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I read a book about optimism yesterday. I took away from it two things: learn not to rely on other people for your happiness or your self-image, and think about other people who are worse off than you in order to make yourself feel better.

I talked to a woman in class tonight who lost her only child to a horrible car accident when the child was 18. I've never lost anyone close to me (to death, anyway) so I'm better off.

I didn't get to the part where the author would explain what the physiological roots of optimism were, but the "nurture" aspect seems to be how your parents related to you during the first three years of your life.

Have I ever mentioned my brother? He is one of those people you meet and you think, "I've never met anyone whose personality even remotely resembles that of this man." He is a large, handsome, redneck-looking fellow who owns a chihuahua and has an entertainment center made out of plastic coca-cola crates. The entertainment center looks like its melting from the weight of the TV et al.

Anyway, I remembered a great story about him today. My dad came home from a walk along the train tracks near the house and said, "I saw the most beautiful pot leaf painted on one of the train cars. It was just perfect!" And he took me down to see it, and sure enough, it was perfectly proportioned and as tall as the car. It had obviously been done just holding a can of green spray paint. Come to find out, yes, my brother had painted it. My dad is so proud.

The other thing my brother used to do was to steal D.O.T. vehicles that were left by the road at night and drive around in them.

And when I used to drive him and his best friend to high school, one morning they both got in the car wearing suits and dark wayfarer sunglasses. They asked me to slow to a crawl when we passed some jerks at a bus stop. Then they rolled down their windows, pulled huge super soakers out of their backpacks, and did a drive-by.

My family is kinda weird.

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