I drove out of Bay St. Louis Monday with a box of non-perishable items, thinking how funny it would be if I got pulled over, apparently removing relief supplies from a hurricane-stricken area.

The superheroes had decided to split up, with some headed immediately to New Orleans on the bus, some “inch-worming” their way on bike, to help in places in between, and others holding down the fort and fulfilling obligations in Bay St. Louis until the folks from the sister city project could return.

As a result of splitting up, the three weeks of food that had been purchased in advance had to be split up into what could be carried or left based upon how much cargo or storage space was available. A decent sized box of food was left with no home. A conveniently-timed dead minivan battery kept me around about 10 minutes after my goodbyes, and a solution was found.

Presented as my first superhero mission, they asked me if I could take that box of food to a pantry (in addition to taking the numerous glass bottles, aluminum cans and number 2 plastics to a recycling center). Fulfilling the belief that the universe knows what it’s doing, and what seems like a negative turning into a positive, I was happy to help. The minivan was packed with the homeless goods, and a few brief real goodbyes later, and I was on the road.

For about the first two hours, I drove in silence. I had some CDs ready, but about 20 seconds into any song, I’d shut the music off and just contemplate what I’d experienced the previous 48 hours. I wasn’t ready for the distractions. When I eventually did turn the music back on, one of the first songs I heard was “Bitter Sweet Symphony” by The Verve.

Among other associations, one of my most prominent memories of that song comes from December of 1997, riding in the car with my friend Josh. Josh had been my best friend in high school, and while we had still remained friends, a lot had changed in each of our lives over the year that had passed since graduation. The song came on the radio, and Josh turned and asked “What do you think of this song?”

I loved that song. I was living in England at the time, going to school at Lancaster University. It was a reminder of the excitement of the previous four months and what was to come over the next eight. The years before, first in Auburn and then my freshman year in Lincoln, I’d struggled through those indie-kid pains of loving a band no one else had heard of. This was the peak of the “modern rock” era, when mentions of The Verve would get responses of “Oh yeah, I love the Verve Pipe.”

During the summer of 1997, I’d heard The Verve were releasing a new single, which confused me and eventually made me feel horribly out of the loop. Last I knew, they’d broken up in 1995 or something; I had no idea they’d gotten back together or even considered releasing anything new.

When I got to England, “Bitter Sweet Symphony” was still the anthem of the world at the time. Follow-up single “The Drugs Don’t Work” was still a month away. In the first month, “Symphony” and this other fantastic new pop song I’d heard at the bar, “Tubthumping,” were on every mixtape I sent home. My friends were the lucky recipients of this great new music, until a month later when those songs hit America and putting them on a tape was a mixture of punishment and mockery.

I had come home from England for Christmas only a week earlier. Literally no more than ten minutes before the call came, I said to my mom, “I need to get in touch with Jeromy while I’m home.” Then the phone rang, and then my friend Brian told me Jeromy had been found after having hung himself. His funeral was in two days.

Josh and I used to go running and riding bikes together, invented made-up languages, were in a band together, built forts together in high school, and basically did everything that you do that proves you’re still young and free. Although our lives didn’t overlap as much after high school, we were still definitely friends and still hung out as much as possible.

But sitting in that car that day, 19 months after high school graduation, driving from our friend’s funeral in Iowa to his burial in Auburn, “Bitter Sweet Symphony” came on the radio.

I had told him I liked it.

“There’s a lot of truth in this song,” he said to me.

I’d never thought of the song as a source of truth, or anything beyond a catchy pop song. I’d never thought about lines like “Trying to make ends meet, you’re a slave to the money, then you die” being anything more than words rock stars say in songs. Thinking about such hopeless words striking a chord with my 19-year-old friend was almost as tragic as what we were honoring that day.

And that’s when I knew we weren’t kids anymore, and nothing was ever going to be the same.

It was a fantastic weekend and I have a ton to share, but I’m still catching up with being gone.

Phone blogging did not go as well as I’d hoped.

I met their leader. He’s taking me to the group now.

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Mobile Email from a Cingular Wireless Customer http://www.cingular.com

JXZ found me the closest room to the coast, so i’m leaving now at dawn for bay st louis. Hopefully by ly by

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Mobile Email from a Cingular Wireless Customer http://www.cingular.com

One of my new jack in the box ornaments, proudly displayed.

Got to Erin’s about 1:15. Had dinner at jack in the box, which I haven’t had since san diego. Bloo. Blo

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Mobile Email from a Cingular Wireless Customer http://www.cingular.com

At approximately 5:15, or whenever the last of the LWF students heads home, I’ll get in my car and begin the 17-20 hour drive to Bay St. Louis, Mississippi.

As I alluded to in a previous post, there is a group of high school students from Eugene, Oregon headed there to help with the hurricane reconstruction, but they’re going to be in superhero costumes with superhero identities as they work. I’ve been in contact with the school, but they have no contact with the students while they’re gone. All I have is the town they’re going to, and the assurance that a handful of costumed superheroes will stick out enough in a town of 8,000 that I’ll be able to find them.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little scared. I’ve done the solo road-trip thing before, for much longer periods of time, but for many reasons, this is quite different. One big thing is the pressure involved in getting something good for the documentary. Lately, I’ve been having trouble getting into putting it together, largely because I just felt like it was lacking another good chapter. Then this came up. So the stress of the long drive down, needing to get some good material, and then the long drive back, is kind of weighing on me. But I think that’s probably the good kind of stress – enhances the performance or whatever.

The bad stress is how my parents are worried, my mom’s having bad dreams, and if something did happen to me, right before Christmas would be kind of a bummer. Not like my family wouldn’t care if I accidentally drove into the Gulf of Mexico in July, but holiday tragedies just have that extra layer of bad timing. I’m not really even worried about the whole “bad things happening” thing, but knowing that the loved ones are doesn’t sit too well.

One thing I think will be kind of fun about it is that I’ll be leaving from Lefler on Thursday afternoon and then rolling back into town in time to teach on Tuesday. So my LWF club will be the last people to see me before I go and the first people to see me when I get back — which means I’ll probably frighten them with my stench, matted hair and overgrown poor excuse for a beard.

So anyway, I should have something good to share Tuesday night.

The very special Christmas edition of You are So Beautiful, Beautiful Robot, airs this Thursday, December 22nd at 7pm on 90.3 KRNU (streaming at http://krnu.unl.edu/webstream.html), and if you have nothing better to do, it will replay in the wee hours of Christmas morning at 1am Sunday.

I have a lot of new music for this year’s show, including some of the favorites that graced last year’s show, so it’s sure to please.

Plus, as a special cheeksofgod.com bonus, here are links to two of the three versions of the promo for the show:

And as always, check out the show’s website at dancerobotdance.com for playlists and mp3 downloads.

I’m considering driving down to Bay St. Louis, Mississippi, leaving early Friday and trying to track down a pack of high school superheroes that are in town from Eugene, Oregon. I’ll probably stay 2-3 days down there and be back by the end of Tuesday.

I’m looking for anyone who might like to come along and help me. I’ll be shooting footage for my documentary, so ideally, I’d like someone who has experience using a video camera and either has a video camera or has access to one. We’ll basically both spend the days shooting different stuff. I just don’t want to get into a situation like that and not be able to document everything.

I’ll pay for gas and lodging and fast food meals. I guess the only real requirements are that you can be gone those days and that you can handle 16 hours in a car each way and that you won’t flake out on me.

Today in film club, we were in the computer lab while some of the students were editing. A particularly cool student, who shall remain nameless to protect her anonymity, was scanning through a CD of her dad’s trying to pick a song to use as the backdrop for her movie.

Knowing that, when I was in 8th grade, I was still REALLY into house music (the first round) and the various post-New Edition R&B groups, I can accept through my own lack of humility that it’s possible to grow into an interesting human being even with fairly primitive musical tastes in middle school.

So I was not only surprised, but ecstatic to hear the reverberating drums that open “The Bear” by My Morning Jacket. Later on, she played “Convict Pool” by Calexico, as well as “Pump It Up” by Elvis Costello. I was really jealous, just imagining how exciting and mind-blowing it would have been to discover interesting and challenging music at that age. For me, the next step was discovering classic rock. I didn’t really get to the “challenging” point until KKNB switched over to The Planet in 1993.

While it would be a little satisfying to be responsible for some of it, I love being excited for the people I’m supposed to be teaching two hours a day. I’m not saying this is all about My Morning Jacket and friends – I don’t mean to make the song itself more important than it is – but it just got me thinking about the bigger picture.

Knowing what kinds of imaginations some of these people have, being constantly impressed by them and proud of them, and discovering what they’re exposed to at this point in their lives and watching what might end up inspiring them, I hope I’m lucky enough to be able to see where they end up in 4, 8, 10 years.