You Gotta Respect the Classics

Back in the '80's I wore white deck shoes because I thought I was the coolest human being alive. My siblings used to make fun of them...and me. But I didn't care. I was cool.

Well those days were gone...

BUT THEY'RE BACK AGAIN!!!

The glory of the deck shoes, that is; not the mockery.









I promise I did not put any pressure on my son, but on our recent trip to pick our new shoes for the school year he grabbed the pair shown here.


I said they were like shoes from the '80's, and he said (I am not making this up), "You gotta respect the classics!" (a quote from "Cars"). He wore them out of the store and asked every 2 minutes if I liked his shoes, or if he looked cool in his shoes. He was so excited, and it made me giddy living that excitement through him.

And, of course, seeing the return of the deck shoe.

Wisdom is Proved Slow by Her Progress

not done

trying

getting close

not close enough

New Teacher Training

What does one do during "New Teacher Training" when one is given an entire day to work on preparing one's room and one does not have a room to prepare?

This is what I did for an hour this afternoon. It's not perfect (my left eye is particularly laughable--like Sloth from "Goonies"), but compared to frustrating attempts in recent days, it is infinitely better. Enjoy. Hopefully the Athena Bust Drawing will be done within the next week or so, so check back soon.

The Brazos

"Today we went to the river......and went up on the water fall and went down the spring. We also went cinooing with my mom and dad and brother."

The words above are Aydan's account of today's adventure. We drove about an hour south of Fort Worth to trek by canoe down the Brazos River. During our incredible, 5 hour trip we did some rock-diving (jumping, really...from 7-8 foot boulders), we climbed a rocky ledge and explored a crystal clear, cold-in-spite-of-the-95-degree-day wooded spring, we floated along being carried by the current of the river, we explored a stony beach and discovered tons of shells, we swung from a tree swing into the river while cows watched on from their nearby, verdant pasture, and we enjoyed rowing, talking, singing, and taking in all the nature and scenery. If it sounds spectacular, it's because it truly was. I laughed out loud at one point, because it was just so refreshing to be away from other people, away from any sights or sounds of civilization, and to just relax.

Just so you don't feel too left out, here are some photos, taken on Aydan's digital camera (which explains the low resolution).

"Round the World and Home Again, That's the Sailor's Way!"

And now we're back home. Heather graduated from her massage therapy program and passed her certification test. And speaking of my glorious woman, we have taken up the long forsaken past-time of working out together. We did it all the time in MN; and doing it again was the enjoyable motivation we each needed to get out of the slump we were recently in.

One more week of freedom and then back to school (sort of). These posts may have to satisfy for the next few weeks.

(A huge "Thank You" to Daddy Diggity for the external CD drive which enabled all this posting.)

Work and Play

While in OH we took in an Indians game (with a result being an intense fascination in baseball for the boys)...















...we redid the sidewalk behind my parents' house...















(Like Father, Like Son.)

...I played basketball more than I have in several months combined (much to the detriment of my right hamstring).
...and did a lot of hiking...in flip flops.



Sorry about forcing you up that hill, guys.












Some nIce shots of my dog.
(And can I just say I love my wife--she was always along for the ride. It's fun to have fun with her.)

TBDBITL

My brother Alex is runs the Ohio State University marching band. He's the man.



We had a fun time visiting his campus and checking out his band. Of course we did some messing around while we were there.

Here's the giant Q-Tip.



And me being ridonkulous.



And at the Wendy's in Columbus, 3 of the cousins had a goofy face contest.

My New Favorite Picture

I'm not sure if it's the golden tint, the candid poses or my rad dog, but I love this picture. This was taken just after I shaved off my beard.




This is before.



And here's after.



Mad props to my brother for rocking a Kip Dynamite look while I sported the Fu Man Chu. Here's proof.



Thus transpired the Asp Men's Facial Hair Family Reunion.

"I Spent Like Three Hours Shading Your Upper Lip."

I have been a bit out of touch recently, due to returning home and trying to get things in order. Mainly I have been working on the drawing you see. It actually looks better than this now; I just haven't taken the more recent pictures off my camera. I'm hoping to have it done before school starts, so hopefully I'll have the finished product soon.

And now, I shall go on to post pictures to show you what happened on the trip, and other things of interest lately.

"One Little Thing Can Revive A Guy..."

On "A Prairie Home Companion," Bee-Bop-a-Ree-Bop Rhubarb Pies always sponsors a segment in which Garrison Keillor weaves a tale of heartache and tears, with trouble mounting on top of trouble, building to what would seem like an insurmountable climax. Then suddenly he stops and says, "Wouldn't now be a good time for some rhubarb pie?"

"Yes one little thing can revive a guy
and that is a piece of rhubarb pie..."

In Texas, rhubarb in a non-entity. I have never seen it growing wild. I have never heard of a southerner talking of eating it. It is a bitter vegetable/fruit consumed only by northerners, seemingly. So it had been on my radar to hunt some down while in Ohio. I was fairly obsessed with the notion. It came to pass, and it was a simple and utter let-down.

It was delicious, mind you. I made two pies: rhubarb and strawberry-rhubarb. Both tasted incredible. But the simple taste could not make all the hassle and mess go away. For days now I've been running here and there, seeing this person, talking to that person, trying to please and appease all. Night after night I lay my head on my pillow far after my self-appointed "point-of-no-return." Morning after morning I pop up in bed, unable to really sleep in. Afternoons pass in a blur of frivolous activity, with nary a nap to be seen. Vacations should be crammed FULL of naps!! The basketball is fun, but is a sobering reminder of my mortality--specifically that I am dreadfully out of shape, am no longer 18 and cannot do the things I used to be able to do, and in addition, I may be approaching senility as many of the things I thought I could once do on the court--like being a great shooter--may indeed have been nothing more than a figment of my imagination. An unstructured time seems as though it would be free from obligation and would afford occasions to read, journal, pray, reflect, plan art lessons, draw, lounge, camp, and stroll through nature, but none of those things are happening. In fact, such things have diminished or worsened so that they are worse than they would have been had I stayed home and taught summer school from dawn to dusk and then plotting on how to repair or purchase a car late into the night, as I had been doing prior to this trip. And yes, family is great, but they are also family, and as the movies are wont to point out, they have a knack for frustrating us and pushing our buttons and causing mild annoyance at times. I speak not only in terms of THEM bugging ME, but much more so in regard to my two wild-monkey children, my 300 lbs. rampaging canine, and my egomaniacal, moody, irreverent, abrasive, embarrassing self harassing the life out of everything around me.

No. A piece of pie was not able to make that all disappear. It did not fix it. Did not fix me. It didn't really even refresh or revive me. But I suppose staying up until nearly 2 am will not do much for me either. At least it's only 1 am central time!

"Only in his hometown is a prophet without honor."

Coming home is often a very reassuring event. Things are still the same (mostly). It's good to see old friends and forge new memories with family.

But coming home is also a very disconcerting event. It is the one time when I get to hear what a jerk I am.

Now, keep in mind that no one calls me a jerk. And no one is really mean in any conversation. It's just that my flaws are well known, having been experienced for decades, and flatly stated. I am actually thankful for this. I like it when people tell me how it is. I just hate remembering that I'm not really all that nice of a guy.

Things I have been reminded of this week:
1) I am moody.
2) I am taxing.
3) I am an unspeakable jerk on the basketball court.
4) I could love Jesus better.

Allow me to make things a bit more clear.
1) When I am tired, I am evil. When I am fresh on the scene, I am exuberant. When I am frustrated, I am quiet and sullen. I could make a long list, but it's funnier for my readership if I give some examples of these horrible traits.
I came home last night from a very cool time hanging out with my family, getting to see some behind-the-scenes locales of the OSU marching band, for which Alex is the equipment manager. We arrived home late. We have been arriving "home" late for the better part of two weeks. God bless my sweet, gigantic beast of a dog, Lulu, but she chewed on some items and threw some garbage around my parents house. That is a minor frustration, and easily remedied. But then she had the audacity to run around the house like a maniac (after ONLY being trapped inside for the better part of the day). She would not listen to reason when I politely asked her to calm down (okay...that did not happen), so I had to body slam her. On the kitchen floor. Literally. I might have killed her if my incredible wife had not saved her (and really everyone else in the house, because once I had the taste for it, I might have been unable to stop). I am moody.
If switching from "fun evening with family" to "death to dog" didn't clue me in to moodiness, the fact that members of my family have said (somewhere close to a billion times), "You are sooooo moody" was a good indicator.

2) I LOVE my family. Ridiculously. I would do anything for my parents. I love to hang out with my siblings. I very truly idolize my big brother. When that kind of thing starts at, say, 10 months old it is very hard to shake. When I am with him, we have a good time...until I let myself go to far. It is a huge downfall of mine. I pick at Eric. I mess with him: poking him, bear-hugging him, punching him, etc. I want to be close to him and show him I love him. These cruel tactics may not seem the best way to do so, but it's what I do. I don't know why. Even now I can't analyze it and come up with a reason. But I don't stop there. I joke. It is one of my roles in the family. We all have them, consciously or unconsciously. Roles include the star, the scapegoat, the example...and the court jester. I am the joker. I keep everyone laughing to ease tension, gloss over issues, and generally make the mood light. But I'm mean, at times. I'm sarcastic. I push buttons. I hit sore spots. And when I cross the line, I can see it on my big brother's face. The smile fades. He looks away. He groans. He rolls his eyes. There are many little clues, but I always see them. The approval I long for from him is gone, and I can tell that the last thing I said was a bit off, maybe even hurtful. Like my physical poking, he never lashes back (a response my wife is trying to get him to change: she wants him to really hit me hard in return), just shows that I've let him down. I see it in my mind like the look I imagine is on my face when my kids drain my energy and I feel disappointed. I've drained him. I am often too harsh in my joking. I am taxing.

3) I pushed my brother in the back while playing basketball. He was only posting up, and I pushed him...in the back. Of course, I once kneed a guy in the crotch while fighting through a pick (because he was talking smack and being too physical), so it could have been worse. I am an unspeakable jerk on the basketball court.

4) A friend reminded me that my most important occupation right now should be to decide what I want my boys to look like when they become men, and then live like that. Honestly, I am feeling like I don't serve Jesus well, don't love him well, don't act like him well, don't know him well. How, then, can my children grow up to be like him? I could love Jesus better.

The Irish say, "The best mirror is a friend's eye." Coming home is like walking into a carnival's hall of mirrors. The mirrors are all a bit tarnished, looking well-worn and old, and their shapes are familiar. The figures reflected in those glasses, however, looks hideous and deformed.

i can't be you

when I check blogs, I am often left with a sense of wonder.

Amazement at the friend who passionately searches out video clips and weaves them as a story of his life.

Amazement at friends who hug trees and then write deep thoughts about it.

Amazement at the friend who seeks to benefit from difficult circumstances in his own life.

Amazement at friends who feel and think deeply.

Amazement that I am looked at with wonder myself.

This last one has really hit me tonight. If you never check out Amsterdam Asp, click on it now, and come back. This can wait. Now if you followed instructions, you will have seen a ridiculous picture of me and a ridiculously kind write-up by my beloved brother Eric. Even though the dominating adjective is "crazy," my eccentricities are also labeled daring, avant garde, and creative. In his words I hear that the linkage between cool and rebel is still alive and well, even if its poster boy, James Dean, no longer walks among us. Now the classic back-and-forth between Eric and me is the longing for what the other possesses. This is human nature. Wouldn't it be great if I could be daring, and yet still be calculating? The fact is, I like Eric's list of attributes a lot more than my own. Sure, when you live in that skin for a few decades, you start to feel like "conservative" equals "stuffy" and "careful" equals "cowardly" (or something along those lines). But from inside my own skin, I don't feel daring, creative, avant garde, etc. I feel flighty, reckless, rebellious (and not in a cool James Dean way), chameleon-like ("Creativity is but judicious imitation."), foolish, and regretful.

So I can't be video guy, or deep thoughts guy, or book-devourer guy, or emo-guy, or brave-face-guy, or any other number of guys I wish I could morph into. I can't be you. And here's the tricky part: I'm finding I can't even be me.

The guy I was, the accumulated attributes that amounted to a hopelessly uncool individual, are breaking me. The patterns and habits and rituals and thoughts and motives and processes are draining the life out of me. Even the new thoughts and the new angles and the expanded horizons and the struggle to embrace "facts" have left only doubt, and brought no peace nor no real enlightenment.

I can't go back. I can't become who I was prior to all these things. I don't really know where to charge forward to, and charging forward has tended to land me in all kinds of trouble. I can only admit that I'm broken, and I need to be healed. I can only admit that I am lost--"lost enough to let myself be led." So I'm living in this desperate attempt (inspired by Frank Laubauch in "Letters by a Modern Mystic") to always be with Jesus. To always think of him and talk to him and listen to him. And believe me, I'm terrible at it. But I'd rather be terrible at that, than attempt to do what I was doing before and continue to be terrible there.

The Winds of Change are Blowing...and It's Mostly Exhaust

Perhaps you were hoping that my summer break from teaching would afford me more time to blog and you might therefore hear from me more often. But alas, that is one change that has yet to occur.

It could be because I'm teaching summer school in the morning, College for Kids in the afternoon, arriving home around 6:15 to eat dinner, go to the pool for an hour or so, and tuck my kids in bed. On rare occasions, like this evening, I had another commitment that didn't allow me to return home until 9:15. While I did not see my own children at all today, I did see hundreds of others...all day long.

But I digress. Changes, changes.

Brennan is now 4. Happy birthday, Wee Bren!!

In conjunction with our sons' birthdays, one present we got them was a dog. This is a fun present, to be sure, but it also helps to teach them responsibility. They are already gleefully picking up poop and feeding the dog, and this comes only after they picked out her name: Lulu. That is the danger of letting the dog be the kids' dog. Silly names. But, actually, I kind of like it.
So those are her pictures up at the top of the post. She is Great Dane/Greyhound. She is a beautiful beast.

All things garage related are breaking: the Trooper just had a fuel pump put in, and now will need a new transmission. That car is straight from the devil. The trusty truck is experiencing some (I hope) minor electrical problems. Even the garage door itself is broken with a snapped torsion spring. As if we were financially destitute enough...

And really, here I need to stop and apologize for the title. I won't go back and change it, because it reflects my poor attitude at the moment, but I must point out (perhaps to myself) that while my title is witty in reflecting the vehicle breakdowns, it does not really point out how good things are. I wish you could have been with me on the car ride home this evening. The summer air smelled so good it made my heart ache. All I needed were some fireflies and I would have thought I was in heaven. I talked with Jesus, as I am wont to do when circumstances seem overwhelming, and we discussed how it's good to have bad times, if for no other reason than that we might talk. Plus, a little tidbit of news which I am getting to, has me very excited....

I will preface this by saying that the offer is not final, but there is a strong likelihood that in the fall, I will be a Charger! That is to say, I will be teaching Art 1 at Central High School in Keller. At the close of our interview the principal said he would recommend me for hire, he has already contacted my references, my current principal (who is graciously letting me go) called to congratulate me...and so it seems I am only waiting on an official offer from HR. I am thrilled to be working with high schoolers again, and doubly thrilled to be working literally 6 minutes from home.

That's a lot of news for one post. I think I'll go lie down.

"You better get your facts straight before you get laid out, brother!"

M-I-C....
See you real soon!
K-I-E....
'e's a really great guy!
M-O-U-S-E.

There are some people in this world who bring out the best in you. There are some people who are as close as the shadow beside you, even if the clouds have been obscuring them from sight for days...weeks...months. I just richly invested hours of my life talking with one of those people.

I had planned to read in bed and go to sleep early. It had been a good evening: singing worshipful songs with my two beautiful boys, and then bopping and rocking to "Splish Splash." I've been feeling overwhelmed and tired, so I was about to call it a night. And then my favorite Mouseketeer stepped in.

If you are ever in the Great Mitten State, and you run into a dilapidated jeep operated by a man who looks like he's running on a couple hours of sleep, give him a hug and tell him I love him.

remember, remember the fifth of november...

Memories haunt, memories chase

Memories persist, cannot erase

Memories fade, memories shift

Memories cheer, in them we drift

I haven’t written poetry in a while. It is quite possible that I am not very good at it and tend to be overly sweet and sentimental. But as today’s thoughts and loosely associated by the title “memory,” how can I be anything but sentimental? So please excuse the bad poetry and let’s begin.

To say I had a hankering for a malted milk shake would be an understatement. I was virtually obsessed with reliving the taste. It’s like that with different seasonal items. I deprive myself of them the whole year so that I can partake of their delicacy with renewed vigor and appreciation. In the fall, it’s apple cider and powdered doughnuts. I don’t know how this combo came about, but that’s the way it is. Apparently, in the summer, it’s a malt. As I was saying, I was deeply craving the taste of a malt, but my wife couldn’t find any at our regular grocery store. So I set off last night to find some. Now I must preface this portion of my tale to let you know that Texas is ridiculously hot. 90-degrees-in-early-May hot. That simply ought not be. These crazy Southerners have come up with a way to combat this heat: they never expose themselves to it. (I’ll touch on that more in a bit.) When I entered the grocery store, I was struck by an icy blast. Said blast sent me reeling into a memory tailspin. Back in Chicago, our apartment in Roger’s Park had no air-conditioning. It was a beautiful corner apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows, and we usually had good breezes come wafting through. But on the really hot summer days, the stifling, asphyxiating-hot days, the air was still and felt like it could burst into flames at any moment, consuming you with you. On those days, HM and I would walk a couple blocks to our neighborhood Jewel-Osco grocery store. We didn’t have anything to purchase, no quest to fulfill, we just went there for some relief from the heat, because we always knew the store would be icy cold. I was reminded of this on my great malt quest. A good memory.

Our car is broken again. This morning I walked to the near-by house of a fellow teacher in order to hitch a ride. To do so I hopped a couple of fences…probably did a little trespassing. It was fun. These fences got me thinking about the “good old days.” In Lancaster, WI the only reason a house had a fence was to keep cows in. We ran amuck all over neighborhoods without a single obstruction. It was like an episode of “The Wonder Years.” Good days, good neighbors, no worries. To this day, there is not a single fence to separate yard boundaries between neighbors on my parent’s street in Shebly, OH. The whole town in like that. But step away from small-town America, and today in suburbia we’re not sure if we’re keeping the kids in or the weirdos out. Or maybe we’re keeping the neighbors at bay. Maybe we’re hiding ourselves away from any interaction. Maybe we’re just protecting our precious grass from being trodden on by impertinent, punk kids. Maybe the memory gets sweeter the further removed I am from the original events. But thinking of those days made me smile, and made me feel a good measure of remorse for the time and place in which my kids are growing up.

Walking to and from my coworkers house was almost therapeutic. I know in city-centers and in Europe…and among the Amish…walking is still essential, but here it is almost unheard of. Unless it’s exercise, in which case you must wear a really bad wind suit to proclaim your intentions. But it felt good to walk, to feel the ground under me, to feel the breeze, to experience the heat, to feel the sun shining down. As I mentioned before, we American’s so insulate ourselves from the outside world that we are strangers from it for most of our lives. Bill Bryson talks about it in rare comedic form in his book, “The Lost Continent.” We run from AC modified homes to climate controlled cars to AC modified workspaces, etc. I’m sure I’ve talked about it before. I just felt good, felt alive, felt energized by the experience.

Finally, while eating left-over pizza for lunch today, I was taken back to the first time I ever tasted Domino’s pizza. It was the L&K Motel in Shelby. While we ate, we watched Bill Cosby write with his magic pen on “Fat Albert” on the Nickelodeon network (that was a first, too). Dad was candidating, and we all went along for the ride. Shelby seemed like a metropolis compared to Lancaster. They had a stoplight and a fast food restaurant. That was a significant point in my life. Gone were the days of individual, localized tastes. No more “Pink Pony” or “Happy Joe’s.” The disease that had infiltrated Lancaster in the form of “Hardy’s” was already in Shelby, with greater strength. The corporate take-over of America has marched on, and I first tasted in when I was 8 years old.

So the memories end where they began: with a summer taste. Think of that thing which captures summer memories for you and go out and eat or drink a healthy measure of it today. Here’s to school almost being over and the glorious reign of summer soon to begin!

Wisdom is Proved Right By Her Actions

Very excited about the set up for the new drawing: a bust of Pallas Athena.

(Fret not: the unsightly line and red thumb tack--behind the bust's right shoulder--will not be included in the drawing)

up yer nose wid a rubba hose...pick this...and other witty titles having to do with the proboscis

The nose is done. Although I just destroyed it (while spraying fixative on it, a nasty blob sputtered out of my nearly-empty can and landed on the lower right hand corner of the nose shape). But it lives on in digital memory. Enjoy.

PS--A little tid-bit for observant blog-readers: notice that I have change the way I will be signing art work.

Interview

I almost forgot that I had been e-interviewed a little while back, and I failed to post my responses to the questions. (Maybe it had something to do with all the real-life interviewing I was doing at the time).

1. You have to eat from one fine fast food establishment for every meal for the rest of your life; which is it and why?

Is IHOP fast? 'Cause that would be it. If not, I'd pick Smoothie King: it has variety and I could probably stand to eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

2. If you were given the chance, what famous person (dead or alive) would you want to interview you?
You

3. What song do you want played at your funeral?
"Estrella" by Brave Saint Saturn (slightly modified)

4. Describe the last time you were really embarrassed.
Tough...I don't easily embarrass. Maybe today in class when I tripped over a kid's chair. Only it didn't feel like embarrassed...it felt like rage.

5. What is your biggest regret?
Not having pursued my artistic development from an earlier age.

"What the BEEP!" said the Conceptual Artist

Our microwave is broken. Well, not broken, exactly; it is muted. When we press any button, where there was once sound, there is now only eerie silence. NO BEEP!!! It's so scary not knowing when my food is done because there is no alarm to alert me!!

I'm being mockulatory, of course. This "travesty" made me think how soft and cushy we have it these days. The idea struck me that it would be a worthwhile experiment to, whenever any piece of modern technology broke (as they so often do), instead of paying ridiculous amounts to have a contraption fixed, to simply try to live without it. In this case, it would be relatively easy. What does a microwave do that couldn't be done by something else? Really, it's just a matter of time; and how sad that we've made our lives all about compacting more crap into less time.

But then I realized it would be much harder in other instances. If a car breaks down, it's harder to walk, ride a bike, get a horse, or bum rides off people. If a computer breaks down...life as we know it is over. But as another example, my ipod is broken. I need to take it to the Mac store to have it fixed, but I have been living without it for several weeks now, just because I don't have time to make that trip. This time period has shown me that I can in fact live without 24/7, at my fingertips, musical wish fulfillment. This thought then led me to the title of a story or scholarly article I would like to write: "Solomon, In All His Splendor." (That is the conceptual artist in me: all these great ideas, but no time or specified expertise to complete them. If only I could get paid to come up with ideas and sell them to suitable buyers/creators.) Basically, it's the idea that in Ecclesiastes, Solomon hired musicians to play for him in his palace. Back in the day, you didn't have easy-access music. Only the rich got to hear the good stuff from the good people during good times. But today we want all the best, all the time. We "hire" thousands of musicians playing millions of their best songs by downloading them into our pockets. The folly of this, however, is that it does not stop with music. I mean, who can argue that it' s a beautiful thing to be able to listen to great tunes. MUSIC FOR THE PEOPLE!! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! It's nice not to have to be uber-rich to afford a good band these days. But we heedlessly charge off, just like Solomon, to get all the other trappings. The sweet pad, the gardens, the servants, the sexual conquests...and we never get filled enough so we think we need to get more. Enter debt, misery, discontent, dissatisfaction, despair, bondage. It's a shame we can't just listen to the guy who did it all way better than we ever could and figure out, before we start, that it's just not worth it. We are trying to live in the glory and the splendor of Solomon, but it would be better if we dressed like flowers and ate like birds.

So the time has flown by. I must go and spend some time with a real, live person...and not another piece of soon-to-be-broken technology.

Monochrome Family

Spring in Texas lacks the vast array of colors found in Dutch tulips, but when it comes to blue, the state flower provides more than enough color for your average roadside.

You Can't Take No For An Answer

If Saturday was like "American Idol," today was like "Muppets Take Manhattan." I tried to meet with three different individuals today to discuss the possibility of me working in the Keller ISD. I was unsuccessful with all three. But at the very least, I reasserted my name and my desire to teach high school art. I'm a bit like Kermit sitting at Pete's, unsure what my next move will be. But for now, I'm simply refusing to take no for an answer.

sanJAYa

I just participated in what can only be described as the "American Idol" of education: the job fair. Along with thousands of other (would-be) teachers, I arrived at Flower Mound High School Saturday morning. We were herded like cattle into the gym. We were then scheduled for screening interviews, and as I was seated in the third row, I was able to interview immediately. The judges approved of my performance and sent me on to Hollywood (actually, it was called the "Opportunity Gym"...I kid you not). Once there, I scheduled 2 interviews...for 3 hours later. I sat around a lot. Did a little work. Then returned for two of the fastest interviews I've ever been a part of. And they were basically identical. So that was nice.

In the end, I failed to do some things I would have liked to have done (like show the interviewers my artwork), and perhaps did not leave quite the impression I desired. That's okay. It was basically just practice, since I'm not even really looking for a job (necessarily). Tomorrow I will hunt down the principals of Keller high schools to attempts to get a job there. I do plan to leave quite an impression there, as I will take further cues from "American Idol" this time and plan to wear my hair like Sanjaya. How could I not get a job?

Man, I Never Post Anymore

Because I fear I'm getting to be as bad as Diggity, I will push through the fatigue and post tonight.

It was a beautiful day. I literally SAW cool breezes rippling over fields of tall green grass on my commute home today. It was like a movie; like a cartoon movie, where they can't quite get the affect right but you know what they mean. But not like that, because it was the real thing. It just smelled perfect, looked perfect, felt perfect. There was a brief, shining moment when I felt carefree and like a kid again, gazing at the prospect of endless summer days filled with delight. So for a brief, shining moment I enjoyed Texas.

And then something about the combination of that moment struck me. I was driving a pickup truck, listening to country music (which I don't often do, believe me), and cruising through the heart of Texas. The words of Lenny came to mind: "How did (I) get here?" It's just so odd. I never could have dreamed this up. But I am actually loving it. I had to convince myself that Texas isn't so bad after all.

But then I came within 10 miles of Texas Motor Speedway and saw flocks and droves of fans with slogans emblazoned upon their vehicles (mostly trucks and campers or RV's) such as "Redneck Girls love NASCAR" and (I swear I am not making this up) "Show me your hooters."

Artist

My son Aydan makes me extremely proud. Check out his artwork at:
www.artsonia.com/Aydan2

He told me all about his artistic influences (Henri Rouseau) and the media of the work (collage) so he's a flat-out genius artist, if you ask me.

Be sure to leave him a comment at artsonia...he'd love to hear from you.

typing is hard...i'll try to keep it short

First: a great story.

I was playing basketball yesterday, and while playing defense on a man going up for a lay-up, I either hit my hand oddly, or I got my finger caught in his shirt, but either way, I dislocated my left pinky. I tried to take pictures of it's current state--all swollen and bruised--but they didn't turn out like I wanted. So just know that about 30 hours ago, my finger looked like this.

That is why it's hard to type.

Now, I'm not the hippest cat in the world, but I know enough to understand that a lot of what is contemporary...that which is felt and expressed and observed by millions...happens all over the web. One such place is YouTube. My wife and I frequently check out videos together and just this evening were showing my sister-in-law one of our favorites. (as an aside, I really enjoy Jim Gaffigan's "Beyond the Pale" and just about anything by Mitch Hedberg. They make me laugh.)
But I digress. Occasionally, I will go to the "Favorites" section (or whatever) and check out that which is popular. After fighting through a lot of temptation to look at a lot of garbage I discovered the (apparently) very popular scene of video posts and responses. It's like a blog, only with AV. Well, I found this very commented-on video posted by an atheist in response to a video titled, "Atheist, what do you offer?" or something. This guy talked for close to 20 minutes, and I will refrain from poking any fun at him or his material because, really, who am I? I will also refrain from refuting anything he said or "arguing" with him at all. I walked away from the video feeling sad for all the times I belittled someone or picked fights just to try to show some superiority.
This video then led to another, called "The Blasphemy Challenge" in which people deny the Holy Spirit. One response had a group of Germans affirming their belief in Christ. While this video was heartwarming to me, I will admit that one comment was particularly insightful and humorous (commenting that Germans had not lost their ability to produce propaganda and that the video contrasted bad examples of atheists--for bad, read "dorky" or any such word you use to typify people who may be considered on the cultural fringe--with hip, attractive examples of Christians. Good point.) In addition to video responses, there are comments posted. The saddest thing was the hateful banter going on back and forth. Not just the atheists calling Jesus "gayboy" but also the willingness of Christians to argue.

I am not saying a believer should fail in his or her conviction to be a defender of truth. But why argue truth with one who says that objective truth doesn't exist? Why throw hate back and forth? The odd thing about the "gayboy" comment was that it had a pointed ending: "why not do the world some good?" Instead of fighting in ivory towers, wouldn't it be better to serve in dirty streets? And a hundred other thoughts flood my head. I wonder if an atheist's heart is warmed when they hear someone bashing "mindless belief" in a religious devotee? I'm not being antagonistic. I really do wonder if it makes them glad, just like it makes me glad to hear others affirm, in the face of an onslaught of people condemning and jeering and ridiculing and denying, their faith in Jesus.

Perhaps this makes less sense than I wanted it to. I'd better quit while I'm ahead...and before my pinky swells up like a balloon from all this typing.

Nose Progress

Here is a succession of images showing the progress of my most recent drawing. Spring Break is coming to a close, and it's still not done.
(Warning: The color in the first picture, previously posted as "(Lack of) Progress" is WAY off. The others show a more correct glimpse.)

(Eric: if you'll tell me how you make your montages i'll repost this and make it more prettier)

Falling Deep Into the Rabbit Hole

I heard of a study recently in which it was reported that many Americans now spend more time in front of a computer than they do with their kids.

I saw a night-time news program in which a person on one side of New York City was asked to find someone very different from them socioeconomically on the other side of the city. This was performed successfully, both "ascending" and "descending."

And most recently, I "listened" to the thoughts of wildly different people from all over the states and all over the world. I peered into the vast chasm that is internet blogging, and I fell deep inside the rabbit hole.

And this made me wonder if any of the people whose thoughts I was voyeuristically accessing knew anyone in their day-to-day, non-virtual, actual living and breathing geographically transversing lives whom I might also know. Could a blogger in Canada be friends with one of my dear friends and I randomly get to them through the much discussed six degrees of separation? It's fascinating, and time consuming. Fortunately, my kids were in bed, my wife was at class, and I was on spring break, so I didn't have to feel guilty about falling under the aforementioned statistic.

Although virtual reality is no longer science fiction and is very much a part of daily life, it is still sometimes fascinating to gaze upon this Wonderland I "walk" in.

So to all you other "strangers" who randomly found your way here, and to others like melanie pearl who stopped by via a connection with an old friend of mine, welcome and thank you for your feedback.

(Lack of) Progress

I am terrified of color.

Keep the Customer Satisfied

I know that when I go to a blog and all too often there is no new post, I become more sporadic in checking that blog. That being said, even though the following post may be lame, I'm trying to keep something fresh up here just to keep my ever-so-loyal fan base returning.

"Theorizing that one could travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett stepped into the quantum leap accelerator...and vanished....

He awoke to find himself trapped in the past, facing mirror-images that are not his own, and driven by an unknown force to change history for the better. His only guide on this journey is Al, and observer from his own time who appears in the form of a hologram that only Sam can see and hear.

And so Dr. Beckett finds himself leaping from life to life, striving to put right what once went wrong, and hoping each time that his next leap will be the leap home."

Believe it or not, this was all recalled by memory on Sunday morning during church. I was thinking about this during church because on the way to church, I heard the song "His Eye is On the Sparrow." I love this song, and the first memory I have of this song is from an episode where Sam leaps into an African American congregation where the father/pastor is feuding with his daughter/singer who wants to go mainstream. At the end, they reconcile and she sings, beautifully and full of emotion, with both of them weeping, "His Eye is on the Sparrow." It struck me how amazing it is that a simple thing like a TV show can shape your life at an early age. Other beloved bits and pieces of me, while not totally due to QL, have strong links to the show as well. There's the song "Imagine," by John Lennon. I swore I'd never listen to any indivual stuff from John or Paul (or Ringo or George, but really, who listens to them anyway?) post-Beatles just because it seemed so wrong. They should only be remember in the sum total of their brilliance. Or so I thought in a young, misguidedly-idealistic way. Then I saw Sam singing to his sister on "The Leap Home" (where he had to play No-Nose Pruitt in the championship game) and he played "Imagine" to his sister to prove he was from the future. He said it was one of his favorites. I listened. It became one of my favorites too. And although I owe my love of Don Quixote to my dad and early viewings of "Man of LaMancha," I can recall Sam and Al walking off-stage at the end of a production of the play (in which Sam was the star) and, just prior to leaping, applying the dialogue between Sancho and Quixote to their situation: "More misadventures?" "Adventures, old friend."

If you're looking for something profound I could fake it. I could say that you should be careful what you watch on TV, or what you let your kids watch. But really I'm just reminiscing...and planning on watching all 5 seasons on DVD in the very near future.

A Better View

Superpowers

BIFF!
WHAMO!!
ZOCK!!
POW!!

Okay, so I grew up wearing Thing t-shirts, Superman underwear and watching "Batman." It may be ingrained in my thinking, but as I was climbing in bed last night, I asked my wife what super power she would want most. She is very wise, and responded, "Teleportation. Then I could go anywhere and not pay to travel." I did not have the heart to tell her that teleportation usually requires the power holder to have visited the place previously. Listen to me...talking authoritatively about fantasy; the next thing you know I'll be giving you all updates about the upcoming comicon.

All this to say, I played basketball last night (poorly), which I've been doing a lot lately, and enjoying it. But that has ended for now, because I sprained my ankle. Now those of you who were with me on my last sprain, I am proud to say I learned something from the experience. I did not go out and clean my garage. I did not continue playing on the ankle (oh yeah...same ankle as June). Instead I stopped immediately, went home, popped some meds, dunked my foot in a bucket of ice water, and kept it elevated the whole night. Sorry John, that meant no drawing. I am pleased to say the treatment worked. Little swelling/bruising, little limitation to range of motion. Either the sprain wasn't as bad, or I did something right afterwards.

Back to superpowers I have always loved Superman, but I am no longer fanatical about him. I have always dreamed of flying. But last night, I switched my preference. I would rather be like Wolverine and have rapid healing/restorative power. That can mean only one thing: I'm getting old.

But Heather tried to tell me it was a good choice. And just as she would grab me in her arms and teleport me with her (which is, of course, possible...comically speaking), I could touch her and others and heal them. This time I did have to correct his naivete, because that simply is impossible; healing doesn't work that way. Silly woman.

To A Mouse

Thank God for Robert Burns:

But Mousie, thou are no thy-lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men,
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

I had intended to draw tonight, but I find that my schemes of becoming an artist at times go awry and leave me nothing but grief and pain when I expected joy. For instance, I finished my skull drawing last week. You can see some semblance of what it looks like above. I'll explain the crappiness in just a bit. Well, you would think I'd be pretty pleased, having produced a satisfactory drawing. But then I went out to Jon's studio to draw from life and it was revealed to me that I am a far cry from an outstanding artist. It was intensely frustrating and bothersome, and I walked away feeling like I couldn't draw, nor did I want to draw.

So instead of drawing, I played basketball at the gym until the kids' bedtime tonight. Then, I figured I wouldn't draw, but would post a picture of the skull. Then my digital camera was out of batteries. Then the house was out of batteries. No...not out. We had some D's and some A's; just out of AA's. Now I had intended to post quickly, then eat some dinner, play a little guitar, read a bit...enjoy some of the things I normally crowd out in my pursuit of artistic perfection. But no. My plans went all screwy because I had it in my obsessive little head that I had to post a picture and it had to be tonight. So I take the world's most ridiculous digital camera into the studio: my laptop with a web cam tacked to it. And with this unsightly monstrosity, I snapped the pictures you see above. They look so butt because the web cam is tugging atthe cord and being held sideways at full extension of the arm, etc. etc. So I'd better quit ranting so I have just enough time to choke down one bite, strum one chord, read one sentence...and then go to bed.

To Eric

I can't figure out why I didn't root for the Bears last night. I actually remember the '85 team, and their glorious Superbowl Shuffle (though after seeing Sweetness and Funky QB, I lost steam and cut out with 2 more minutes to go in the video). I can see in my mind the Fridge rumbling over those red Pats jerseys. And then, of course, there was going to see the Bears train in Plattville, WI. But those fond memories couldn't pull my support to their side. Maybe it was all those years of rooting for the Vikings...which necessitates hating the Bears and Packers. Still, I think it was mostly the fact that I wanted Manning to get his ring.

Regardless, that is not why I post. I was glad to read today that I was not watching the game alone, though I may have been the only one drinking a certain beverage (and while I do enjoy a good brew now and again, it's not what it looks like, folks). Still, I wanted to send my well-wishes and say cheers. I missed you this year.

The Death of Me

I am home sick from school today. This is nice, in a way, because it allows me to sleep and get better, but it also allows me to work on my "Memento Mori" project (which must be completed by tomorrow).
Now, fortunately the skull does not look as it does in this picture. I've worked on it a bunch since taking this picture, but the thing that's killing me is that there's something wrong with the lower jaw. I say "something" because I spent a bunch of time trying to fix it last night, and I couldn't come up with the right way to do it. So that will be part of my labor today: to figure out the problem and find the correct solution. From there it's just straight rendering until this puppy is finished. Here's to finishing inside 3 months!!