You shall know them by their wings...

For a while there was a question whether I was a 5 or a 9 on the Enneagram, but I found some conclusive evidence that I am a 5: the wings. There is no way that I am either an eight--the aggresive type--or a one, the perfectionist.
I'd say more, but I have to leave now. But I'm still skeptical about the value of the Enneagram as a whole, particularly as compared with the Myers-Briggs test.

There is of course a story behind this cartoon, but I think in many respects it speaks for itself.

Relax!

A few weeks ago I recorded a song that some friends had written; I thought that I would be able to burn it to a CD this morning, but something is wrong and everything sounds fuzzy. (Not the good Guess Who "American Woman" fuzzy, but a very bad, FM radio-with-dying-batteries fuzzy.)
That's disappointing, but I really do have other things I ought to be doing. I'm sure they'll get done... eventually.

Wednesday morning

Things move along. As a new plan comes together, I'm not quite as worried about the unexpected changes.

Today's cartoon is once again based on a true story, although Mai did not in fact have a wagon. Nit-picking and pointing out every instance where something wasn't done exactly correct is not terribly helpful, and ends up undermining morale. Let me again state, the hotel cartoons were drawn approximately thirteen years ago. Still, it obviously left scars.

Collaborative work

I realized belatedly that yesterday's posts may have been a bit too harsh. I'm irritated, but the world certainly isn't coming to an end. This too will pass.

So, to lighten the mood I thought I'd post some more fan art, this one a collaboration. It was pointed out to me that Monkey's version of Mr. Miro don't have noses. Like Hebrew texts, this cartoon needs to be read from right to left: the large Miro poses the question, answers his own question, then the smaller Miro responds ("I don't," i.e., I don't smell), and then the duck (or pigeon, I'm not sure which) sprays deodorant onto the smaller Miro.

Now, what could be funnier than a pigeon (or possibly a duck) spraying deodorant on a Miro with no nose?

Another day, another 28 cents.

Some days, I'm not just playing dumb.

Wasteland

I've had a string of bad Aprils for the past seven years, and I thought I was getting through this one fairly easy... but no. I'm a fan of T.S. Eliot (like having the soul of Sinatra, this may be a liability), so it almost seems inevitable that this April would be bad. In any case, here's the beginning of The Wasteland (1922):

APRIL is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.

I don't know the nature of other people's problems; but I've given you a reference in English, and I haven't made your salvation dependent on knowing it. Still, it seems that it really might be time to go into the basement and deal with my "nasty crap," quite literally.

In other news, prayer may be bad for other people's health. That's a shame, although I do wonder about how they tracked outcomes: even the article linked (which is commentary on the study, not the study itself) suggested that God might have different ideas of what constitutes a "good outcome." In the healing circle I've attended, we've always asked for wholeness, knowing that "healing" doesn't always mean getting better.
I guess that isn't too different from where I started: the past few Aprils have had some fairly horrible surprises, and the answer usually wasn't for things to go back to the way they had been.
Tillich suggested that there were only two coherent approaches to the world: as a Stoic or as a Christian. The difference, if I recall correctly, lies in Hope: the Stoic sees the wisdom in keeping Hope hidden in the bottom of Pandora's box, whereas the Christian of course thinks Hope is a good thing.
So, let's see what this new month brings.

Leaving

There are times when people do things you don't understand, and they don't seem to understand the impact they're having on you. Or they don't care.
There are some things--such as being able to use a cash drawer at a desk with a limited number of drawers--that you'd think were obvious. There's an agreement, sometimes implicit and sometimes explicit, with regard to behavior that can be expected, and we make plans according to those expectations.

Now, a lot of my friends say that "expectations are pre-planned resentments." Fair enough: the less I expect of you, the less chance I have of being irritated. But if you simply announce that you're going to Washington with no warning or sense that your plans can be changed, I can't help but take it personally. Now I've got to rearrange my life around you.
Have fun in Washington.

The dangers of condecension

Introverts, unite!

But if they did, we'd probably just break into groups of two or three.
I have to remind myself that the problem with working the front desk wasn't working with people, just being trapped and having to deal with whatever came through the door. No control, no comfort. Some people are good at that sort of thing, but not me.

Mistakes

I'm really tired [despite the coffee] today, so very little commentary.
Again, based on a true story.

Tingling

These cartoons go together: I don't deal well with a lack of sleep, and I was commuting a fair distance both ways which meant that working the evening shift and coming back in for the morning shift meant that I had about eight hours total between shifts--not really a good thing. It didn't happen all that often, but again seemed to be a way in which Mai would schedule us to do things she wouldn't really want to do herself.

Threat of Thunderstorms

More fan art!
Mr. Miro and "Little Guy" appreciate the thunderstorms passing through, lightning striking Mai and the prophet. I'm not sure which prophet this is, but obviously not a good one.

Where the magnolias smell like...

French fries?

Don't worry, be happy!

The sun is shining here today, although it didn't look so good this morning--much to cold for the end of April. But things should warm up a bit now.
I think the primary complaint I had about Mai at the hotel was that she--in her capacity as Assistant Manager, with a brand-new shiny bachelor's degree in Hotel/Motel Management from some school in Tennessee--wasn't doing, and had never done the work she was directing us to do.
I liked Lisa, the real manager: even though her politics were pretty horrendous, she had real experience working the front desk in a hotel, and understood the issues we faced.
In any case, I have always been more inclined to passive-aggression, and that actually fits better with a job where you're stuck behind a counter eight hours a day. [Some traits: obstructionism, fostering chaos, procrastination, forgetfulness... ] Think of me next time you're checking into a hotel.

Politics

More fan art. This was accompanied with the caveat, "you'll understand this better than I do." The ducks and pigeons are the Republicans, Mr. Miro and Mini-Miro are the Democrats, and they're shooting arrows at each other. You'd think I was giving him my back issues of the Nation.

Proper Grammar

When I was in high school, my English teachers skipped grammar. They said that we would pick up most of the rules simply by seeing them in action. For the most part, I think that is true: I still can't diagram a sentence, but I can pick out a problem when I see it. (The main problem I've encountered because of this has been learning other languages: the terms of the parts and functions of language are useful things to know.)

"Some people have a way with words. Some no have way."
-Steve Martin

Fan Art!

Like any truly great artist, I have fans who also enjoy writing their own cartoons. For instance, this cartoon explores the different ways Mr. Miro might appear in different situations: I've drawn Mr. Miro as a Roman soldier, but never as a caveman or a sailor. Or a lion. I think this is really, really cool. Keep 'em coming!

Keep your eye on the ball!

When playing sports, usually (although not always) good advice. Sometimes it's difficult to figure out what the "ball" is in real life, however.

I guess productivity continues to be an issue, even beyond the Onim Hotel: witness this blog.

Rainy Tuesday

I have some fan-art to post, perhaps tomorrow.
Again, a comment on that period when there is a lot to be done... but not right now.

Have a good weekend!

Julie asked if the Muzak made the rooms go faster: the answer is no, but here's the cartoon that prompted the question.
The Muzak was good for passing the time when there wasn't anyone around (except Mai, and it was good for annoying her, something I was particularly good at). Also, I wasn't able to hear the music playing from behind the desk unless it was really cranked up, and as you may have guessed, I really enjoy music. (Read the article and you'll see why "Muzak" and music aren't necessarily in conflict with each other any more.)

Finally, Mai.

I realize that it's still Apryl for another week, but here she is.
I think there's something that makes "assistant managers" evil; I don't know what exactly. Perhaps "evil" is too strong a word. Maybe not, though: it certainly fits Mai.
She's better now that she's left the Onim Hotel. Well, a little better.

Some mornings never end...

And others never quite get started. I hate the feeling of having a lot to do, but not being able to get to work because other things--or people--are holding me up. I'm not really good at waiting. Unless I have something to read. Or I have my guitar.
But then, as H.R. Niebuhr said, there is a "grace of doing nothing."
Procrastinating is, of course, a completely different issue.

Aren't we all?

There's something about a uniform that makes me want to cringe... particularly polyester.
In other news, my namesake would have been 113 years old today.

For those wondering about the haircut

How can I keep from singing?

A friend sent me a link to a Myers-Briggs site that includes a test and a profile. I actually prefer their personality typology better than the Enneagram, probably because I like Jung, and had read this book before I even heard of Myers and Briggs.
I'm amused that the INFP is the only type that seems to have a theme song:

“I go – but where, o gods
since for his torment and my pleas
Heaven offers no pity?

You who speak to my heart,
Guide my steps, dear love;
Ease that uncertainty,
That urges me to doubt.”

- LORENZO DA PONTE (1749-1838)

The INFP is identified on this web site as the "Lyricist." Judging from the results of the PoF Robot-Song-Off, not a stellar lyricist...

Irony from the start

I guess I should be clear: this was a very nice hotel, the best in town. It probably still is, although I haven't been back there in over a decade. Because of this, the blockhead with the fine, fortified wine probably isn't a guest.
These days, though, helping someone such as this is exactly what I hope to do. Not really in the job description of a desk clerk, however.

Just for fun...

Despite only getting "honorable" mention in the PoF 2006 Robot-Song-Off, I'm still glad I was able to participate.
On a different note, someone--perhaps August J. Pollak--has provided a link to yet another cartoon site on the web. Perhaps it wasn't August J. himself, however--I don't want to draw any unwarranted conclusions. In any case, I'm not really up for the whole "Self-martyr magazine" today, even though I think there is a legitimate fear of censorship from the Önim Hotel chain.
As I mentioned before, however, it wasn't so much a dislike of the hotel as it was a dislike of the hotel-industry in general and the assistant manager in particular.
Watch as the saga unfolds!

Monday again (does it ever end?)

I liked having a desk, but I don't think I ever had a giant wall-clock hanging over my head. This cartoon was drawn before I got the job at the law firm, but it could be about my time there.
Speaking of which, it might be time to start posting the cartoons about working at a hotel which shall remain nameless. I can't really blame the hotel itself for my dissatisfaction, of course. Being a 5, that kind of hospitality work isn't my gig; and the evil assistant manager really made it much, much worse. (Mai has since reformed. Well, sort of.)

Monday again

I haven't gotten my hair cut since before I was laid off from the law firm... and that's been a while. I guess today's question is, where would a cartoon character go to get his hair cut?

It's not Easter yet...

This would be more appropriate, perhaps, on Sunday.
What exactly would be appropriate for the Easter basket, though? (For a variation on the theme: perhaps a CD).

Based on a true story!

It's official: I'm an international celebrity

I'm on the BBC! Well, sort of; you'll have to scroll down, and it ultimately links Pieces of Flair rather than this site--which is just as well, since I haven't posted any of my own music. But I'm given credit for the "song that begged" for the competition. He also notes the Ted Peters connection, which I'm happy about. Also: hear "Tiny Robots" unplugged on the 25th!
I hope Rodney is happy about the competition, although I can't be sure he'd be happy about the songs themselves. A lot of ignorance about robots there. But perhaps he'll send the winner a robot. After all, what have you got to lose?
In case your wondering about the cartoon, I've finally confirmed that I'm a 5 on the Enneagram, which, among other things, means that I'll pretty much be happy wherever I am, as long as I have something to read.
Speaking of which, I was happy to make the connection between the Synod of Dort and Patti Smith today: the opening words of her debut album Horses are, "Jesus died for somebody's sins, but not mine"--which is an excellent summary of limited atonement, although usually people like to include themselves in the elect. I don't really know where I may end up, but like I said, as long as I have something to read I'll be happy.

Was John a carpenter?

I guess it depends on which John we're talking about.

Opinion peace

Sometimes I think I ought to be writing about things that matter, and maybe my thoughts on politics and the world and such. A friend of mine occasionally posts very long, thoughtful analyses of various issues (on Mel Gibson's The Passion, Leo Strauss, and Reagan among other things); but I haven't really used my power for either good or evil. Just cartoons. Maybe I should have said, Everyone is entitled to my cartoons. Hmm...

I'll learn to work the saxophone...

In most respects, I prefer Sonny Rollins to John Coltrane. If I were to actually play the saxophone (as opposed to a "saxamaphone") I'd probably play more like Hank Mobley (except not as good, of course).

Gloom

I was reflecting on Brian's inquiry as to whether our inner tubes are tied together, and it occurred to me that we often don't use the resources that are available to us. Or at least, I don't.
The key here is of course symbolic (standing under a streetlight, locked out of the car might also work, but that's not really what I was getting at here).
Another friend was commenting on the gloom of Good Friday, which is only loosely associated with the idea of neglecting resources at hand, but it seemed sufficient to warrant that title on a sunny day.

Who do we encounter on our walks?

There was an interesting discussion this morning that revolved around status; it was good to be reminded that sometimes simply maintaining one's place in a bad situation seems better than trading it in for... something else, I know not what. That is, stability can be an end in itself.
I was trying to represent the Stoic point of view, but in that context it more or less meant being quiet. Others dominated the conversation, as often happens; like a dog tied to a cart, we're all going along in any case, and the only thing we have control over is how we go. Some find this an unpleasant image--a dog trotting alongside a cart to avoid being dragged behind--so feel free to substitute floating in a river. That fits the mood of the day better in any case.

So far out in front...

It's a nice day for a walk.

Tuesday...

I had a discussion of the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator last night; this morning's pronoucement is in light of the "perceiver" portion of my score. I think it's interesting, but necesarily limited; some have even suggested that it could be replaced by a pig. Needless to say, Mr. Miro's pig had small ears and a large tail, things which wouldn't necessarily be indicated on the MBTI.

Television

I have more or less stopped watching television, but not necessarily out of principle... however, I've found that I don't really miss it that much, except perhaps the Weather Channel and the Simpsons.

Wardrobe changing with the weather...

Your heart's desire...

Ethics is a funny sub-discipline... on some level, everyone agrees on the basic principles, something along the lines of "don't harm others." But the way that gets applied is another matter. In my darker hours I tend towards emotivism: it seems to be the best theory in terms of describing not only my own reactions towards things, but also in characterizing the reactions of others.
For instance: an old quote from Pat Robertson was brought to mind yesterday, that feminism is a "socialist, anti-family political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians." Not only is this not empirically supportable, it also isn't Biblical. It seems easiest to say that this is Robertson's emotional reaction to feminism, and further, that it expresses nothing but his own emotional reaction.
My fear is that all moral judgments are essentially the same.

Pomp and circumstance

I did not go to "Central High," or anywhere with such a lackluster name. But graduation ceremonies of all sorts have always seemed rather pointless. Part of me continues to resist ceremonies of all sorts: they never quite seem to accomplish what they're supposed to accomplish. That is, they may memorialize (and make memorable) a certain day that would otherwise fade into the dim reaches of memory, but in the ceremony itself can never effect the sort of transformation that is implied. I realize that graduation is supposed to mark the transformation rather than cause it, but really it just means that you either get to stop taking classes--not a bad thing--or else that you get to start taking classes somewhere else--also, not necessarily a bad thing.
I don't think I'm done with this train of thought, but I may be out of steam for the moment.

Flying...

I used to fly a lot more than I do now; today this would probably be about Delta rather than TWA.
I wonder if Sartre got the idea that "hell is other people" from sitting on an airplane between two people across the Atlantic... maybe, maybe not. I guess there are lots of other opportunties to make that observation.

Mood of the day

Mai has more trouble with philosophy than most, but she's around me enough to take a stab once in a while... she's not a big fan of Nietzsche (as should be obvious here--and of course she's not the only one, although I would stop short of saying that she's in good company) but then, it's fairly clear that she doesn't really understand what's going on. And in that respect, she's basically the opposite of me: I understand what's going on in Nietzsche, but not the rest of the world. Hmmm...

One of those days...

You know, one of those days ending in "y." I wonder what this reflects... perhaps nothing.

Monday's entry, late as usual.

Daylight saving time has taken a bit longer to get used to this year than it usually does... although perhaps I've just forgotten. That, and I'm getting older.

Lost in a cave?

Some mornings start off better than others... judging by Mai's appearance, it's a rough morning all around. The rooster in the corner is probably for Asclepius, but you never know around here.

Again, out of order

I guess that's appropriate, being out of order. Notice, though, that it looks okay on the blueprints.