No Cartoon, Chapel Edition

I have temporarily lost the ability to post even poor pictures of my cartoons - which is unfortunate because I've been drawing more cartoons lately. Look for them in the New Year!

What Are You Waiting For?

I finally got a decent scan of a cartoon, and that's all you're getting today.

Short Update

I've been busy, but the real hold-up lately has been the cartoons: not that I haven't been drawing any, but I can't get a decent picture of any of them (and you're probably thinking, when has that stopped me before?). Anyhow, I've got cartoons and sermons (and other observations) that I will post at some point.

They Might be Cannibals

I work with Seventh Day Adventists (I think I've mentioned this before). And, as individuals, they're very nice. But many of them also strike me as naive. 

So, I asked one the other day about the SDA dietary restrictions - among other things, they don't eat pork or shellfish. (That should ring a bell for you.) I asked about Peter's vision, in Acts, and she replied, "Well if you read it in context, it's about people, not food." Which is her polite way of saying, you're reading it wrong, and pretty much every Christian since Paul has been reading it wrong. Oops. 

I see two ways to approach this. One would simply be to reply, "you're the one who's not really reading it in context, you're just focusing on Acts 10:28, 'God has shown me that I should not call anyone profane or unclean.'" I'm not sure what her reply would be, and I really don't care if she eats pork or not: I'm a vegetarian myself. 

But the other approach is more intriguing: what if we do take the larger context into account, but read it as being about people, not food? What exactly does the voice say in Peter's vision in Acts 10:13? "Get up, Peter; kill and eat." 

I think I'll stay away from their food at the next potluck.

Literal and Metaphorical

So many of the things we learn in school, we forget, because we have no context for them...

I'm rereading some things I first read eight years ago, and have largely forgotten, but which are relevant to my current context. It's interesting to read about them (I may talk more specifically about this in a future post) when I'm in the middle of things, rather than seeing it as something abstract, far-in-the-future.

But the other thing I have recently come across was a passage from Ezekiel 28, in a Seventh Day Adventist booklet, about the King of Tyre. (I realize that the Seventh Day Adventists aren't the only ones who look to this passage in particular, but this is how I came across it.) I'm sure I've run across the passage before, and might even have some notes from my Old Testament class, but it doesn't ring a bell (which is to say, it's not what I remember about Ezekiel).

This passage cannot be read literally. Just for starters, it's addressed to the King of Tyre, a mortal, and it says, "you were in the garden of Eden." I know that the literalists want to read the Bible straight through, literally understanding all the passages literally - well, it just can't be done. But even they acknowledge that some passages have to be understood metaphorically. How might we read this? That's where things get strange. They say that this is really - really - about Satan. Well, why in the world would you think such a thing?

Because that means taking the description literally, rather than metaphorically, but taking the identity of the king as (at least partly) metaphorical. And why would you do such a thing? There are various reasons why you might make references to someone metaphorically. The primary one, in this context, is if you're talking about someone who really could just send out troops to kill you, without any trial or anything, maybe while you sleep, and maybe your whole village too, just because he can. And if you're writing about that dude, you might think, "hm, if I refer to this guy as a giant bear with five horns, or a dragon, people will know who I'm talking about - wink wink - but I'll have some deniability." That really makes sense if you're living under foreign occupation. I can almost imagine someone making the counter-argument, "but we are living under occupation - from Satan!" Must our references to Satan be veiled, or coded, somehow? Or are you really a Zoroastrian who wants the Christian Bible to support your viewpoint (and I realize that the actual Zoroastrians don't do this).

It doesn't make sense to be oblique about identity if you're directly calling someone out, though: you want that person's attention. "Hey, you! Knock it off!" But how do you get this guy's attention, without just making yourself into a target? "Well, Mr. Putin, in addition to being handsome, you're a powerful man, someone to be reckoned with. However..." And that's really how I read this passage: Ezekiel has a prophecy against the King of Tyre, wants him to actually hear it, and not get squished himself. But the description is metaphorical, a hyperbolic flattery to get this guy's attention. How is that difficult to see?

The alternative - taken by Ellen White and the Seventh Day Adventists, among others - is to see this as only metaphorically referring to the King of Tyre, but actually referring to Satan - because the descriptions aren't metaphorical, but literal. What? Why in the world would Ezekiel bury condemnation of Satan in the middle of all this other stuff? It's not as though the "King of Tyre" is a made-up designation, either.

Ockham's razor, paraphrased, says that we should prefer the simpler of two explanations, if they otherwise do an equally good job. Satan gets the boot. And I should probably stop reading Ellen White.

Cartoon Saturday

Kinda like a Drive-In Saturday, but with less Bowie and more cartoon.

Mostly thinking about the end of the world today. At some point, I may post an edited version of this sermon with the previous two. But first I gotta write it.

Electric Pacifist

This seems more like a preliminary sketch rather than a finished piece - however, given the size of the audience, it seems unlikely that I'll really come back to this and put a lot more time into it. So, this is what you get: if you think it deserves a more "professional" treatment, let me know.

"Just" cartoons

I will probably write more about being a "bad chaplain" at some point - but for now, let me just offer these cartoons, one of which was actually written during someone's sermon in chapel at the hospital.

Bad Chaplain

I've been thinking lately of Graham Greene's novel, The Power and the Glory. For those of you who haven't read it, it's set in Mexico in the 1930's, a time of persecution of Catholics. The anti-hero is a priest who is a drunk and a coward, who has a child that he doesn't quite acknowledge (but he won't give up the priesthood to marry the mother of this child, even though that's one options the redshirts are offering, albeit accompanied by much ridicule). If I were to summarize - keeping in mind that many people think this is Greene's best novel (not me, I still prefer Travels with My Aunt) - I'd say it's about God's ability to work through us despite our flaws.

I don't think I'm a bad chaplain in the sense of not doing my job well. I'm sometimes surprised at how well I seem to be doing - bringing comfort to people in distress, offering the hope, or even just the attentive ear that they need. I think I'm a pretty good chaplain, and working to be a better one.

But I worry about the rest of my life, outside the hospital. I don't quite feel the same sort of pressure that a pastor of a church does, since I don't have a "community" in that sense, looking over my shoulder and (potentially) whispering about what I'm doing. I do recognize, though, that many of the patients I see have an image of the clergy that I know I don't live up to: at the very least, they probably think I sing hymns, or listen to K-Love rather than cranking up Black Sabbath and Grand Funk. I'm not really worried about the music of course - it's the other things.

Even after I've made a mess of my personal life, though, it continues to surprise me that I can walk into a patient's room and make such a big difference in their day. And once in a while, being a "bad chaplain" - breaking the rules in order to meet the needs of a patient - makes me a really good chaplain.

(That's not really where I thought this post was going to end, certainly not where I thought it was going when I started it, but... here we are. And it's probably time to go to bed now.)

Second post

Well, the second post for September, and at this rate the last one as well.

My biggest news is that my supervisor asked me if I had considered being a supervisor - something I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have asked if he didn't think I could do it. So, that's a strong vote of confidence. But other than that I've just been busy, and the cartoons are few and far between (except when they're really dark - this one isn't so bad, but based on a true story).

At some point I need to revisit the "self-care for trauma helpers" guide. Probably not tonight, though.

Falling behind

So it's already mid-September, and I haven't been posting as much as I had hoped. Part of the problem is a lousy internet connection at my apartment (there's supposed to be a wireless network throughout the building, but I have to go sit in the basement to actually get a signal) - but honestly, most of it is just being tired. I haven't even drawn a cartoon in a while, even though I've had several ideas (most of which are admittedly pretty dark - not that I won't draw and post them at some point).

I have been painting, although obviously not working too hard on my photography - I need to take that more seriously if I want to reopen my etsy shop. And I think that's all I'm going to say for now.

End of the Week

This past week wasn't as busy as I feared (I didn't have to be on-call on consecutive nights!) - and I'm painting again (and I'll post pictures when it feels finished). I have this odd persistent cough that is aggravating; I keep thinking it's going away, but it doesn't. Next week will be busy again, but after that it should get better for a while.

I feel as though I should have some sort of profound thoughts this evening, but I don't. And if I did, I should probably write them down for tomorrow's worship service rather than posting them here.

Yet Another Thursday

I missed my entire first week of work - that is, post-orientation - due to illness. Not that I was particularly sick, just that I was contagious and really couldn't go visit hospital patients. I'm still coughing a bit, which is odd since that wasn't part of the problem last week, but I'm back on the floors seeing patients.

At the moment, I don't have anything particularly insightful to add, but I thought you might like to see this fox I drew over the weekend.

True Story!

I stopped by a local sub shop on the way home the other day, because I was really hungry, and had the following exchange:

"I'd like a ten-inch artichoke sub, with mushrooms."

"Will that be six, eight, ten or twelve-inch?"

"Ten-inch, please."

"And would you like mushrooms on that?"

"Yes, mushrooms."

I suspect he had no idea why I was so irritated, although he might have been if he'd read this cartoon.

Frustrating Day

I may at some point find the Skinner study that talks about intermittent reward... but more of today has been spent thinking I might have internet, and then losing it, and then maybe connecting again... and so on... anyhow, the best parts of my day were those I spent intentionally off-line, walking, reading, drawing, and napping. 

I guess that would probably also have been true if I'd had more reliable internet. But I wouldn't have spent nearly so much of my day waiting, waiting, waiting...

Hello, Pawnee!

I was on live television this afternoon, for a local cable news show. Which was kind of exciting. No, very exciting. Even if I didn't think anyone was watching. (The interview was about the upcoming exhibit of my work, fyi - I've been posting bad pics of the different works to be exhibited, but I'm hoping to have some much better ones of the exhibition itself.)

So, last time I wrote, I was pondering whether or not I was Peter Pan. Yesterday a friend reminded me of the song I wrote back in seminary - Hey Blue Fairy - and the unrecorded bridge that addressed this directly. For the sake of clarity I'm posting the video I made (years after the fact - I barely even try to lip-synch) - but also the lyrics, including the lyrics of the bridge (which as I've already said, isn't in the recorded version of the song but were written soon afterwards, so don't leave me snide comments about the omission).
 I've traveled 'round the world, though I never really meant to
I fell in with some villains and I gladly went along
I learned a lot of lessons, though most of them the hard way
I did a lot of stupid things to show that I was strong

Chorus: I've been turned into a donkey
             I've been swallowed by a whale
             Put down these childish toys to make way for better things
             I'm tired of other people always pullin' on my strings
             Hey, Blue Fairy, when will you make me real?

They say my nose grows longer, but you know it really doesn't
Though I'm told I do blush deeply when I try to tell a lie
My conscious tries to stop me though I very seldom listen
In my heart I know that I'm not such a bad guy

 (Omitted verse) Now I'm getting older and my paint it chipped and fading
My joints are getting rusty and I'm moving kinda slow
I'd really like to dance now but I'm feeling rather wooden,
I've come so far, but there just so far to go

Chorus 

(Omitted bridge) But I've never lost my shadow
                          And I've never learned to fly
                          I'm no puer aeternus
                          I'm no Catcher in the Rye

 I left home kind of early 'cause I thought that it was Boring,
Given what I've seen since, I can't say that I was wrong
Now I need some shelter and I really miss my father
I've lost my way, the road home seems much too long

Chorus

Now I understand that, just because I wrote a song six years ago in which I declare myself Pinocchio and distance myself from Peter Pan doesn't mean that I'm not Peter Pan... but I do think it speaks to wanting to be settled somewhere, and I recorded the video at a time when I was about to leave a place I had hoped to settle (I actually hadn't quite put that together for myself until just now - why that song then?).

Anyhow -

Peter Pan

I was just called Peter Pan.

Or rather, last night, a friend was talking about her initial love of the story when she was a child, and then her disappointment when she later understood the implications of Peter refusing to leave Neverland.

And then I asked if she thought I was Peter, and I could tell by her reaction that she hadn't thought it before I said anything, and then it all clicked.

So that's what I'm pondering at the moment.

Based on a True Story!

...the hearing of the so-called joke, not the subject of said joke.

This morning I kept thinking of the meme, "I have no idea what I'm doing." You know why? Because I have no idea what I'm doing. 

That's all for today.

Monday Morning

Sometimes I write out lengthy posts - seriously, I've been writing and editing for over an hour now - and then realize that I can't really publish them. Oh well: maybe I'll draw some cartoons and post them later today.

Jazz

"I like jazz"
"No, you don't."
I respond with something like, you can't say that.
And she replies, in the last five years, I haven't heard you listening to any jazz, or going to any jazz concerts. Therefore, you don't like jazz.

I don't normally mention this conversation to give her credit, but this morning I will: in that moment I thought, yeah, I do like jazz but I haven't listened to anything in a long time. My stated preferences didn't match my what I was actually doing.

In high school I really enjoyed our jazz band - many of my friends were members, so I heard many of their rehearsals and performances. One of my favorite tapes in college was the soundtrack to the movie 'Round Midnight, and perhaps the highlight of my freshman year was seeing Branford Marsalis in concert. My junior year, one of my favorite tapes was John Scofield's Still Warm. Michelle and I listened to that one a lot, and if I didn't have the tape  anymore it was because I gave it to her after we broke up (and if I did have the tape, I probably didn't listen to it because it reminded me so much of Michelle). Which is to say, there was a point in my life when jazz was important. But it was pointed out to me that my actions hadn't matched my self-understanding. That, I think, was really important, and it made me change my actions (in this case, I started reading about jazz and slowly accumulating a fairly large collections of CDs). Perhaps a trivial example, but I hope illustrative of something more significant.

What's the flip side of that - what do I actually do? Well, every day I read a variety of news sources - national politics from the Washington Post, global news from Foreign Policy, headlines from Slate, analysis and culture from The New Yorker, and of course Paul Krugman's blog and editorials. I care about being informed, and my actions reflect that. (I also like discussing news and politics, but that takes someone who is also relatively well-informed.)

What else do my actions reflect? I care about what I eat, both in terms of health and impact on the environment. I don't always articulate it like that - I'm not proselytizing for vegetarianism all the time - but I try to make sure my choices are consistent with that (also remembering the virtue of being a gracious guest - I like to phrase it in terms of Luke 10:7 - emphasis on "whatever they provide"). Oh yeah, I read the Bible, as well as other spiritual literature - and the poetry of Mary Oliver, Rainer Maria Rilke, and various Chinese poets - not every day, but more than once a week. I think that accurately reflects my need for a spiritual connection, even as I'd like to make it more central to my life.

I buy organic and/or fair trade foods when I can; that's been difficult economically recently, and I worry that's it's gotten too easy for me to just go cheap. I understand that my commitment to organic and fair trade foods isn't enough. I try to shop at local stores, probably not as much as I should, but I never shop at Wal*Mart if there's any other option (and I can say a lot more about that, but not today).

And I wonder, what else do my actions reflect - what do people see when they see me? Not just looking at a picture, or even across the table, but acting the in world? My values may or may not be revealed in the stories I tells about myself - because stories can be a good way of concealing, as well as revealing - but my actions reflect my true values, whether or not they match what I say.

I'm talking about integrity here, and I want to be clear that it's something I'm working on; I think that's a work-in-progress for everyone, all the time (except maybe for people who've reached Kohlberg's Stage 6 of moral development). But not just integrity: it's also about identity, who I am. I can tell you I like Indian food and jazz, I can tell you stories (eating a tablespoon full of wasabi in Boston!) but that doesn't necessarily tell you who I really am.

All of which is a lengthy preamble to the question, who are you?

Another quick update -

Yesterday was spent mostly preparing for my upcoming gallery opening, and was very productive. I matted most of my prints and collages, and put a few into frames, and worked on several different paintings. I'm almost done with this one - another bad photo of course - and I'm happy with how the others are turning out.

Today... well, today isn't turning out as I'd hoped, and I don't see how it will get better (although I think the only way it could get notably worse is if I find out I have TB). 

I'm resisting the temptation to use my blog as a way of sending a message to a particular individual - not that I haven't done that before. But I don't think I'd say anything that I haven't said before. 

A quick update

So: I've been seeing someone the past few months. I haven't really written about her directly; most of what's come out in the past few months that's been personal has been about my previous relationship (well, previous relationships in general, and occasionally the prior one specifically). And maybe that's part of the problem: I've been seeing someone the past few months, but I've continued to be preoccupied with the previous relationship.

Anyhow, I recently broke up with her (not too long after the previous post), and I've had a hard time explaining it to her. I still really like her a lot, and I miss her. She's an attractive, intelligent woman, and despite our differences - primarily age - I thought that things would work, that this would be a serious long-term relationship. But it has been increasingly clear (to me, not her) over the past few weeks that I wasn't the one. Things weren't clicking the way (I think) a good relationship should. Which is not to say that things weren't good with her: they just felt incomplete for me in ways that I've had a hard time explaining to her (which I realize is not quite the same as not understanding it myself). So I miss her, and I feel bad about making her sad, and I also feel bad that I can't be the one to comfort her (because that's a surprisingly natural role for me - or maybe not surprising at this point). I want to go over and hold her and tell her it will be okay, but I know that would only make things worse for her.

I tried to end things the best way I could, but I'm not really sure there is a good way. I left her two of my paintings - she's the only one who really liked the Hand, and she also really liked one of my window paintings - but I worry, is leaving these things behind good? They're something for her to hang onto, but I know they're also reminders of my absence.

In any case, my life is chaotic once again, at least for a while. And - surprise! - no cartoon today.

Another day preaching...

...and I'm actually wearing one of my grandfather's ties. It's not as bad as that, of course - I'm not sure anyone would notice if I didn't say anything.

Today's text: Exodus 10:1-20. Sermon to follow, maybe.

Travels

I've been visiting my parents this week, enjoying the weather of a Pacific Northwest summer: hot and dry during the days, cool at night (and in the mornings - I've really enjoyed taking long walks every morning before my parents get up, since I've more or less stayed on Eastern time).

Anyhow, that's (part of the reason) why I haven't been posting.

Thor's Day

Just a cartoon today

Doodle

Your name or your person, which is dearer?

Your person or your goods, which is worth more?

Gain or loss, which is the greater bane?

Excessive stinginess is sure to lead to great expense; 

too much store is sure to end in immense loss.

Knowing contentment you will suffer no humiliation; 

knowing when to stop you will be free from danger;

you will thereby endure.

from Te Ching, trans D.C. Lau

Two Dogs

There are two dogs. I like one; I wouldn't say that I don't like the other one, but he's irritating. Why is he irritating? He demands more of my attention. What's the upshot? I end up paying more attention to him rather than the one that I like. Hm....

Working on various projects today after going on an artists' retreat yesterday. What did I do on my retreat? Napped, mostly.

Forgiveness

Today's sermon was about the parable of the unforgiving servant; but I've more or less stopped writing my sermons out, so I don't have much to post. Is that a good or a bad thing?

Here's a cartoon.

Unsettled

I moved last week, but I'm a long way from being settled - in fact, that might take several months yet. We'll see. I've had a surprisingly social week, which has been a good thing I think, even if it means that I haven't spent all day going through boxes - although one of the things I really need to find is my camera, since my pictures only seem to get worse. Although practically speaking, that means more cartoons and less artwork, and you might be happy about that.

On other fronts: I've been thinking about unfinished conversations (with a number of people, you may or may not be one of them) - but at the moment the question isn't so much, 'is my blog an appropriate place to write out what I've been thinking, in hopes that the other person may read this?' so much as it is, 'is this a conversation that I need to continue?' Of course the answer is always yes, but maybe not right now.

You got to move...

I've been busy moving, and now I'm done (with the moving, all of my stuff is still in boxes...)

But that's all I'm going to say today. This cartoon has been floating around in my head since late February: enjoy!

Tuesday afternoon

I haven't had a blog post with this title in over six years, so I feel entitled; in any case, it was one of the Moody Blues songs that I actually liked (no offense, Steve!).

Going to Cuba

I thought I had posted a previous version of this painting before, but I can't find it on this blog. In any case, I recently looked at the river and thought - "that's not right!" - and repainted it to look more realistic (I realize the tree still has a kind of inner glow, but that's intentional).

Thinking more about my previous post: I'm not terribly expressive when it comes to positive emotions. But you know what? It seems that my friends - people who are actually paying attention - recognize the difference between me humoring them and expressing (quiet) enthusiasm. Getting excited about chickens - "CHICKENS!!!" - would have been way out of character, even when I'm not depressed. There are times when I need to make sure that I've correctly conveyed my response, because I hate to be left out just because it didn't seem like I wanted to... whatever. But there are other times when I wish other people would just trust me, at least the people who know me, and know that my yes means yes and my no means no. Probably I need to be more expressive: but it's not all my fault.

...and then I delete a long couple of paragraph on the 7 in the enneagram, because I ought to be working on a sermon.

Chickens

One of the people I've read - I don't remember if it was Alasdair MacIntyre or Bernard Williams or maybe Harry Frankfurt or Martha Nussbaum (and this isn't an academic essay so I'm not going to worry too much about the references, but someone who talks about what it means to be fully human) - one of these people writes about an element of friendship (after Aristotle), that part of friendship is taking an interest in our friend's interest, not because we find them intrinsically interesting but because we value our friend.

I know that's dense, so let me give you an example: I have a friend named Paul who likes to lift weights. I haven't spent much time in a gym, and when I exercise I tend to do yoga, or hike or ride my bicycle - not lift weights. Lifting weights is not even something that's ever really occurred to me to do. But when Paul and I started spending more time together, I started going to the gym with him - and this is the important part - not merely to placate him, but taking an interest in the things he finds interesting. He and I are currently living in different cities, and I don't make it to the weight room these days (and there's more to that story, but I've already got too much for today) - but I miss going to the gym with Paul, and when I think about lifting weights, I think about it in reference to Paul.

Let me switch briefly here to another topic (I tend to think dialectically, so I promise I'll eventually relate this to what I've just said above): enthusiasm. When I look back on things that I wrote when I was in high school or junior high, or on videotapes or audiotapes of my younger self, I'm struck by this naive, goofy energy that's embarrassing - how could I have liked the notebook with Confederate flag on the front? Why did I think this triviality about the date (I can't remember which one) had some sort of mathematical significance? I'm embarrassed by the things I wrote, things I said, things I had - and the connecting feature for me here is the energy I put behind them. That is, it's not necessarily even the things themselves - of course I liked Star Trek! - but did I have to be so bouncy about it? Those of you who know me as an adult might even be surprised by that: have you ever seen me goofily enthusiastic about anything? Have I exhibited an unrestrained positive emotion about anything? And "positive" is an important qualifier, because I've cried in public about my (now ex) fiancee breaking up with me; and really angry about politics, and other relationships I've had (see the cartoon - not about my ex-fiancee!). I can be loud and sad, I can be loud and angry, and of course I can be happy, but my "happy" is usually pretty quiet. Did I like Robert Downey Jr. in Kiss Kiss Bang Bang? Yes - but I'm never going to go online (here or elsewhere) and say "BEST MOVIE EVAR!!!!1!!!!" - about that, or anything really.

So: bringing the pieces together. My ex-fiancee wanted to have chickens: she read about chickens on-line, checked out books on chickens, bought some books on chickens and small-scale farming. I can't say that I did much in the way of reading: we were both living in (and continue to live in) apartments, and chickens aren't part of that equation. But she was surprised when I told her (post break-up) that I had been looking forward to having chickens with her: I never conveyed the enthusiasm that I felt. And that last part is another important qualification: I really did feel enthusiasm for the future-chickens. I don't have any intrinsic interest in chickens - the farm I grew up on didn't have any animals except dogs and cats - and I'm unlikely to start raising chickens on my own. The enthusiasm I had was based on her interest: I was interested because she was interested, because I valued (and, honestly, continue to value) her interests (but that's no longer a shared project). She didn't know that, though, and I wish I had been better at conveying that.

I sit here this morning and wonder how much of the problems in our relationship had that basic structure: she wanted to do X, I didn't have an intrinsic interest in X but felt excited by the prospect, because she was excited - but then nothing ever happened because she didn't think I wanted to (go cross-country skiing, go to Waynesville to look at the shops, etc). And what's worse, I failed to convey any enthusiasm about some of the things that I do have an intrinsic interest it - singing duets at the open mic, singing with her in general, hiking around the area. She didn't think I wanted to do those things, and so we didn't. Now I wonder what's wrong with me. I wonder if there was any way of fixing that relationship. And I wonder if I'll continue that pattern in the next relationship. I hope not.

Mind and Body

I was thinking about something that happened a long time ago: I was walking out of the Bryan Center on a hot summer day with the woman I was dating at the time, and I had just gotten a Snickers Ice Cream Bar  (which was brand-new at the time), and after taking the first bite I literally stopped in my tracks, overwhelmed with pleasure. Some of it was probably the novelty, and of course they are really good - and it was summer in North Carolina, so anything cold would have been good. But the woman I was with was surprised at the extent to which I was really enjoying that ice cream bar, and although I don't remember her exact words I know she was amused and really didn't know what to make of it.

I was thinking of this because - ha, thinking! - I spend a lot of time in my own head. When I'm by myself I'm usually having conversations with people who aren't there (rehearsing what I want to say, sorting through what I feel I need to say, just telling them about things that are important to me at the moment) - or just arguing with myself (and it's really disappointing when I feel I lose those arguments). [Part of me wants to go into the details of the latest argument I've been having with myself, but not now - it has to do with inconsistent propositions, and I don't feel like going into the logic or the specific propositions.] Or I'm thinking about a quote or an idea, or a song playing in my head (which reminds me of another story about a woman in Quaker meeting thinking I was so spiritual, moving according to the Holy Spirit - davening - when really I was thinking about how to playing different pieces of a song in different times signatures). But what I'm not usually doing is paying attention to the world outside my head.

This is not to say I'm not gaining information about the world: when I was a freshman at the above unnamed university, I was a resource for the other guys on my hall - "Hey, what's going on around campus tonight?" They knew I rarely went out in the evenings, but for some reasons all the signs hanging around advertising different events would work their way into my head, and I could tell them about the different speakers and concerts and frat parties. (They seemed mostly interested in the frat parties, and I don't think I ever went to any except for the frat I eventually joined.)

*Anyhow, I live in my head: that should be no surprise. But occasionally things will grab my attention, and then I really, really enjoy them. I don't typically think of myself as a sensualist, but maybe I am - an epicure, even. Not that things need to be too fancy: I was floored by Quiznos Veggie Guacamole sub a few years ago, when I  me and my ex-fiancee was were moving my  our stuff from Indiana to New York (and pushing myself to my physical limits - everything tasted soooooo good that week for both of us).  I think that's also why I like to turn up the Rolling Stones really loud. Hm, I fear this is turning into one of those obscurely self-referential posts: I'll stop now. [*I hate it when people write me out of their stories, and I wrote my ex-financee out of this post and shouldn't have. She was there, and had similar experiences.]

This my "green doodle," part of a series with the "blue doodle" I posted earlier. I probably should come up with a better title, especially since I foresee doing at least a few more of these, and doing them more seriously (rather than just fiddling on copy paper). Inspired in part by the work of Josef Albers, but his titles (I'm thinking primarily of Proto-Form B - since he did more with lines than with curves) aren't much better.

Burnout 2: Electric Boogaloo

A couple weeks ago I promised a cartoon featuring actual quotes from students: here you go. Enough to make me want to fail the students based on that one question alone. 

Of course, I feel like the failure: what kind of teacher am I when the students really have no clue about the nature of the subject at the end of the semester? (I knowing that there are a number of people who think I'm a "born teacher" and several students who have said that I'm the best professor they ever had.)

In any case, I'm done for now.

Memorial Day

I'm doing much today, but also not particularly inspired to write. Yesterday's sermon didn't progress much - if anything, it may turn into some kind of academic-ish essay on the relation between Ecclesiastes and Aristotle's Nichomachean Ethics (i.e., what kind of life is suitable for a human being). They seemed to like it, although one woman pointed out that "there wasn't much religion" in my sermon.

I've attached yet another poor-quality picture, this of my most recent painting. A friend pointed out last week that I hadn't posted it: this gives you a sense of it. I haven't started my next painting - even though the panel is primed and ready to go, and I have a clear idea of what it's going to look like - because I have other projects I need to be working on. Actually, I should probably be working on one of them right now, since I said it would be done tomorrow afternoon.

Meet You at the Moon

I'm preaching on Sunday, and I'm just not coming up with anything. Ecclesiastes usually inspires me, but I don't have much at the moment other than, "wisdom can't save you but it beats foolishness, pleasure is fleeting but enjoy the days you have." It seems to me at odds with Matthew 6:25-34, even though it reminds me of that passage: strive first for the kingdom and its righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. I guess it shouldn't be surprising that they don't quite match up - that I can't quite make Jesus say, enjoy what you have while you can. They both certainly say, it's not worth worrying about too much.
Anyhow: I might enjoy parsing the passage in Matthew and comparing it to Ecclesiastes, but I don't know that it would be a good sermon. I'm tired and I don't want to do my homework. At the same time, I'm still doing quite a bit of personal writing, but don't have anything to share on the blog at the moment. I joked a few weeks ago about writing a new novel - or seriously revising one of the drafts I have - and I wonder if that's where my current writing is headed.
The "blue doodle" is something that I started while proctoring my final final exam, and there will be more iterations of it in the future.

Busy week? Sort of.

Tomorrow is "graduation" which I thought was going to be simple and straightforward (which is always my preference, and why I am drawn to Soto Zen as well as unprogrammed Quakers) but at the very least there's going to be a printed program and perhaps a speaker that we haven't met before (or maybe we have, whatever).  


So today you just get some more old paintings, one of which I've previously posted. I promise there will be new cartoons later in the week. 

New (kinda?) "Cartoons"

I don't know how to describe these: I did the figures while in either New York or in Roanoke, so they're possibly almost four years old (but I never posted them). I ran across them yesterday, and fiddled with them (instead of doing the work that I'm supposed to be doing). Once again, poor photos: deal with it.

Burnout

When I was in my third year of graduate school – for the PhD – I taught my first class. I remember the anxiety about the upcoming semester, but not because of the material the class would cover: the anxiety was about finding adequate childcare for my nine-month-old daughter. The class was logic, and (after an intense bit of work when I was an undergraduate) it comes natural to me. I taught, oh, maybe three or four courses in New Orleans. I have my stories: about Junior and her bell, and the day she came to class with a pierced tongue, or the day I failed to wear shoes to class and was put on the spot about it by a young woman wearing pajamas.  And there was “Failure Boy.” Who could forget Failure Boy. Overall, I enjoyed teaching.

I moved to Roanoke, Virginia in the summer of… damn, I’m old. Anyhow, I was contacted by a (relatively) local community college, and was happy to gain the additional teaching experience. I asked a lot of the students, and got a lot back. I have a few good memories from teaching there, although a few not-so-good ones, including an absolutely scathing student evaluation from the best student I had that semester, who apparently was unaware that is was a community college and most of the students were barely keeping up with my (to her, plodding) lectures.

I had mixed feelings about the spring of 1999: I had hoped to knock out a large chunk of my dissertation, and instead got additional offers to teach. I thought, how could I turn these down? (In retrospect, “No thank you,” comes to mind.) I was frustrated by the students at the college where I taught the most classes that semester, who really didn’t understand what I was trying to get at with the whole “philosophy” thing. (Also, I used a textbook that I ended up really not liking, and never used again. And I started doing shots of Irish whiskey before my 8AM class, which probably didn’t help.) That semester did not end well.

However, once I got through the summer, I managed to find a balance of teaching and writing that worked: I enjoyed teaching on the days I taught, and spent the rest of my time (more or less) researching and writing and editing like a fiend. I was (again, more or less) supporting myself with something that I grew to enjoy: I say that because I was surprised to enjoy teaching at all. I assumed that it would be the necessarily chore in order to make researching and writing possible (as it is for some professors) – but I liked the interaction with the students, liked watching the light bulbs go on in their heads.

At the same time, I sent out dozens of CVs, applied for every job I thought was reasonable. Two years in a row. At the end of the two years (first while ABD, about to finish, the second right after I’d finished) I got approximately zero interviews. (No, make that “exactly.”) That was discouraging. The advice from the graduate student coordinator seemed sound – publish an article! – but didn’t work in practice: I did what research I could, wrote several things up and submitted them, but nothing quite worked. Perhaps I was too ambitious in my topics, or… hell, I don’t know. I just know that I got back a number of rejection letters, and never have published an article in a peer-reviewed journal, and that, in a nutshell, is why I don’t have a full-time job.

I still enjoyed teaching, though. One of the other adjuncts at Large State University survived just on his modest adjunct salary, and seemed happy. I couldn’t quite swing it, though, and there came a point (just after Easter, 2001) where the schedule for teaching didn’t work for me (there’s a much larger story there that I’ve either told before, or will have to wait for another time). At that point, for the first time, I confronted the possibility of not teaching again: just over one year after getting my PhD, and it felt like I was done.

Of course I wasn’t. I got one course for the fall, and then two for the following spring.  At that point – the end of classes in May of 2002 – I did not have a grieving period over the “end” of my teaching career, but it would have been appropriate in some respects: it was without a doubt the best semester I’ve ever had, and I didn’t teach again for another three years. I would have been a good note to go out on.

There’s another job in there, but we skip forward to seminary in a town with few jobs – but a college that needs philosophy courses taught. I was there on-and-off for four years, and I started my blog while I was there (so I know I’ve written at least a bit about that). As my book approached publication, I assumed that I would get a full-time teaching position, and I would have a new life. That didn’t happen (obviously) but it didn’t occur to me quite yet that I wouldn’t teach again. And of course, I did: I got a class in the spring that was relatively uneventful, and a summer class that was okay except for all the cheating at the end which left an extraordinarily bad taste in my mouth – and that’s when I thought, for the first time in seven years, “now I’m really done.”

A few moves later, and I was teaching again. I mostly enjoyed it, although the commute was brutal and the classes were too large; then more teaching opportunities, with mixed results. ("You need to read past page 26 of the book!") Again, more seriously, thought I was done, and even turned down additional classes at all three colleges I was teaching at in the spring of 2011, on the assumption that “something better” would come along. Nothing did, but once again the impossible happened: “can you teach world religions? The class starts in three days.” It wasn’t nearly enough money, but I liked the students and they seemed to learn something; then I left the state, and once more turned down additional classes hoping for something better (or maybe just going back to teaching where I had taught before, even though the bad taste hadn’t left my mouth). But nothing: or at least nothing I was willing to do. Maybe I wouldn’t teach?

Then a friend was going on sabbatical, and needed his intro class covered. I’ve taught this before, should be easy, and after all, I enjoy teaching even if the money isn’t that good. Well: I liked about four of my students, the ones who seemed to read and be willing to ask reasonable questions. The other twenty five just wanted me to give them the right answer, which became increasingly frustrating. At least this time, I really do have something better lined up, something that’s not teaching, and (at least potentially) has a real future. Twelve years after I first contemplated the possibility of not teaching, I’m finally there: not teaching. 

I’m mostly okay with it, because I don’t enjoy it anymore; maybe I would if I could give more time and energy to it (a pay raise would have helped – I was getting the same amount this past semester as I had fifteen years ago!). Accompanying this post was supposed to be a cartoon featuring actual quotes from students, but that will have to wait. 

Suitable for Framing

In some respects, a lot is going on right now; in others, not much at all. 

Mostly I'm thinking about August, and moving away from the little town where I'm currently living. When I moved here, I anticipated putting down some roots  and staying a while; of course that was true in Syracuse as well. This is a nice place, but there aren't a lot of jobs around here, and even before I got here I worried about how I would fit into the community. Despite myself I've managed to make some friends, and I realize now that I seem to have a small network of people that I like, and can turn to for support. At the same time, the semester is over but I still don't have any better place to be than the college; I technically have another job, but I am "underutilized" there (which has been a chronic problem). I'm sad to be leaving a place that seemed to hold promise, but I never really did fit in very well.

And even as I get caught in a qualified nostalgia, I'm excited about the future: I can't wait for August, even though it's also scary. I have a sense of purpose moving forward, a fairly clear idea of what I'm moving towards. That said, I can't even begin to imagine what things will look like a year from now, and it seems to me that it would be foolish to guess. [I've just deleted a longish section where I walk backwards, year by year, where I was and what I thought the future would hold - and how most of those assumptions were way off.] Maybe next year I'll be moving to Japan.

I've always had a bad habit of looking to the future rather than living in the present, and it always seems justified for one reason or other, but I also miss out on what's happening around me. So that's my challenge to myself for the summer: enjoy the fleeting and fragile present.

Huh. I should probably be painting cherry blossoms instead of cranes.

Cold Day in May

Just a cartoon today!

Good morning!

Gandalf might ask, "Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?"

And I would reply, with Bilbo, "All of them at once."

Now, if someone would just grade these exams for me....

Once upon a time…

You’d think I’d come up with a better opening line than that, but I’m not really a writer. Or maybe, I just like to play around with conventions: what are your expectations now that I’ve said that? Will there be a “happily ever after” somewhere, or just a curse that spans decades? Or maybe it’s just that my writing tends to be academic. Yeah, I’ve published a book, but not a literary kinda book, and all the novels I’ve started take place in South Carolina and end up going nowhere.

South Carolina holds a special place in my imagination, and I’m not entirely sure I could explain why without finishing one of those novels (or, more seriously, writing a different one entirely). Once upon a time, I was accepted into graduate school and got my own apartment, and started thinking about what I wanted to do with my life, in little ways and big ways. After a week of spaghetti and hamburgers, I wondered what kind of food I wanted to cook, and decided on Indian food (I’m not sure why that seemed like a good idea, having little experience with Indian food, but here I am still cooking lentils and rice most days). I really liked riding my bike: Columbia turned out to be a good place to do that, even though I never noticed many other bicyclists. I watched a lot of television, until I got tired of it (solely attributable to Sarah Gilbert's speech on why everyone should be a vegetarian, at least for the talk shows. I still watched a lot of afternoon cartoons).

I remember reading Hegel in German up in the graduate student office, for about a half hour, the same two pages over and over again, until I realized that I wasn’t reading the translation. I remember watching H.R. Pufnstuf and the Monkey’s movie, Head, with some friends (well, one friend and some guy I never did like). I remember painting in oils, the one and only time. I started painting more in acrylics, though, and was irritated that what I thought was a pretty good portrait of Amanda was mistaken as a poor portrait of Erin (Amanda having lent me the oil paints). And I remember watching the beginning of what was- to-be the First Gulf War, and being appalled at the people running through the streets waving the American flag, as if attacking Iraq was some great thing.

When I arrived, I hadn’t had anything to drink in over a year, and didn’t drink anything during that first year. That was probably a good decision on various levels: I made Dean’s List my senior year of college after a dismal freshman year, which I attribute to finally buckling down and concentrating on my work rather than socializing (and even as I write that I wonder, did I drink to be social or to avoid having to socialize?). Not drinking was probably a good idea when I was first living by myself in a strange city where I didn’t know many people. By the second year there I felt more comfortable with the people I’d already met, and also started meeting new people. In October of that second year, if I remember correctly (and I probably don’t remember that correctly, for obvious reasons) I started drinking again for complex (and in retrospect admittedly bad – if subconscious) reasons.  And I can say confidently that it was social (at least until it turned anti-social a few years later).

That’s where I’m at right now (and by “now” I mean the past couple weeks) – and I don’t think I’m going to write much more about it. But watch for the painting!

Monday of Finals Week

Roy forgot what he was going to say.
Perhaps I'll have a better post tomorrow.