort with no previous knowledge, and walked away wishing for more? Have you seen a concert in an unlikely place or at an unlikely time, and came away whistling the tunes of the band or artist?

If you have, then you have experienced the top rung of the evolutionary ladder of the genus Pleasantus surprisus. I've been fortunate to experience a few of these instances.

Tonight, I received an email from the University of Arkansas. It said I should go to a concert in the Union Theater. For a week now I've been planning to write the literature review for my research project, and I had just settled into the idea of buckling down and getting it done tonight, so of course I accepted the invitation to do something else. The electronic flier attached in the email looked cool, and the band's myspace sounded alright, so there was no way I was going to let my responsible nature get in the way this time.

Bowerbirds is truly delightful. The band played against a backdrop of black and burgundy velvet curtains and to an audience in theater seats, and I really felt like I was at a play or the premiere of some new indie flick that only the elite knew about and I somehow stumbled into. The music was as simple and complex as many Andrew Bird songs, but there was a definite originality to the three-piece from North Carolina. After the set, the band played an encore performance in the stairwell down the hall; the audience just followed and filed in, lining the railing up three flights of stairs. Needless to say, I was impressed. I bought two albums.

Missed Connections

You know the feeling; you see a stranger, and without even talking to him or her, you know that they could be the love of your life. But you walk away, never knowing what might have been.

Of course, you could always get on your local Craigslist site and create a missed connections post. I mean, I've never done that. But I wouldn't judge if you did. If you don't know what these are, I suggest you do your research. They are entertaining, engrossing, and though I hate to admit it, I've gotten that warm, fuzzy feeling from reading them.

But with this website, they're just too much. I mean, they were already great, just oozing with averted love and pathos. But now, set to paint and paper, I can't not smile. I think you'll agree.

This is one of my favorites:

Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeroes

I'm sure many of you have seen this already, and I know I've shared this with some of you individually, but this group gives me the good kind of chills and this performance of their single, "Home," is wonderful.

A dear friend shared this song with me while driving around on a day that neither of us particularly enjoyed, and I can honestly say that hearing this for the first time made it much better. Look for the recording of this song; it's marvelous.

Falcon, the Balloon Boy

Honestly, I don't know what could be nicer than this little incident that seemed to own the airwaves on Thursday, Oct. 15. After receiving a comuniqúe (cooler than text) asking if I had heard of Falcon, the Balloon Boy, I immediately set out on a digital quest to find all I could about him. After reading many news transcripts, watching many videos, and scanning the comments of those following the story from magical beginning to safe, but disappointing, end, I knew that I wanted to name something in my life Falcon.

I also learned that I wanted to invest in some sort of flying contraption that required little-to-no skills in aviation, and was metallic and shiny so as to attract a lot of media attention.

Check back soon for some Falcon, the Balloon Boy fan fiction.

If you have no idea what I am talking about, I suggest you do a quick Web search with your browser and search engine of choice. Simply use the search cues, "Falcon, the Balloon Boy."

I wrestled with the idea of just posting some videos and transcripts here, but I decided that the journey is half the fun.

Tron McKnight

I know this may be a cop-out, but I just wanted to use this forum to refer the readership to another nice blog written by a nice guy (my roommate). There are lots of nice things in this blog, and I'm certain you'll have a lot of nice chuckles whilst reading.

Enjoy the nicety that is Tron McKnight.

name that sensation

Help me out, please. I'm trying to come up with a word. What do you call it when a song falls into your lap and you're instantly smitten. You don't want to listen to any other song for at least a few days, or maybe ever again. Maybe. You're smitten, so you're allowed to entertain the idea that this song might be It for you. You put that song into its own playlist and then set that playlist to repeat. You haphazardly whip up a mix CD topped with that song or copy the song to your iPod so you can listen to it over and over again in your car. With the windows down and the wind blowing and the leaves are changing and you do feel home.

This song might be It for me.
(But I've said that before. And before that. And even before that. So many times.)

So what do you call this kind of song when it happens to you? Maybe I'll make you a mix of those songs of mine if you come up with a name for them that saves me the trouble of saying, "Oh man, I just heard this song and I can't stop listening to it."

Mono-Moviewatching

Have you seen Disney/Pixar's latest film, UP? If not, and if it is still playing in a theater near you, go see it ASAP. It's a wonderful movie, and I hope your experience will be as...um...moving...as mine was.

Hopefully all of you have gone to a movie by yourself. In my professional opinion, a solitary movie-going experience is up there with riding a really great roller-coaster for the seventh time in a row, or having a really great cup of coffee and thinking about the wonderful book you just finished. A solitary movie-going experience to UP is heavenly.

And soggy. And somewhat embarrassing. But still wonderful.

I had been wanting to see UP for a long time, as it had not yet come out in El Salvador while I was there. When I got back to the States, it took me a while to go and see it, and one day after my classes I finally did. By the way, a solitary movie-going experience is best experienced during a matinee showing.

So, I finally went. I walked in to the theater, and my only company were two mothers and their respective children sitting in the middle seats on either side of the aisle. So I settled down in the second row to the back: out of sight.

I was crying within the first 15 minutes. And by crying, I mean sobbing. And by sobbing, I mean, I was making crying noises and had my handkerchief out. I was a mess. I was doing all I could to not be heard by the mothers and children, who I'm certain were NOT crying.

Now, let's make something clear: I am not a crier. It is rare that I cry, and usually, when I do, I feel stupid. Sometimes my thoughts are that maybe a cry would be good for me, but about a minute in I usually regret it and want to get on with my life. So my UP experience was quite the anomaly. And, though I was embarrassed about it, I must admit that I left that theater feeling pretty good.

I'm not sure what the nice thing is here. It could be the movie, solitary movie-going experiences, or the therapeutic catharsis of a rare and unexpected cry. I suppose it could be all three.

Please don't bring up the crying thing outside of the digital world. I'll deny it. And I don't want to be a liar. That's not very nice.

New Movie Trailers: New York, I Love You

Remember Paris, Je t'aime? I could watch it again and again, but I've never been to Paris, and it's not even at the top of my list of places to see before I die.

I have been to New York City, and I did love it. After my tour group left Staten Island, I got sidetracked by a Middle Eastern street vendor on our way to the alluring bargains of Chinatown. Suddenly I found myself alone, lost in some public park because I couldn't resist New York's cheap and tasty street food. I sat on a park bench with the kebab in question, and imagined that this was what it felt like to be local. I was slightly disappointed when my friends finally found me.

That was the moment I fell for New York, and that is why I am so glad that a new New York, I Love You trailer just went online this weekend.



Hurry up and get here, October 16.

Rogue Tusk

Happy 4th of July weekend! I saw a lot of America in the last two weeks. My dad is home for a bit from his job overseas, so we took a family trip to Yellowstone, but not before spending Father's Day with my brother and sister-in-law (and future niece!) in Arkansas. Nathan was still pretty fresh off the plane from El Salvador. It's so rare that we get to chat in person, so catching up with him in Searcy was a very nice thing.

Here's who you're dealing with here at The Real Ideal.