I paid 25 cents to light a little white candle

For the last few months, I've felt like I've been seeing the number 424 unusually often. The number 424, or the time 4:24, or the date 4/24, or a 4 and a 24 next to each other. Some of you reading this already know why that number would have meaning to me. For anyone reading who doesn't know, it's because my wife Cara passed away on 4/24 - April 24, 2015. I was already feeling like I was seeing this combination of digits with uncanny frequency prior to the events I'll describe in this post. That's important background for the events I'll describe.

This year, on April 24, I traveled to Detroit to see a concert by one of my all time favorite bands, Typhoon. They're a band whose music, with lyrics grappling with mortality, was my own personal soundtrack to Cara's battle with lung cancer, so the date of the show was eerily fitting. It was even more weird to consider that the most recent previous Typhoon concert I attended had taken place on June 12, 2018 - that is, my and Cara's wedding anniversary. Significant concerts taking place on significant dates - a long running theme of my life and my blog!

It was really great to see Typhoon again for the first time in years. The band's lead singer Kyle Morton is an amazing person who I've befriended through conversations at previous Typhoon shows; unfortunately, I did not get a chance to catch up with him this time due to the band's very understandable COVID precautions. During the show he talked about how weird it was to be back out on the road playing in front of people but also how important it was, how there's such a big essential part of life that was missing when we couldn't have those in person gatherings. He also thanked people for wearing masks during the show - he has had some very serious health issues and is a kidney transplant recipient, so trying to avoid COVID is more important for him than for most people in our age bracket.

The show, along with visiting some very close friends in Ann Arbor earlier the same day, was a great way to mark an April 24. It was also not the first time I saw an important concert on April 24.

On April 24, 2018, I saw the Decemberists at Cleveland's Agora. They were a band Cara and I both loved and whose music had had some significance to our relationship. One of the highlights of that show was the performance of "Grace Cathedral Hill," a beautiful song from the Decemberists' debut album Castaways and Cutouts. I remember muttering "wow" upon my recognition that they were playing the song, because I was so happily surprised.

This has all been a prelude to what happened to me last week. I traveled to San Francisco last Wednesday to attend a meeting on Thursday and Friday where I'd discuss my research into asthma with other asthma researchers. That was what was supposed to happen, anyway. But then, on Wednesday, I realized I was feeling sick, with a sore throat and other symptoms of a respiratory infection. I took a COVID test and it was negative. On Thursday I took another COVID test and it was again negative. But I was still feeling sick. Apparently I'd come down with a cold. My symptoms had definitely made me wonder if I had COVID, even though I'm triple vaccinated and had an omicron infection at Christmas. It wouldn't be impossible. Despite apparently not having COVID this time, I still didn't want to expose all the other people at the meeting to my illness, especially considering that if they caught it, not only would they get sick, but they would have the added stress of wondering if they had COVID.

So I told the conference organizers what was going on, and then ended up with a bunch of time to kill in San Francisco, while feeling sick enough to not want to attend a meeting but not sick enough to be utterly incapacitated. I ate a lot of takeout meals. I watched a lot of playoff basketball on TV. I wandered around a lot on Wednesday, at first not realizing quite how sick I was feeling. I wore a KN95 mask whenever I was in an indoor space and tried to keep close contact with other people to a minimum. Thursday I mostly spent relaxing at my hotel, hoping I'd feel no longer sick by Friday morning, but this didn't happen. On Friday I again wandered around a lot, since at that point I was clearly missing all of the meeting and there was nothing else to do. The weather, thankfully, was beautiful the whole time I was there.

It was very disappointing to have traveled out there for the meeting and not get to participate in it, but on Friday I really managed to take advantage of my free time, and by the end of the day I came away from it thinking, oddly, that perhaps my illness had been... fortuitous?

I noticed that the famous "Painted Ladies" houses that are across the street from Alamo Square Park, as seen in the opening credits of Full House, were a couple miles' walk from my hotel, so I went there, and it was really nice just hanging out in that park for a while and taking in the sights and sounds and sun.

Heading back, I picked up some food, ate it in the park across from city hall, and then was looking at my phone trying to see if there was anything else interesting that wouldn't be a huge amount of extra walking, and I saw this:

Oh! Grace Cathedral, like in the Decemberists song! Well, I pretty much have to go, was my thought process, and then I scrolled through the music on my iPod, selected Castaways and Cutouts, hit play, and set out toward the cathedral.

I've always had a thing for cathedrals. The National Cathedral in Washington, D.C. is one of my favorite buildings anywhere. Grace Cathedral is another really nice one.

There's a line in the song that goes, "I paid 25 cents to light a little white candle," and because I'm a huge freaking nerd I of course decided, I should pay 25 cents to light a little white candle while in Grace Cathedral. (This was in addition to a $12 admission fee for visitors that I did not realize I'd have to pay until I was inside, but I decided, why not.) I first did some wandering around the inside of the cathedral, admiring the beautiful architecture and artwork and stained glass.

The whole time I was there, I was thinking of the song and of that Decemberists show that had taken place on 4/24. Eventually I decided I was ready to go and pay 25 cents to light a little white candle. I headed over toward a candle lighting station. While doing so I glanced at my watch.

The time was 4:24.

Long time readers of my blog might remember that I have a thing for noticing and pointing out weird coincidences. By now it's happened so much that things I would have once viewed as astounding coincidences, like the Typhoon show being on 4/24, I now kind of shrug my shoulders and laugh about. But this, especially in light of my already feeling like I was seeing those digits strangely often - this was a special one.

So I went, and I put a quarter in a donation box, and I lit a little white candle.

And then I stood there for a minute and talked to Cara. It's not something I do often, at least not in a direct way. But in this moment it felt like I was supposed to. I'm glad that I did.

After leaving the cathedral, I resumed my wandering, and resumed listening to the Decemberists on my iPod. The song "Grace Cathedral Hill" had not yet come up prior to my arrival at the cathedral but came on shortly after my departure. I stopped walking while listening to the song and just admired this view:

It gave me a very peaceful feeling, something I haven't had a whole lot of recently.

That night I caught a red eye flight from San Francisco to Washington DC before connecting back to Cleveland. I managed to sleep for most of the flight. Upon landing in DC, I was dismayed to receive a text message that my flight to Cleveland was cancelled and I'd have to select another flight. But this turned out to not be a problem because the flight had been replaced by another flight at the identical time. So the cancellation turned out to have no effect on my day, except for one thing, which is that I was issued a new boarding pass with an interesting combination of numbers on it:

Then, after I arrived in Cleveland, got to my car, and started driving home, I laughed when I noticed that the first gas station sign I saw showed a price of, you guessed it, $4.24.

Signs from Cara? Who knows, but it's nice to think that maybe they could be.

Public speaking and funerals

Twenty years ago, in 2001, I graduated high school. As part of the graduation ceremony I had to give a speech. Believe me, I was far from thrilled to be given this assignment. I strongly disliked, and in fact had a dreadful fear of, public speaking when I was younger. I still vividly remember the heightened pulse and sweatiness of the morning before I had to give an oral presentation on the novel 1984 in freshman English class. A few years later, I had made little progress against this fear.

Despite this fear, by all reports I did a respectable job with the graduation speech. I've thought back to that speech from time to time over the years. It's struck me that the subject matter of the speech was, in retrospect, eerie.

On May 11, 2001, a few weeks before I graduated high school, Douglas Adams, the author of classic sci-fi farce The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, suddenly and unexpectedly passed away from a heart attack at the age of 49. I adored Hitchhiker's Guide and its sequels and was shocked and saddened by this news. Not having much idea what to talk about in my speech, I eventually keyed in on Adams's life and tragic death as a theme.

This is eerie, in retrospect, because by giving a speech about someone who had recently died, I was in a way previewing my future life.

When I graduated high school, I had never experienced the death of someone close to me. The subject of my speech, the transitory nature of life and how we should therefore make the most of it, was thus something of an abstract concept. I reread the speech for the first time in many years before writing this post, and although at some points clumsily written, parts of it certainly resonate with me to this day.

"Although this could not compare to losing a close personal friend, I was deeply saddened when I heard the news.  I soon realized, however, that this event reinforces a valuable lesson.  Adams may have died at just 49, but I would wager that he did more of worth in his years on this Earth than many an octogenarian.  He touched millions with his special talents.  And this is the lesson I would like to take from him, one that is very important on this graduation day: we should all strive to make the most of our lives, however long or short they might last," I spoke to the audience in the auditorium. I went on:

"I do not suggest that we must all become famous.  There are many ways that one can make the most of his life.  Earning a high school diploma is a significant part of doing just that.  Work toward goals, to better yourselves and those around you.  Nourish your talents, whether they are in writing, music, science, athletics, or any other area.  Never dwell too long on the negative aspects of life.  Most importantly, enjoy yourselves, and try to bring happiness to others.

"With these things in mind, we can go out into the world and leave a positive mark on it.  Make the most of our brief stays on this planet, and whenever our time comes we will, perhaps, be able to have the “tremendous feeling of peace” that Arthur Dent, protagonist of the Hitchhiker’s series, does at his own end.  This feeling can only come from the knowledge that our lives have been worthwhile."

I mean, it's really quite eerie in retrospect, because as I said, these were abstract concepts to me at the time, but have since become defining themes of my life in a way that I think is not very common for someone my age. Although I did suffer a few personal losses in years to come, most notably one of my grandmothers during my senior year of college, to be honest there was never a death that really hit me on a deep personal level... until at the age of just 31, I lost the very closest person to me in the whole world, my wife Cara, to lung cancer.

By that point in time, thanks to my very lengthy experience obtaining a PhD, I had become far more experienced and confident about public speaking than I was as a high school, or even undergrad, student. I know some people, upon losing a spouse, find it too difficult to speak themselves at the funeral, which I find very understandable, but for me there was no question that I should eulogize my beloved wife.

It was a strange thing. Because I could still remember very well my younger days of being terrified of public speaking. And here I was, giving a speech about the death of my wife, the most painful loss imaginable, and after finishing I had the realization, Wow, I've gotten pretty good at this whole public speaking thing. And that realization felt pretty good! In spite of the horrific circumstances. So it was a strange thing to feel.

The funeral officiant, and my parents, and I, spoke heartfelt and meaningful words about Cara. And then the officiant asked if anyone else among those gathered for the ceremony would like to share their memories or thoughts about Cara.

No one did.

I understood how awkward and difficult it could be to get up in front of a roomful of people and give a speech. And plenty of people had shared beautiful tributes to Cara online, or to me in person. So I knew very well how much Cara had meant to people. And I wasn't mad at people for not volunteering to speak. But honestly, it did make me sad. I did wish that someone else would have gotten up and spoken a few words about what an amazing person she was. And if one person had broken the ice, more might have followed.

In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't a huge deal. But it was something I always remembered. And I think it was because of that memory that ever since, when there has been a funeral for someone about whom I've had any meaningful thoughts to share, I've taken the opportunity to do so.

In the first 31 years of my life I spoke at zero funerals. In the last 7 years, by my count, I've spoken at six. Sometimes as part of the program, sometimes at that "if anyone else would like to share their memories" moment. Either way, it's just... felt like the right thing to do? Because I know how much it can mean, as someone who has lost a loved one, to hear someone else talk about what that person meant.

Most recently, my Aunt Ellen passed away unexpectedly earlier this year. My dad, probably having noticed that speaking at funerals had kind of become my "thing," asked if I would deliver some words during the memorial service, and of course I did, along with my dad, some of my other aunts, and one of Ellen's coworkers. It was a beautiful ceremony. I spoke about all the things Ellen (an ER pediatrician) had done for me, for her other nieces and nephews, and for all the children who entered her life.

Sometimes when someone close to you dies, you already know they were an amazing person, but the things that people say about them after they die make you realize that they were even more amazing than you ever knew. The two people I've known for whom that was most true were Cara and Ellen.

After the memorial service, one of my aunts who spoke, who is about 70 years in age, told me that it was the first time she had ever done public speaking in her life, and that she had been incredibly nervous about it. I thought she had done a great job! And I was so struck by her words about feeling nervous. Because I could remember very well that feeling myself, from when I was a teenager. When you're a teenager, it's hard to imagine that someone who has lived so many more years on this Earth might be similarly nervous about public speaking. But thinking about it now, somewhat older and wiser - why not? It makes perfect sense that people of any age could be that nervous. It's interesting that speaking in public is one of those things that so commonly inspires such fear, and I wonder why that is. Like any skill, though, public speaking is one that improves and becomes more comfortable with practice. And that's something that can happen at any age.

Losing someone really close to you is one of the hardest things in the world, and hearing other people who knew that person speak about the impact they had is a good salve for the wound. It helps give, as I alluded to in my high school graduation speech, the knowledge that their lives have been worthwhile - an important thing. So I hope people can overcome their fears, and get up there, and speak those vital words. Take it from me, it's a very worthwhile thing to do.

And there are people like Ellen and Cara, who are so amazing and impact so many other people's lives, who probably never realize just what a tremendous impact they have on all the people around them. So in addition to speaking about them after they've passed - when someone has a big impact you, don't wait; let them know about it while they're still here.

Thankful, redux (or: Thanksgiving in the ICU)

I've been thinking a lot about all the people who will be spending this Thanksgiving in the ICU.

Unlike most people, I've already had the experience of seeing a loved one spend Thanksgiving in the ICU. Seeing a loved one spend Thanksgiving in the ICU while on supplemental oxygen, at that.

In November 2013, my wife Cara, who three months earlier had been diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer at the age of 34, had a sudden downturn in her health after her first treatment failed the week of Thanksgiving. Two days before Thanksgiving, having noticed an increasingly distressing deterioration of her respiratory function, she went to the hospital, was admitted, and soon found herself in an ICU bed.

I wrote about the whole experience four years ago in a post called Thankful so I won't recount the story in detail this time. The title of that post was taken from a post Cara herself wrote just days before her hospital admission called Thankful in which she reflected on how much she had to be grateful for despite her lung cancer diagnosis. She wrote the post before she realized her health was suddenly worsening again. That's a reminder to me about how precious our lives and good health are and how we should never take those things for granted.

Cara hated being in the ICU. I remember well how much she hated it. The crowded conditions, the lack of privacy, all the beeping of hospital machines and all the other noises that made it so difficult to get any restful sleep. She was very glad when she got to move to a room in the cancer center later that week, before the surgery she had the following week. But on Thanksgiving Day, she was still in the ICU.

A picture Cara posted from her ICU bed: "That bag looks like a turkey, right? Is it?? #adventuresoftheICU"

Every year since Cara had moved to Cleveland, we had traveled to Columbus together for Thanksgiving dinner with my family. I would make applesauce. Cara would make rolls. We would enjoy a delicious feast and quality time with loved ones. Despite Cara's recent cancer diagnosis, that was again our plan in 2013. Obviously, the plan changed. But Cara and I did still get to share Thanksgiving dinner with family. Her parents came up to Cleveland and together they and I, with Cara's father doing most of the cooking, prepared a feast just as scrumptious as any we'd had in the past, and we took the food in to the hospital to share with Cara.

(I fondly remember how much our cat Mitters loved to munch on pieces of leftover turkey. She went crazy for that stuff.)

It was not the ideal way to enjoy a Thanksgiving dinner. But we were all glad that we could at least do what we did. Looking back from the vantage point of November 2020? I'm even more grateful.

As much as Cara hated being in the ICU, her accommodations and the fact that she was able to share a Thanksgiving dinner with her husband and her parents were absolutely luxurious compared to what things are like for someone in an ICU during the raging COVID pandemic. An ICU patient now would likely only be permitted a single visitor, if even that. Certainly not three. And sharing a meal with a visitor would be out of the question due to the exposure risk.

For someone who is intubated, as many COVID ICU patients are, the simple act of eating food would be beyond their capacity. Something they could only dream of hopefully being able to do again in the future, if their condition improves.

And then there are all the nurses and doctors and other health care workers toiling away in those ICUs instead of having a relaxing holiday at home with their families. They've already sacrificed so much all year, and now they're being asked to sacrifice even more as the pandemic reaches its worst levels yet in most of the country.

As much as it breaks my heart to think of all the people spending this Thanksgiving in ICUs across the country, I fear that Christmas next month could be even worse.

In all likelihood, it will be even worse, if enough people decide to have their usual Thanksgiving gatherings this week.

So I beg you, think of all those overwhelmed health care workers, and think of all those ICU patients, and think of all those potential future ICU patients whose illnesses could be prevented if we all decide to stay safe this week. Think of those people when you decide how you're going to celebrate this Thanksgiving. And even if you've already decided to avoid risky gatherings, perhaps someone you know has other plans. Perhaps by politely urging that person to reconsider, you could make a difference - a difference that could (although you'll never know it) save someone's life.

If my writing this post stops just one person from getting sick with COVID, it will have been a success.

I know how exhausted everyone is from this horrible pandemic. I know we all want it to be over and to be able to go back to doing all the things we miss so much from our normal lives. It's very understandable to just want to have a normal Thanksgiving right now.

The bad news is, this week the pandemic is worse than it ever has been, and it is less safe than ever to hold such a gathering.

Why, then, am I thankful at this dark point in time?

Because the good news is that the end is in sight.

We have recently gotten amazing news about vaccines that have been developed in record time.

When I wrote my previous post about Thanksgiving in the ICU, and about being thankful, the reason I was thankful was this: when Cara was in the ICU that Thanksgiving, it looked like her life was near its end, but thanks to amazing advances in cancer treatments and to the heroic work of scientists and doctors, she got to have another 17 months of life, and during that time we made so many wonderful memories together. And now I am thankful for similar reasons.

It borders on miraculous that we are getting these vaccines this quickly. And think about the past, before these marvelous advances in science and medicine had occurred. Think about what it was like before there were vaccines. The Black Plague killed a third or more of the people in Europe in the mid-1300s. The 1918 influenza pandemic killed about 50 million people worldwide.

If we were not able to develop a vaccine, we might have to eventually settle for just letting the virus run its course through the population while doing our best to protect more vulnerable people (efforts that so far are failing rather horribly here in the United States). Think about that. In New York City, about 3 out of every 1000 residents has been killed by COVID. Extrapolate that death rate to the entire US and it would be about one million deaths. And cases have started rising again in New York, showing that as much as some people would like to tell you otherwise, "herd immunity" has not been achieved.

Who can say how long it would take and how many people would have to die for the pandemic to run its course without vaccines? Not to mention the even larger number of people left with long-lasting reduced quality of life by their infections? It's horrific to contemplate.

We should all be so, so thankful for these advances in medical science, and for all the people whose hard work has made them possible.

Now is not the time to gather with people from outside your household for a Thanksgiving dinner. But it is a good time to reflect on reasons to be thankful.

In the coming months, people will start getting vaccinated. Over time, more and more of the population will be protected against the virus. In the spring, weather will start getting warmer again and more suitable for spending time outdoors, further driving infections down. By the summer, we could very well be back to something like normal.

I'm going to be so incredibly thankful when I can safely hang out with a group of friends, have a normal dinner with my family, go to concerts again. Probably about as thankful as I've ever been for anything in my life. Just imagine what that's going to feel like. And keep those thoughts with you through these dark winter months.

Next year, let's have the best Thanksgiving ever.

"That's the best kind of show, sometimes"

September 13, 2006. An ordinary Wednesday. I got up in the morning, had breakfast, realized I was exhausted, went back to bed, and finally managed to drag myself back out of bed at about 1:15 so I could go to my 2:00 class.

(I know that this is what happened on that particular day 14 years ago because I told it to Cara in a message I sent her that day.)

I was a second year graduate student, living alone in a little apartment on the fourth floor of an apartment building near Case Western Reserve University's North Residential Village. I was also recovering from a broken arm suffered at the beginning of August, and had just very recently gotten my cast removed but was still wearing a wrist brace for support (that figures into this story later). I had a penchant for staying up very, very late playing computer games and chatting with a certain girl who lived in Columbus. Hence the dragging myself out of bed so I could go to a 2:00 pm class.

It was an ordinary day. Little did I know at the time that it was a day that would turn out to be at least a little bit life-changing.

"I'm heading to a concert pretty soon," I messaged Cara at 9:52 pm.

"Tonight?" she asked.

"Yeah," I replied, and explained that it was two local bands, playing a free show at my school. (This was one of the weekly Spot Night shows, a topic I've written about before.)

"Ah," said Cara. "That's the best kind of show, sometimes."

My response? A blunt, "I disagree."

That's hilarious to me now. Both the bluntness (something I still do, but did to a far, far greater extent back then) and the fact that back then I just had no idea how amazing little, local concerts could be! Every really great show I'd been to had been a nationally known band. I'd seen a few decent performances by local bands, but I genuinely didn't consider the idea that a little known Cleveland band might become one of my favorites.

That night totally changed how I viewed local music.

"I just got back," I messaged Cara at 12:26 am. "The concert was really good. It was an interesting mix of genres, the first band was alt-country and the second was post-rock. I bought CDs from both... I liked both of them more than any other obscure Northeast Ohio bands I've seen."

The CDs

That was an enthusiastic endorsement from 23-year old Jeff. (I've realized I tend to express myself much more passionately now than I did back then.) That show really did far exceed any previous performance by local bands that I'd experienced. And in doing so, it pretty much opened up a whole new world of music to me, right in my backyard, as in the ensuing years I went to more and more shows by local artists and discovered more and more to love in the music of "obscure Northeast Ohio bands."

The two bands who played at the Spot that night were called Goodmorning Valentine (the alt-country band) and To Be a High Powered Executive (the post-rock band, and if you know anything about the genre I'm sure you could have guessed which band was which). It was the recent release after a very long hiatus of a new To Be a High Powered Executive album that inspired me to write this post! More on that in a bit.

After seeing their excellent performances and buying and listening to their CDs, I would become big fans of both bands that played that night. One thing that really made an impression on me, in addition to their music, was how friendly and down-to-Earth the musicians were. And that's another thing that seems funny to me now, because why wouldn't they be? But back then, I didn't know that.

I told Cara about how when I bought a CD from Goodmorning Valentine, the lead singer asked what had happened to my (brace-enclosed) wrist and that he "seemed genuinely concerned." I really appreciated that genuine concern. I also said that during their set, he had said, "Do you always get this many people here? We should play here more often."

Despite the crowd of "60 to 70 people," which to me was quite small, I noted that this had definitely been said with sincerity.

"I love that," Cara said.

"Both of the bands seemed really nice and appreciative of the crowd," I replied.

"A show isn't anything without the people," Cara added.

Ain't that the truth. (Thanks, COVID...)

That's one of the great things about being a fan of local musicians, or not just local musicians, but also many other musicians who regularly play to modest crowds. You often get the chance to connect with them on a person-to-person level, and when you tell them how much you appreciate their music, that will really mean something to them. I've said it before, when someone creates something that has an impact on your life, and you get the opportunity to tell them, you should take that opportunity.

I've discovered more and more wonderful local bands in the years since. To Be a High Powered Executive, though... there was just something about that band. In the period from 2006-2008, I'm pretty sure they became the band I'd seen live the most times. And they were just so good. I was pretty heavily into the post-rock genre (mainly instrumental music, usually guitar-driven but sometimes with orchestral elements, featuring complex arrangements and melodies and often quite lengthy songs as well as often lengthy song titles [e.g. "The King Has Bled, We Have Slept, and Now We Must Wake"] and/or band names [e.g. To Be a High Powered... well, you get the point]) at the time, including a strong fandom of big names in the genre like Explosions in the Sky and Godspeed You! Black Emperor. I did feel that in a lot of the lesser acts in the genre, and even sometimes with the bigger names, there was a tendency for the music to be a bit formulaic. Like how many different ways can you write a swelling guitar crescendo?

To Be a High Powered Executive, they never failed to keep things interesting in a way that few post-rock bands could match. Their music kept you on your toes because there was so much variety from song to song and also even within songs; halfway through a song it would go in a totally different direction, but at the same time it all flowed together so well. Another strength was their strong rhythm section; the intricate bass melodies were a marvel to see live, and between that and the drumming the music just had this great groove to it, it was danceable as hell and that was part of why they were so fun live. Add two guitars trading off parts that ranged from delicate to face-melting (oh, plus an occasional fifth member adding some nice percussion and xylophone flourishes), and they were just a machine. One of the best post-rock bands I've ever seen, my favorite local Northeast Ohio band I've ever seen, and a band who deserved far more fame and recognition than they received, but who did have a small but devoted following.

Cara became a big fan of the band too, although she, still living in Columbus at the time, didn't get to see them live nearly as many times as I did. I remember buying a CD for her at one of their shows that I went to solo, their 2007 album We Don't Want It Safe, We Want It Secret. It's an excellent album that I highly recommend.

(Here are a few pictures from a fantastic show at the Grog Shop with TBaHPE opening for Le Loup and also joining the latter band on stage during one of the headliners' songs. I think this was the show where I bought the CD for Cara.)

One of my favorite memories related to the band is something that Cara liked to say. In a great live version of their song "To Morla" that was made available online, at one point one of the guitars inadvertently hits a note a half-step too high before adjusting downward to the correct note, and it doesn't sound bad, just different, but it was very noticeable to people like Cara and me who had listened to the original version of the song so many times. So Cara liked to call that note "the accidental accidental." That combination of music nerdiness and wordplay is an excellent example of why I loved her so much.

On November 25, 2008, two days before Thanksgiving, I sent an email to Cara with a very short subject line:

:(

And in the email I quoted what I believe was a MySpace message from the band:

THIS IS IT..... OUR FINAL PERFORMANCE

WEDNESDAY at the BEACHLAND, $3 DREADFUL YAWNS HOT RAILS TO BE A HIGH POWERED EXECUTIVE Hello friends. With sadness and joy, we announce after many confusing months our final show.....ever. We are playing first, so come early. It will sort of be like a Thanksgiving present from all of us. But, there will be a set full of oldies, goodies, and even some new ones that you'll have this show only to hear. It is also the last night in Cleveland for our dear Michael Lassins..... if nothing else, come to see him before he is on his way. <3 tbahpe

"Well, now I want to go to this concert," I added, and also mentioned that I didn't know whether my dad had gotten tickets for "the hockey game" yet. Apparently on Wednesday, the night before Thanksgiving and the night of the concert, there was a Columbus Blue Jackets game and we had been invited to go to the game with my parents and were trying to decide whether we wanted to go. (Cara had moved to Cleveland in September and we would be heading down to Columbus for Thanksgiving.) The sudden and unexpected announcement that my favorite local band would be playing their last show ever made it a very clear decision to me - going to the concert was a much higher priority than going to a hockey game.

So that's what Cara and I did. I remember being in the tiny Beachland Tavern, near the front of the crowd, rocking out to those familiar tunes, feeling exhilarated but also saddened that this was the last time.

That happens a lot with local bands. They come and go. A band member might move to another town and then that's just the end. Or the members might just move on to other things in their lives. It's nice when you at least get a chance for a sendoff, like in this case. I remember Cara and I also happened to be at the final show of another local band we really liked, Unsparing Sea - that time we didn't know in advance that it was the last one. Other local bands I've loved, like Machine Go Boom and Afternoon Naps, have faded out of existence without a farewell show, at least not to my recollection. The band Likenesses released an amazing debut album in 2015 and shortly after dropped off the face of the Earth and I never found out why.

So I'm really glad Cara and I got to go to that last To Be a High Powered Executive show.

I remember after their set Cara and I wanted to get t-shirts, and we tried to give them money but they didn't let us pay, saying, "We're done. Just take them." I still treasure that shirt.

We didn't even end up sticking around for the other bands. So we delayed our trip to Columbus by a day and skipped out on an NHL game to see one band play for maybe an hour or less. But it was absolutely 100% worth it.

At the time, TBaHPE had been working on another album, but then had to break up due to one of the members moving out of state. The album was never completed, and I was always sad about that.

And thus it was to my absolute delight when the album Tall Shapes appeared practically out of nowhere last month after a nearly 12-year hiatus for the band. It might even be one of my favorite things to have happened in this godforsaken year.

The album is certainly a departure in sound from the old TBaHPE (I was very surprised when I hit play for the first time and early in the first track heard singing, something that was completely absent from the band's previous albums) but after giving it a number of listens I'm a big fan and it's a great addition to the catalog. The songs are shorter, there are new and more diverse instrumentations, a few of the tracks have, yes, vocals - all in all, it's a nice evolution of the band's sound (at times reminding me of a cross between the old TBaHPE and the very little known Trumpets in the Snow project two of the band's members did a number of years ago) that at heart retains most of the essential elements that made the band so good in the first place. What a great surprise and gift to have this new album after so, so many years.

I might be even more thrilled if, some day, the band could play a reunion show, playing their old and new songs. Who knows if that's something that could realistically ever happen, but it's nice to imagine. A show in an intimate setting with a small but enthusiastic audience of friends and devoted fans.

That's the best kind of show, sometimes.

The cost

Having been married to a really amazing person who was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer at the age of 34 and tragically succumbed to the disease at the age of 36 has, I think, given me a perspective on the COVID-19 pandemic that most people my age don't have.

For a related example, during my early adult years, I didn't bother getting an annual flu shot. I'll be fine even if I do get the flu, so what's the point? I thought. I know this is a very common attitude.

After Cara became ill with lung cancer, she passionately advocated for everyone to get their flu shots. Obviously, I did get mine, and I've continued to ever since, because now I understand - the reason it's important for young, healthy people to get their flu shots isn't to protect those young, healthy people from the flu; it's to decrease the chances that someone like Cara, who had compromised lung function and at certain points during her various treatments a compromised immune system, would get the flu. Getting a flu shot is such an easy thing to do but something with such enormous benefits if everyone does it. (Yes, flu shots aren't perfect and sometimes there are outbreaks of a strain that the shot didn't cover - that doesn't mean that flu season wouldn't have been much worse without the flu shots.) But before it was made personal, the importance of getting those shots never got through to me. So now I try to remind all the people out there who are lucky enough to not yet have had it made personal.

Now we're facing a historic outbreak of a viral respiratory infection that is far more deadly than the flu, and there's no shot we can get to protect ourselves and our vulnerable loved ones. So we have to do other things to protect all the vulnerable people out there - be diligent about washing our hands, don't touch our faces (these are things that would help against flu outbreaks too, and hopefully that's a lesson that society will learn going forward), and most important right now, social distancing.

It's simple math and biology. When an infectious disease is spreading in a population and we don't know who all has it, the more contacts there are between people, the more likely it is that the disease will spread. And with this particular disease, unless strong containment measures are taken, exponential, uncontrollable growth is inevitable, and it will result in our health care system being overwhelmed. There's a tendency for people to think "it can't happen here" but it can and it will. Look at places like Italy and Spain where the body counts are piling up and doctors are having to triage patients like during wartime. People who have severe symptoms and are too old are simply not given life-saving treatment because the resources just don't exist. It's already starting to be like that in New York City, and without serious intervention it will eventually be like that Everywhere. In. The. Country.

I've been thinking a lot about that twenty month period of time between Cara's diagnosis with lung cancer and her death, and what that time would have been like if it had happened against the backdrop of the raging COVID-19 pandemic.

Three months after Cara's initial hospitalization, her first treatment failed, her condition dramatically worsened, and we spent Thanksgiving in the ICU leading up to a surgery to create a window in Cara's pericardium and drain the fluid that was accumulating in the space around her heart. Imagine if that had happened while ICUs were overwhelmed with COVID-19 patients and there were no available beds. Stage 4 lung cancer is incurable; although some people now live a long time with the disease thanks to new treatments, the expected prognosis is still, ultimately, death. Someone with a terminal illness would not and could not be a top priority for an ICU bed in such a situation. Chances are Cara would have been dead. It would all have been over just three months after her diagnosis. Those additional seventeen months that have so many memories that I cherish so much (because that Thanksgiving in the ICU my honest assessment of the situation was that she likely did not have a whole lot more time left) would never have happened. And that's what will happen to so many people if the pandemic spreads unchecked. So many people will die premature deaths of COVID-19 and of so many other things, deaths that could have been prevented if the health care system wasn't so overwhelmed.

After the Thanksgiving in the ICU, Cara started a new treatment and her condition improved greatly. She never again returned to the ICU until the week before her death. But imagine also how different those seventeen precious extra months would have been if COVID-19 had cropped up during them. Cara would have had to live in constant fear of contracting the illness. She couldn't have continued working. She wouldn't have been able to hang out with her friends. The two of us couldn't have done so many great things that we did together. We couldn't have gone out and done pretty much anything other than go for walks. And walks are wonderful and I'm sure a lot of us are gaining newfound appreciation for them right now, but there are so many other things, so many wonderful social activities - for humans are social creatures, after all - that we and especially Cara would have had to miss. She would have been essentially trapped in our home for most of every day to reduce her risk of getting the infection and knowing Cara, I know how awful that would have been for her. And if I happened to find myself in any situation where there was a fear I might have contracted the virus, I'd have had to physically separate myself from Cara, and it's hard to imagine how hard that would have been for both of us, the whole time knowing that she had a life-threatening disease and every moment we had together was precious.

The spring after Cara's diagnosis, I successfully defended my dissertation after many long years of graduate school. Cara was so proud of me and so excited that she got to walk across the stage with me as I received my diploma.

Imagine if that had happened against the backdrop of COVID-19. The dissertation defense would have been virtual. There'd have been no going out to celebrate with family. The graduation ceremony wouldn't have happened. Cara wouldn't have gotten to walk across the stage with me. So many happy memories would never have been created.

In early March of 2015, Cara and I took a trip to Miami Beach together.

Obviously, that trip would not have happened during a COVID-19 pandemic. It was really great that we got to take that trip because it had been a very cold winter and that was really hard for Cara. We had no idea at the time she only had a month and a half to live. Because of that the memories are extra special to me.

When Cara did go, in a room on the Cleveland Clinic's palliative care floor, her mother and I were with her, and one or the other or both of us had spent a great deal of the time with her during those last few days. Right now at the Clinic there are no visitors to hospital patients with certain very limited exceptions. So for most of that time, at least until it became clear that the end was imminent, Cara would have been scared and alone in her hospital room. Or if the hospital system had become overwhelmed, maybe she wouldn't have even been able to receive proper end of life care.

And of course after Cara died, there was a funeral. When someone we love dies, it's such an important part of the grieving process to be able to get together with others who loved that person and to share memories and hugs and tears. Right now, that couldn't happen. There would probably be a video chat memorial service. There are probably going to be a whole lot of those in the weeks and months to come. And we would be thankful for having the technology to allow us to do that, but we would also be missing out on an essential part of the human experience by not being able to get together in person to say our goodbyes, to grieve, and to celebrate the lives of our lost loved ones.

Because being physically together with people we care about is such an important part of the human experience, it's hard right now to remove so much of that contact from our lives. But understand - the hypothetical scenarios I envisioned in this post, of what Cara's life with and death from cancer might have been like under the specter of COVID-19, those are reality right now for so many people. That's part of the cost of all this. And although we cannot control the fact that this virus exists and has spread to our country, we, collectively, have a great deal of power to control how bad it gets. If we let it get really bad, if a large percentage of the population ignores social distancing, the scenarios I imagined in this post multiplied by millions could be the ultimate cost. That is a really horrible thing to imagine. But it's not imaginary. It's already real in places like Italy. It's already starting to become real here.

Every time someone ignores social distancing, they potentially add to that cost. Every time someone decides to get together with a group of friends because they think this can't hurt them. Every time people go and play basketball at the park (playing basketball is something I really miss right now, but I understand why I can't do it!). Every time a business owner decides their business is essential when it isn't really essential and keeps their employees coming into contact with each other and with other people. Most especially every time someone in a position of government authority makes a decision to not enact strict social distancing measures when all the evidence and all the experts say it's imperative we do that right now. Every time someone does one of those things, it's potentially adding another name to what will be a very long list of people who had to suffer alone in a hospital without their loved ones visiting them, to die not because there was nothing that could be done to save them but because there weren't enough resources to do it, and then to not have a funeral to give their loved ones some comfort at such a horrible time.

That's the cost. Please do everything you can to minimize that cost. Please. I know most of my friends are already taking this seriously, but if you aren't, please, please do. And if you know other people who aren't taking it seriously, please, please pass along this message to them. It could be one of the most important things you'll ever do in your life.

Sing that song you sang long ago

March 2006 was a very eventful month in my life.

The first weekend of the month found me in Chicago for the conference championship indoor track meet, the last time in my life that I'd represent my school in a race (this was my first year of grad school and during that year I had one season of indoor track eligibility to use but had used up my four years of cross country and outdoor track during undergrad). A week after being in Chicago, I took a trip to LA (for the first time) to see two concerts by my favorite band Ozma (for the first time) in Hollywood. Those were my favorite concerts I'd ever been to and that trip ranked among the best experiences of my life. The trip to LA was followed by a stay with my family in Columbus during my spring break.

Later that month, I saw Andrew Bird for the first time in a concert at my school. It didn't occur to me until recently that seeing Andrew Bird for the first time was also among the exciting things I did in March 2006 and that there was a strange significance to this.

Circumstances conspired in a weird and wonderful way such that December 2019 found me almost reliving that momentous month of March 2006. To recap, in March 2006 I went to Chicago, a week later I went on an amazing trip to LA to see two Ozma concerts that were my favorite shows I'd ever attended, after LA I went to Columbus to visit my family, and I saw an Andrew Bird concert. And in December 2019? I went to Chicago to see an Andrew Bird concert, a week later I went on an amazing trip to LA to see two Ozma concerts that are now my favorite shows I've ever attended, and after LA I went to Columbus to see my family.

Another very important thing happened in March 2006, which is that during that visit to Columbus, I met Cara in person. Quite a month, and not a bad one to sort of relive.

The Andrew Bird concert I attended in Chicago on the 12th of last month was one that was just steeped with emotion and meaning for me. I've seen Andrew Bird a lot of times over the years, more than any other non-local artist except for Okkervil River, but this one was extra special. Bird has created a tradition of playing "Gezelligheid" concerts each December at the 4th Presbyterian Church in his hometown of Chicago. Gezelligheid (says Wikipedia) "is a Dutch word which, depending on context, can be translated as 'conviviality', 'coziness', 'fun'. It is often used to describe a social and relaxed situation. It can also indicate belonging, time spent with loved ones, catching up with an old friend or just the general togetherness that gives people a warm feeling." Going to one of the Chicago shows this year was something I decided I had to do as soon as the shows were announced. There were two times in the past when I had tickets for one of Bird's Gezelligheid shows and ended up not going. The first time was in 2013. Cara had been diagnosed with lung cancer in August. Andrew Bird was her favorite musician, and I wanted her to be able to have this really great experience so I bought tickets for us to see the show. She was really excited about it. Then her health took a serious downturn in late November and she ended up being in no condition to make the trip so we had to cancel our plans. Unfortunately Bird did not do Gezelligheid shows in 2014; Cara's health was good enough that year in December that we could have gone and I'm sure we would have.

Bird has also, in addition to the Chicago shows, done Gezelligheid shows in certain other cities in certain years. In 2017 there were shows in Nashville and I bought a pair of tickets. Then my would-have-been date for the concert abruptly broke up with me, so again I ended up not going. It's funny, that was so painful at the time, but now I can look back on it and laugh. Yeah, I still have scars from the experience, and yeah, I still miss her daughter although with nothing like the intensity I once did, but recent events in my life have really driven home to me how we were not actually such an ideal match for each other as it seemed at the time.

Cara, of course, was very much on my mind during the Chicago trip and especially during the concert.

I had been to Chicago many times before for various reasons but never for a solo trip. It was actually really fun exploring the city by myself, visiting familiar spots from previous trips and checking out a number of new ones including some really cool restaurants and bars. And the Andrew Bird concert? It was just breathtaking.

The morning of the show I headed out on foot into the city from my hotel, which by a happy coincidence (as I booked it via Hotwire and only knew the approximate location until after booking) was right next door to the 4th Presbyterian Church. I noticed the church was open to the public during the day and I wandered inside and was immediately awestruck.

It's a beautiful building, and I thrilled at seeing the setup for Bird's show including the familiar spinning horn speakers. I also took advantage of the opportunity to scope out the seating and realized that in the balcony section for which I had a ticket, some of the seats would have obstructed views, so as the seating was first come first served within the section for which one had a ticket, I decided I'd better arrive at the venue early that evening.

It was a beautiful day and I had a great time wandering the city, highlighted especially be my going ice skating for the first time in probably around fifteen years, and by a visit to the Chicago Cultural Center (originally the first Chicago Public Library building), which I decided to enter on a whim thinking that it looked interesting and then discovered was one of the most spectacular buildings in terms of interior architecture and decor that I've ever visited, including two stained glass rotundas.

After an early dinner, I arrived outside the church at 6 pm, an hour before doors opened and two hours before show time, to find I was about tenth in line. Arriving early was a wise choice. The line became quite long over the course of the next hour. I was able to secure first choice of seats in the balcony section, and found myself with a perfect view of the stage.

(There were signs prohibiting picture taking so no pictures from during the show. The guy next to me blatantly disregarded the signs. Come on, dude.)

Madison Cunningham, a young SoCal-based singer-songwriter, opened the night with a very nice solo set. Andrew Bird came next. And his performance was magical.

In some ways I was transported back to that very first time I had seen him play, in 2006. I specifically remember at that show being in awe of Bird's wizardry with looping pedals to overlay violin and other melodies. Over the years since, Bird's shows have transitioned more into full band performances and the looping wizardry has taken a backseat. And I do love those full band shows as well. But there's something even more magical about Andrew Bird performing solo.

And the church setting, of course, added to the magic. Much better than a small room crowded with college students, many of them talking.

I also remember that in the early years of me seeing Bird live, he would play a xylophone on some of the songs, and I always found it charming how there seemed to be this sharp contrast between the methodical and intently focused way he would strike the bars of the xylophone to produce simple melodies and the seemingly effortless way he would play stunningly beautiful and far more complex violin parts. Recent Bird shows I've seen have not included the xylophone. Here it was back, and just like I remembered from before, and I smiled as I recalled those memories.

It was just a delightful show. A very intimate atmosphere, and indeed, a cozy one. Different from any concert I've attended before, and in a wonderful way. The set included five songs from Bird's brilliant latest release My Finest Work Yet, which I saw performed in its entirety at a great concert in September, but all the songs as well as a number of other great selections spanning most of Bird's career were presented as new (to me) arrangements that took full advantage of the intimate setting and stripped down instrumentation. Madison Cunningham joined Bird to play guitar and sing on most of the songs he played, but there was still plenty of looping wizardry, and her voice was a wonderful counterpart - especially on a beautiful rendition of "Left Handed Kisses," the album version of which features Fiona Apple in a duet with Bird.

Song after song I was just in awe at the beautiful performance I was witnessing. I also found myself thinking, over and over, Cara would love this so much. She really, really would have. And it's very sad that she never got to go to one of these Gezelligheid shows, but I'm so glad I finally got to go myself, and I'm also so glad that Andrew Bird's music continues to help me stay connected with Cara.

The next day I took full advantage of my remaining time in Chicago. Among other things, I (for the first time) rode the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier, partly inspired by its mention in Sufjan Stevens' song "Come On! Feel the Illinoise!"

I also, for my last stop before heading home, went for another trip down memory lane in Chinatown and ate at Lao Sze Chuan restaurant, which I was introduced to by a Chinese colleague when in town for a conference in 2009, and which I also went to with Cara and our friends Jordan and Ruth in 2013.

Chicago was great. Andrew Bird was amazing. In a typical month for me, the Chicago trip definitely would have been the highlight.

But then the next week I went to Los Angeles. And let me tell you, the trip to Los Angeles... it was just something else. It was an astonishingly sublime experience, one of the best of my entire life. I seriously get emotional just thinking about it. It may have been the best trip I've taken since my honeymoon, and I really mean that.

As I had done in March 2006, I flew out to Los Angeles by myself with tickets for two Ozma concerts on consecutive nights. That trip in 2006 was the first time I had ever done something like that by myself. It was an amazing experience. Life-changing, even. I had become obsessed with Ozma the previous year and was very sad that they had broken up and I would apparently never get to see them live, so when they announced they were getting back together I decided I had to go to the reunion shows despite them being on the other side of the country. It was oh so worth the trip. And at the time, Cara and I had started to become online friends, we'd started to connect over music, and she had gotten into Ozma because of me. So I was also looking forward to meeting her in person and telling her about seeing Ozma live.

After we met in person, in an already planned get together just days after my return from LA, it wasn't long before we were IMing for hours almost every day. The final race of my collegiate running career having happened a week before that LA trip, and my meeting Cara in person happening in the week after... it could perhaps be said that that marked the point in time when the most primary focus of my life switched from running to Cara.

In August of that year, still "just friends," the two of us took our first trip together, to Washington DC, to see Ozma (opening for the Rentals, another band we liked, but Ozma were our reason for making the trip). So Ozma's music is inextricably tied to my friendship and relationship with Cara and to that period of time in my life when she and I met and became the closest of friends with each other.

When Ozma announced last year that they would be playing a twentieth anniversary show for their first and most iconic album Rock and Roll Part Three, the album that I have undoubtedly listened to more than any other album in my life, it was a very easy decision - once more, I had to make that trip to LA.

In 2006, I took a very minimalist approach to my trip. I flew into LA on the day of the first show, took the Metro to Hollywood, checked into my very basic hotel for a two-night stay, and got around entirely on foot (walking as well as running) before taking the Metro back to the airport the morning after the second show. This time around I decided to make the most of the vacation and stayed for four nights. I also rented a car, although I do admire my past self's sole reliance on public transit and my own legs for transportation. (And I did, to my credit, do even more walking on this more recent trip!) I got to do a lot more in the LA area this time, including some amazing waffles...

a fun mountain bike ride near Santa Monica and walk out to the pier...

and a great time hanging out with my cousin Chelsea and seeing her wonderful bluegrass band the Salty Suites the day after that of the second Ozma show.

I also enjoyed revisiting familiar sights in the Hollywood area from my previous trip there on the last day of this visit, including spectacular views at Runyon Canyon.

Really, just about everything on the trip was wonderful, but the main focus of the trip was the Ozma concerts (they added the Thursday 12/19 show after the Friday 12/20 show quickly sold out), and the Ozma concerts.... Oh. My. God. The Ozma concerts!

The Andrew Bird concert really hit me emotionally but I was fully expecting it to and its emotional impact was about what I predicted. The Ozma concerts, I knew they'd be a big deal for me, but I didn't really realize ahead of time just how big a deal. You know how when you're a kid you get so, so excited the day before Christmas? Well, it was fitting that these shows were so close to Christmas, because I started to feel that same way in the day leading up to the first show.

I saw Ozma three times in 2006 - the two in Hollywood in March, and the one in DC with Cara in August. Then Cara and I saw them once more, in July 2007 in Columbus (we were actually supposed to see them on back-to-back nights in Cleveland and Columbus but the Cleveland show was cancelled when their van broke down). That was the last time I'd seen them. It had been more than twelve years. A band that was so integral to that very impactful time in my life, and then, although never ceasing to be one of my favorite bands, over the years kind of faded out of my day-to-day existence. So much has happened to me in between 2007 and now. Cara moved to Cleveland, we moved in together, we got engaged, we got married, she got diagnosed with lung cancer, we had numerous amazing adventures through it all, and then she died, and all sorts of interesting things have happened since then, and through it all, Ozma's music remained at the foundation of my and Cara's relationship, even if in a way that I no longer thought about nearly as often. Somewhere along the way Okkervil River surpassed Ozma as my favorite band. And Okkervil River are probably the most important band in my life overall. But Ozma will always be the most important band to my meeting, getting to know, becoming best friends with, and falling in love with Cara. And whereas I've seen Okkervil River numerous times throughout all those years, all of the things that have happened in that long, long time since I'd last seen Ozma meant that the emotional impact of seeing Ozma in concert was an order of magnitude greater than the already great emotional impact of my long ago previous Ozma concert experiences.

As these concerts were for the twentieth anniversary of Rock and Roll Part Three, they featured performances of that entire album, along with a second set featuring a sort of greatest hits selection from other albums. So I'm going to take a minute or a few to just gush over what a great album Rock and Roll Part Three is.

There are certain albums - most notably Ozma's R&RP3, Okkervil River's Down the River of Golden Dreams, and Typhoon's White Lighter - that I have such a strong emotional connection to that there's no way I could ever attempt an even remotely objective evaluation of them (not that there's any such thing as an objective evaluation of a work of art, but I think you get what I mean), and there's probably no way anyone who didn't have a strong emotional tie to those albums could love them as much as I do, but I still think that Ozma accomplished an undeniably remarkable thing with R&RP3. The members of the band were teenagers when they made the album. Teenagers! How many classic albums were made by teenagers? And when I listen to the album I marvel at how well it works as an album, not just a collection of songs. How well sequenced it is, how well the songs flow from one to the next, the way that certain themes pop up at multiple points in the album in an almost symphonic way.

The album kicks off with "Domino Effect" and a catchy melody first played on keyboard which is then joined by electric guitar on the same melody, a signature Ozma sound, followed by a breakdown section, and then the lyrics "Chances last a finite time/in the warm July night time/Every care that keeps you from your feet/is a care that carries your defeat." Those simple words spoke to me back in 2006 and still speak to me today. Life is finite. We only get so many chances to make the most of it. So if you have the opportunity, go to California to see a concert by one of your favorite bands. You'll be glad you did. And take a chance on asking out that girl/guy you like.

Every care that keeps you from your feet is a care that carries your defeat.

"Domino Effect" ends with repeating bass notes seguing directly into second track "Apple Trees." I wrote this in 2006:

When I heard the lyrics "An apple pie, the number pi, I studied you in math class, and did all my work but never got your digits" in "Apple Trees" I was pretty much hooked.

Ozma, especially on their first album, very much made "geek rock," a term also applied to Weezer, who heavily influenced Ozma and helped them break out by taking them on tour. Listening to this album at times you could almost think you were listening to Weezer. I love Weezer's first two albums but I think Ozma took what Weezer were doing and made it even better. (Ozma, unlike Weezer, also had the good sense to not keep releasing album after album after album after having run out of good songs.) I'm very much a geek, so this aspect of their music very much appealed to me. I also have a thing for puns and wordplay, so, yeah.

The next two tracks "Shootingstars" and "Natalie Portman" dial up the emotional intensity. And "Natalie Portman" is the best example of how, while it is remarkable that an album this good was made by teenagers, it's also an album that requires having been made by teenagers to be this good. The very heartfelt song about having a crush on Natalie Portman (pretty relatable to me when I first heard it) would be intensely creepy if it had been written by a fully adult man (looking your way, Rivers Cuomo, for some of the songs you've written over the years...) but is endearing and funny and moving all at once having been written by a high schooler. (I do wonder whether Daniel Brummel of Ozma feels funny singing the song now that he's in his late thirties.)

"The Ups and Downs" and "If I Only Had a Heart," a pair of fun, catchy rockers, provide a respite from the emotional intensity before we get to the heart of the album: "Baseball" into "Rocks" into "Battlescars." "Baseball" is just, as far as I'm concerned, a masterpiece. It's so poignant and the way it taps into nostalgic feelings to tie memories of baseball to memories of young love is so good and the vocals just soar. I really have a thing for songs that evoke feelings of nostalgia. For some reason, I always have, but I do even more so now than I did prior to everything that happened with Cara. This is one of the best such songs that I know. And it's actually a theme that runs through a number of songs on the album, which is so fascinating to me because how were teenagers, still so young, able to evoke those feelings of yearning for the past so powerfully? And I guess that even when we are teenagers, we already have great nostalgia for our still younger days, even though it's easy to forget this as adults.

"Rocks" is a perfect break between the twin emotional climaxes of "Baseball" and "Battlescars" - two minutes of super fast, super fun, super danceable rock music. And then "Battlescars" is another soaring and emotionally intense number, starting out quiet with an evocative keyboard intro from Star Wick and eventually building toward crashing guitar chords and co-frontmen Brummel and Ryen Slegr repeatedly trading off vocals and competing to rip your heart out with the raw emotions in their voices. And in this track the quasi-symphonic elements of the album really come in - the lyrics mention "shooting stars" ("Of all the shooting stars I knew/I never felt at ease with anyone but you" was a lyric I once told Cara made me think of her), a callback to track three on the album, and then after the song "Battlescars" ends, an acoustic (instrumental only) reprise of the melody from opening track "Domino Effect" provides a lovely little chance to catch your breath. Before the last acoustic guitar notes finish fading out, the driving "In Search of 1988" kicks in, and it's another one of those great nostalgic songs, with lyrics like "Turn on Mario and Luigi/Let's sit down, put our hands on the Ouija." And then just as track one of the album smoothly segued into track two via bass guitar, track ten smoothly segues into eleventh and final track "Last Dance," which dials down the tempo and is a perfect album closer. Lyrics "After the last dance/you lose your last chance" call back to the album's opening lyrics about chances lasting a finite time, to boot.

I don't know. I mean none of this is incredibly complicated. Maybe my gushing seems excessive if you aren't a passionate Ozma fan yourself. But it all just works so well! And all of the songs are so catchy! And they all just fit together perfectly! And teenagers did this!

I remember thinking many years ago that the five-song stretch from "Baseball" to "Last Dance" was easily my favorite part of any album ever. Thinking about it now, I think that I still feel that way. The album in its entirety was my all time favorite album for many years and then eventually I decided I no longer had a favorite album, I had several, with R&RP3 being one of them, but you know what? After these concerts, if I had to pick just one album as my favorite, I'm probably going back to Rock and Roll Part Three.

The concerts. I haven't even described the concerts yet! And they were so marvelous. I had never been to show venue the Troubadour before.

It's a legendary venue in West Hollywood that a number of famous musicians have played at over the years. (Incidentally, the venue for the 2006 shows, the Knitting Factory in Hollywood, no longer exists.) I was excited about the Troubadour based on what I'd heard, and I really loved it; it's definitely one of my favorite venues. It's very intimate and wherever you are inside, you'll be close to the stage and with a good view. On both nights I got there before doors opened and joined a lineup of excited fans outside, many of whom had also traveled from far away for this special event.

My excitement continued to build and build after I entered the venue. I was finally getting to see Ozma again! After all those years! Two other bands preceded Ozma on both nights. My favorite opener was Pushstart Wagon, the second opener on night one, another band who had been around the LA music scene for a long time and had not played in a while and who talked about having played with Ozma long, long ago.

After Pushstart Wagon left the stage, the time had almost arrived. And I really did feel like a little kid on Christmas morning. Enthusiastic cheers filled the venue as the members of Ozma descended a stairway and took the stage. And what came next was one of the most blissful almost two hour periods of my life.

When Ozma started in with the opening notes of the first song of their performance, I did not immediately recognize those notes, which surprised me. But before long I realized what they were doing, and I'm sure that a big goofy grin appeared on my face, because I loved it, and really, I thought, what other way would there be to begin a performance of Rock and Roll Part Three in its entirety?

They were playing a (modified and slowed down) version of their classic song "Iceland," which predates R&RP3 and appeared on the long out-of-print Audible Sounds of Trucks and Cars. It's a fantastic song. I'd never seen it performed live before. The reason it was a perfect show opener was that it contains the lyrics "We loved to listen to our Rock and Roll Part Three." (I don't know the story behind this - that is, were they already working on an album of that title when they wrote "Iceland," or did they make up the phrase (obviously a riff on Gary Glitter's "Rock and Roll Part 2") for the song and then decide to use it as an album title? My guess, though, would be the former.) After the second and last time those words were sung (with me and many others in the audience enthusiastically shouting out the album title), Ozma abruptly transitioned out of "Iceland" and into the oh so familiar opening notes of "Domino Effect."

I already described the whole album so I won't go into a detailed recap of its live performance. But it was so, so good, everything I hoped for and more. I didn't realize just how deeply every note of that album was etched into my brain until I saw the whole thing performed live. The band's performances were stellar and they brought so much passion to the stage. I especially enjoyed Daniel Brummel's vocals - his voice has matured a lot since the album was originally recorded (it's funny, on the album a casual listener would likely have great difficulty telling apart the Brummel from the Slegr vocals, but their voices are much more distinct from each other now), and it's deeper and more powerful now, but he still hit the old high notes on songs like "Natalie Portman" and "Baseball" and it was a thrill to hear and see. In my prior Ozma concert experiences taken together I believe I had only gotten to see six of the eleven tracks on the album performed, so getting to see all the rest was amazing in and of itself, and the whole album straight through just had me in heaven. It was so utterly exhilarating. I sang along to every line of every song and I danced and jumped up and down and it felt like 2006 again but in a way that was deeper and rawer and even more meaningful. By the time we got to "Last Dance" it felt like the whole thing had just flown by.

One thing to note about the album performance: I had wondered how they'd handle the acoustic "Domino Effect" reprise that bridges "Battlescars" to "In Search of 1988." A friend of the band came out to join them with an acoustic guitar for that part, and he played it flawlessly. It was a really nice touch. And it was lovely when an impromptu audience sing-along started up partway through the instrumental acoustic interlude with those familiar words from "Domino Effect": "Sing that song you sang long ago..."

How perfectly fitting for this anniversary concert, almost twenty years after the initial release of the album (January 1, 2000), and how fitting for me, so many years after the last time I'd seen Ozma and so many years after the pivotal period of time in my life that their music soundtracked.

Ozma left the stage to thunderous applause, saying they'd be "back in 5," which turned out to be an overestimate. I didn't know what songs would make up their second set, but there were certainly some songs I'd guessed would probably show up, and most of my guesses were right. There were also some songs that weren't so expected and I was especially thrilled during their night one set with the inclusion of the beautiful "Continental Drift" with keyboardist Star Wick playing the flute. Some selections were very obvious - no Ozma concert would be complete without "Gameover" or "Korobeiniki" (a.k.a. the Tetris theme), and for good reason. Another song I knew would be coming was "Eponine" but I. Was. Not. Prepared. For how emotional that song would make me. Here's the thing about "Eponine." The last time I'd seen Ozma was in July 2007, in Columbus with Cara. Just over a month earlier I had adopted a little black kitten, the first pet I had ever had in my life. I had named her Eponine after the Ozma song (yes, the Ozma song title is a reference to the Les Miserables character). How could I ever have imagined back then that the next time I'd be seeing Ozma live would be over twelve years later and that Cara would be gone by then - but that adorable little kitten would have become my friend and companion through all those tumultuous years? I had no idea in 2007 that I could ever come to love a cat as much as I love Eponine.

Eponine, then and now

After the concert ended it hit me - that was probably the best concert I'd ever attended in my life. That was something I'd considered the Ozma reunion concerts after seeing them in 2006; then it changed to A Northern Chorus's farewell show in 2008 and that had been at the top of my list ever since so I think I was honestly expecting that it might always stay there. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I really did have a new best concert ever, and that was a very monumental thing. And I was very glad I got to do it all over again the next night!

Night one was the more emotionally impactful of the two because it was first. Night two ended up winning out for the amount of pure fun. I managed to get even closer to the stage, for one thing.

Also, the crowd was more into it on night two, I think both because it was a Friday night and because it was the show that had been announced first and quickly sold out so the audience had a higher percentage of truly die hard fans. The sing-alongs were more boisterous, there was more energy all around, and there was some great moshing action on songs that called for it such as "Rocks" and "Korobeiniki." It's hilarious to me that seeing Ozma in Hollywood at age 22 I had hightailed my way out of the area of the crowd where moshing was going on because I had never experienced anything like it and it was too rough, and now at age 36 I love having my body bounce around and collide with other people's to energetic rock music. I mean it makes me feel really alive! The night two non-R&RP3 portion of the set was also a somewhat better selection of songs than night one's in my opinion, although both were excellent. There was a lot of overlap between the two with the more obvious hits, which I didn't mind, but I was really pleased to hear "Immigration Song" (one of the only Ozma songs with Jose Galvez on lead vocals) and "You Know the Story"/"Landing of Yuri Gagarin" on night two, and most especially thrilled as well as very pleasantly surprised to get a rare performance of "Light Years Will Burn," which was super heavy and intense.

On both nights partway through the second Ozma set there was also a guest appearance by Matt Sharp, frontman of the Rentals and bassist for Weezer on their first two albums. As Cara and I saw the Rentals with Ozma in DC in 2006, this added to the throwback nature of the show for me. Sharp sang and Ozma played new Rentals song "Breaking and Breaking and Breaking" (fun but definitely my least favorite song from Ozma's sets) and old Rentals hit "Friends of P," the latter a rousing crowd sing-along. It made my day the other day when the Rentals released a video of the night two "Breaking and Breaking and Breaking" performance and I discovered that I appear in it numerous times, including a closeup of my screaming face that was captured by a camera held by Matt Sharp himself!

I think one of the reasons I loved seeing this so much was that it was a reminder that yes, that concert was a real thing that really happened and I was really there!

It was just all so amazing that it almost does feel like a dream, but it was very real, one of the realest things I've ever experienced, and I marvel at the fact that I did get to experience it. March 2006 was quite a month, one of the most eventful and important and memorable in my life, and now I'd have to say the same thing about December 2019.

P.S. The day after the second show I was very hoarse from all the singing along and screaming and cheering. It was very, very worth it.