If You Can Dodge a Wrench, You Can Dodge a Ball

On Thursday, the CHS Spark Plugs (a campus Spirit group) hosted the second annual dodgeball tournament. Although my teacher-comprised team, The Staff Infection, made it to the semi-finals, we were eliminated by the ultimate champions, The Bush League Ballas (the baseball team). Still, we had a great time, and the Spark Plugs raised money for future events, as well as a local charity. Here are some pictures for your viewing pleasure.

Organizer/DJ--Matt "Sparky" Nolen

Camera Crew/Cheering Section/Disturbingly Weird--Kaitlyn the Great and Laura Paige

Theatrical Master/"Staff Infection" teammate: Bobby "The Fro" Malone


Ready for action

A blur of white, ready to strike.

Of course, in the end I was professionally recruited.

Artwork/Artist

In case you wanted to see what I've been doing lately. These are all pictures of recently completed oil paintings (well...the pair isn't complete....). Sorry the photos are bad--taken in near dark with no tripod.

Here's one of me, just for kicks.

A Series of Events for the Left Hand

The short story had just concluded playing over the car's radio. A short silence was quickly broken.
"Dad, my stomach hurts."
"What did you have for lunch, Brennan?"
A normal course was described, and so I began to conclude that perhaps my son was just hungry for dinner. That was before the vomiting began.
"Brennan, no!" Aydan yelled.
"Aydan, stop. He's just sick."
"Brennan, NO!"
"Aydan, he's just throwing up, he's not doing anything to you!"
"BRENNAN, NO!!"
"AYDAN! STOP YELLING AT HIM!"
"But I don't want him to die!"
A conversation immediately came back to me, in which I recalled telling my wife that I could not remember the last time either boy was sick. Good health is definitely a blessing, but in this case Aydan's unfamiliarity with illness led him to a touching, if not somewhat humorous, conclusion.

After the boys completed a bath, it was off to the store to buy some Resolve to clean up the mess Brennan had left in the backseat. I dashed in and out of the store, and by the time I returned Brennan had fallen asleep. Aydan and I talked as we rode home, and when we arrived I tossed my keys next to the groceries and Brennan in the backseat, planning to pick them up when I collected everything after exiting the vehicle. Meanwhile, Aydan hopped out of the front passenger seat--again a place of some unfamiliarity to him--and in so doing pressed his hand down on the arm rest, built into the door handle.
Bringing in the groceries...and Brennan...proved to be slightly more difficult than I planned.
The doors were locked.
It was an accident of course, but it was a continuation of a series of comical happenings. The happenings continued. Heather was at work, so there were no spare keys to open the door. The simple solution would have been to wake Brennan and have him open his door from within. We yelled. We pounded. We rocked the car to and fro. Brennan slept on. Finally, I realized we would have to call OnStar and have them remotely unlock the doors. Only my cell phone was also locked in the car. The first neighbor friend we visited wasn't at home, but finally our luck changed and we were able to call and have the doors opened.

A ridiculous comedy of errors, but a funny way to spend an evening.

iPun

iWatched a million iChurch, Churchgoer vs. Christian, Christian vs. Christ-Follower videos on Youtube, and iSay that Christian culture continues to be a lame copy-cat riding whatever iPun they can grab onto.

iMade a video today for my church. It was another one of said iParodies. Mac vs. PC is funny. iSpoofs are...not so much. What makes me even more repentant/recalcitrant about my participation in todays shooting? iFeel that iCan't fully support a building campaign (which is what the video was intending to do). iHad a lapse in judgment.

iSuck.

April, Come She Will

I got home from youth group tonight, and it's too late to paint (and subsequently clean up), so I'm posting yet again. And Dad, Eric and Misty, please know that it is your commenting/encouragement/still caring enough to read that has made me want to write again so soon.

I really don't know why "April, Come She Will" is not on Simon and Garfunkel's greatest hits album. Along with "The Only Living Boy in New York" it is one of my favorites they did. And I sing that song a lot these days, because I think April in Texas is just about the most perfect time of year.

Nothing can revive my soul like a good rainstorm. April has brought some beauties this year. Not so many as last year, so that bag worms and flooding are issues, but enough to make the world verdant and resplendent; enough to force me inside and get cozy, or wander around in the rain and relish it.

Blossoming life smells amazing. When I drive (yes...physical ailments continue to keep me from biking) past Bear Creek, windows open and wind swirling, I am overwhelmed by the most amazing scent. I can't describe or label it--I don't know the name of the plant that makes the odor, nor do I have some comparison that I could use to conjure up the same smell in your head. It just smells awesome. I feel woefully inarticulate saying that, but it's the truth.

Days of sunshine feel glorious, because they are accompanied by cool breezes and shady, swaying trees. They are what sunshine is meant to feel like. These days hold nothing of the murderous, sweat-springing, life-sapping summers.

And so the mourning in my tune today is not for a fleeting summer that will soon turn cold. If only! No, I weep for the passing of April, and her handmaiden May who will soon join her is the death of the past, only to yield to that oppressive shrew of the south: Summer, who will dwell with us far, far too long.

Vicious, Dog-Eating Monster

I almost forgot about this little incident, but I'm glad I remembered it today. It made me smile.

I was walking Lulu the other morning. We always take the same loop through Bear Creek Park. Since we're up early, and it's usually still dark, I let her off her leash and she has free reign of the park. Occasionally there have been other dogs, joggers, or even squirrels, and I usually hear the tell-tale jingle of her collar long before I'm ever able to make out her jet black silhouette racing toward her new "friend." At times, her speed and size have frightened people as she emerges from the darkness, but there has never been any problem. She is just friendly and curious.

Well yesterday as we rounded the back turn and began heading for home, Lulu was a bit behind me when a shriek broke the morning calm. "AAAAIEEEEE!!! Scooter! No! (presumably a dog was leaving the yard to greet Lulu) NO!! NO!!! SCOOTER!! THAT DOG WILL EAT YOU!!!!! AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!! Get in the house!" At one point Lulu looked as if she was going to bolt toward the dog, which I'm sure would have made the frantic woman's fragile heart explode, but I told her no, and she came along calmly.

It was fairly uneventful. The retelling makes it seem mundane. But the panic and hysteria in this woman's voice cannot be adequately expressed here. I have no doubt she feared her diminuitive dog was in mortal peril. Really, "that dog will eat you"? Really? Canine cannibalism is fairly rare, I think. Anyway, it made me laugh.

Blessing and a Curse, Jesus Looks Like Jason, and Things I Never Wanted to Become

I have been asked to teach AP Art History next year. It will be a fun class, full of interesting, good students (many of whom I know from this year), but it will be a TON of work. I get to attend a week long training free of charge in June, but these dates conflict with the summer missions trip the youth group is taking. The class for next year is shaping up to be larger than the minimum 15 students required, so it is good the class will make; but more students mean more essays to grade. This large class size is due in great part to my personal recruiting of students, and due in part to one girl enlisting several of her friends to be in the same class with her. This is the blessing and the curse of popularity and social arrangements.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I met with my friend Jason this Thursday morning, as is now becoming our weekly pattern. We talk about Jesus, about being godly men, fathers, husbands, our goals and plans and how to achieve them. He's a writer, I'm a painter. He teaches high school English at Keller, I teach high school art at Central. We are very similar in many ways, and I really appreciate his friendship. I also appreciate his challenges to live a pure, God-honoring life. And so when I find myself struggling during the week with issues we have discussed previously, it is not the Aryan, long-flowing beard and hair pseduo-Jesus I see encouraging me to overcome. It is Jason. One evening, I literally imagined his head shaking and finger wagging, and I thought, "Jason wouldn't like this."
This may seem blasphemous, but I see it as the fulfillment of God's divine purpose. To say that God is great does not even put me in the right area; he is beyond great. Any word, any conception, any name or significance I attach to God is too small, too pale, too weak. To fight this, God contextualized himself as Jesus, walked among us, carried our load, promised to be with us...and then left. That is not a slam, it's just the truth. He is with us, but in the sense that he has given us "Another Helper" (paraclete, the Holy Spirit). So while it was all well and good for Peter and John and Thaddeus, it didn't have the same effect for me. I still haven't seen God. But, back to God's divine purpose, I can see the Jesus in another person (as Bonhoeffer speaks about). The picture I have of Jesus is shrouded in the Jasons, the Nates, the Jeffs, the Asps, and all the other believers in my life. It's beautiful really. The unseen displayed through the seen. I just never thought Jesus would look like Jason.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I think most people say they never want to grow up to be their parents. I don't think I ever could have wished for more. And so it thrills me a great deal to find that in many ways I am growing up to be just like my dad. Still, there are things I never wanted to become.
1) A sellout
2) A fat old man
2) A teacher who does art on the side
3) An American Christian
Now a sellout in my mind is one who abandons self to chase meaninglessness. I never wanted to become rich, to have this amazing career, to be powerful. Reading Proverbs lately has reminded me that wealth pales in comparison to wisdom. And so with some thankfulness I can still say I've chosen to stay true to my passions of simplicity, beauty, creativity, and being influential (very different from powerful). Likewise, I still play basketball, volleyball, bike to work, and have footraces with students, so I am not lazy and obese as I approach 30 (although my right Achilles tendon has been hurting so I've been somewhat inactive this week).
But 3 and 4 are knocking on my door. With Art History becoming a reality, I have serious concerns that I will be overwhelmed with grading, planning and work in general so that I'm left with little studio time. You can't be a painter if you don't paint. And when I joined the teaching profession it was (in part) with the intention of having a good schedule conducive to art production (summers off is perhaps the greatest blessing in the world). See, that's what jobs are supposed to do: support your life, allow your life. They should not BE your life. But now work is encroaching more and more on what I want to do. And I feel I am a short step away from joining the ranks of those art teachers who abandon doing art to just talk about it. I suppose there's nothing wrong with that, but to me it's just sad. Like the guy who mailed PostSecret the card stating, "Income from teaching creative writing: $38, 201. Income from creative writing: $0." I just don't want to be that guy.
And even worse, I find myself struggling to abandon myself to God. I've spent YEARS wandering through desserts, trudging in wastelands, and--let's be honest--throwing myself into pits of muck, so that now I forget the thrill that used to come with being with God. I've tasted brief moments of it in recent days. But by and large I've become complacent, selfish, and comfortable. I have purged from the mind the broken, the hurting, the lost; the slave girl lying on the brothel floor, praying for deliverance; the missionary dying for the gospel, and his family boldly and fearlessly continuing the work when he's gone; the dying house where those who suffer are comforted; the ghetto where the complexities of oppression leave generations bound to poverty, ignorance, and self-destruction; the addict on the streets, needing a meal, a hug, and a new life. And when these things are thrust back into my face, they overwhelm me, reducing me to tears. "How could I have let myself become like this?! How could I care only about myself when there is a world in need?!"

"The girl in the alley kneels from exhaustion,
she's guarded by some skinny guy who limps from some infection,
behind a veil of bleached, thin hair her eyes tell a story
like a photo of Berlin, December 1944,
She's looking for a handout she's been high for several weeks now
She's too far gone for whoring and the money just ran out.

And her heart still beats inside, and the blood runs in her veins,
a remnant of life remains, and her heart still beats inside.

The thought it comes to my mind to somehow intervene,
but it could bring me trouble and what could I do anyway?
It's hard to be effective when it happens so often
To see a life unraveling through drawn Venetian blinds
I'm sickened by compassion, I frightened by my limitations
anesthetic apathy come take the pain away.

And my heart still beats inside, and the blood runs through my veins,
a remnant of life remains, and my heart still beats inside.

Oh God we need you here! We're sinking fast and we don't care
The evidence is all around me, on both sides of my door
Our hearts beat..."

Jesus, don't let me become this thing.

HEADLINE! HEADLINE! READ ALL ABOUT IT!!

Check out who made front page news in Keller today.

"Once," Twice, and Many Times More

My beautiful and brilliant wife picked up an incredible movie at Blockbuster the other night. If you have not seen "Once" be prepared for some awesome music. Not a musical, though the songs overpower the story, "Once" features the music of Glen Hansard, front-man for the Irish band The Frames. We have already purchased the soundtrack from iTunes and have listened to it several times since last night. The passionate explosion at the end of "Say it To Me Now," the blissful glissando of "Gold," the sweet Casio (effect) keyboard on "Fallen from the Sky," the aching, heartrending melody of "If You Want Me" and the greatness of "Falling Slowly" are just a few of the highlights from the album. Highlights! Every song is fantastic. I almost feel bad not mentioning "When You're Mind's Made Up" and "The Hill." Seriously...it's that good. And I just found out (while trying to find how to play several songs on guitar) that "Falling Slowly" is nominated for an Academy Award this year. Check out the film. Immediately buy the soundtrack. Bathe in the ecstasy that is musical genius.

Jealousy

I had an interesting thought today while checking blogs. I know that God's love is called a jealous love. I was extremely jealous today, but didn't feel it was entirely sinful. Perhaps I could explain.

I read Eric's blog today and was jealous of his friends. It's weird, but they all seem so trendy and hip and cool. They live a free-flowing, urban, bilingual lifestyle. There's a photographer, who must have some influence on Eric's growing photographic ability. Typically, we say jealousy is bad--that we shouldn't want what other people want. But I had this sense that I wasn't really envious of what he has, but that I have deep longings--longings for community, and creativity, and fellowship, and beauty. When I checked the photographer's blog, I saw Ireland, Italy, France, Switzerland, and I was jealous of his travels to such beautiful, far-away (though not for him) places. But I didn't really want what he has, or want to be him; I just wanted to be a part of it all, to have the same experiences.

Maybe I'm romanticizing my own sinfulness. I don't feel discontent with what I have, who I am, who I know, where I am, etc. But there are times when I want to be a part of other things...of everything.

In Case You Care

I read Eric's blog, and loved to hear what he's reading. So I thought I'd share what I've been reading lately, just in case you are interested.

Alfonse Mucha, "Materworks"--a design master
John Singer Sargent, "The Early Years"--amazing painter
"PostSecret"--Funny, heartrending, thought-provoking. Find out more at www.postsecret.com (**VIEW WITH CAUTION! just checked the hyperlink and the first one is, of course, inappropriate. They're not all great, but all together they're interesting).
"1001 Paintings You Must See Before You Die"

And as I wrote in my journal several nights ago, this post confirms that even though I am nearly 30 years old, all my favorite books are picture books.

Decapitation Looks Easier in the Movies

I need to preface all the following content with the Dave-Berry-esque, "I swear I am not making this up." That being said...

We went to the movies today. Driving in we noticed a carcass on the side of the road, but this one was unusual, as it was a dead beaver. Aydan and I were quite excited to look at the beaver (I told him they had huge, orange teeth), but we contained ourselves until after the film. As we left the theater, the sun was getting low in the sky, and the boys and I raced across the road to view this fairly rare sight. Oh...and did I mention we convinced my wife that we should take the skull?

Now, skull extraction/preservation is not new to us. We thought a beaver skull would look great alongside our raccoon. So we raced home, grabbed a shovel, plastic bags, a utility knife, an ax, a flashlight, donned some ski-masks, dark clothes and disguises, and we set off on our covert operation. Imagine our surprise...our horror, even...when we arrived to find no beaver awaiting us.

I will take a brief digression here to tell a story about Halloween. We were on our way to meet friends to trick-or-treat, but before we left the neighborhood, we noticed 2 nice-looking bookshelves sitting by the roadside (and yes, you do see a pattern forming; I'm quite prone to taking interesting/useful things off the side of the road). I told HM that we should get them, but we both decided to just pick them up when we came back because we were running late (I like to tease that she didn't let me go back, get the truck, and then meet her after picking them up, but that's not entirely true). In my heart, I knew they would be gone later, because they were nice bookshelves. Heather has still not lived down the fact that my premonition came true, and as a result of her cruelty, my studio still has books lying on the floor, waiting for a shelf to call home.

Upon reaching the spot where the beaver should have been, I became furious. "If only she'd let me put the entire beaver in the back of the Trailblazer, this wouldn't have happened!!" I thought (which is a ludicrous notion, I know). Even more ridiculous was my paranoia that made me fume at myself for drawing attention when we first inspected the beaver which must have, logically, inspired someone else to carry off the dead beast before we could. But then I came to my senses. Having been dark for only 30 minutes or so, it dawned on me that not someONE but someTHING may have dragged the beaver into the adjoining field/woods. So we walked into the field, "just to see" I told the boys. As we did, I noticed a shadowy form retreat and stand at the edge of a line of trees. I was able to make out the form of a coyote fleeing the field. In front of us, where the coyote had just been, was the body of the beaver, which was previously intact but was now more...how to put it?....disemboweled.

After chasing off the coyote to claim our prize, it came time to separate the beaver's head from it's body. Because, come on: it's crazy to carry off a dead beaver, right? I mean, that thing was 3 or 4 feet long, probably weighing 75 pounds. Plus, only a crazy person picks up roadkill (and yes, for those of you who know V.H. and see some similarity in my actions and hers, which I had previously mocked, the irony was not lost on me). So being the sane person that I am, I had to cut off the deceased's head. After 2 or 3 whacks with my ax, which turned out to be fairly dull and fell with muffled, heavy thuds, I was forced to cut through fur, skin, fat, muscle and connective tissue with a utility knife. Fun. The coup de gras was the ax smashing through the bone of the spinal column with a moist crack. Surprisingly, I was not all that grossed out by the proceedings. It was a bit unsettling to see the beaver's slightly opened eyes staring at me while I worked, and slightly unnerving to finally see the head wobble loose and roll onto the turf, but I managed okay.

In the end, the boys and I returned home with a plastic Walmart bag full of enormous rodent cranium. Which, by the way, is currently rotting in the back of my pickup. Um, yeah...better go take care of that.

Rumblings

Recent Film Diet:
Sicko (Michael Moore)
Amazing Grace

Current Mental Soundtrack:
Alone Without You (Nightwatchmen)
Oppression (Ben Harper)

Most Recent Google Search:
"How to start a revolution" (Thanks to wikiHow for the helpful info)

If health care and college tuition, etc. are such a problem in America, how do we fix them? If we are a democratic society, how do "we the people" make the choices, instead of feeling manipulated by non-representative representatives and their special interest groups?
So how do we get democratic reform?
How do we get people to care for people?
How do we increase community?
How do we reform national values?
How do we make less more? (Does that make sense?)

How do we start the revolution?
And if the battle can't be fought....?
If not, Eric, clear a space in your apartment, 'cause we're coming to Amsterdam!

Regrettably, the Historian was On Vacation

I've often wished for a tiny person, preferably backpack sized, which I could tote around with me to have him (or her) on hand should I need a moment memorialized by a photograph. This would be particularly helpful on wilderness outings with my wife, where there is no one around for miles to capture a shot of us in the glory and grandeur of nature.

November has been quite the productive month, as I have finished my Athena drawing, and while in between projects, have completed several tangential undertakings. Regrettably, the pocket-sized historian was on vacation, and so the job was left to me to document the goings-on. At times I get caught up it the process, so there are lapses between stages of completion, but I post here, for your viewing pleasure, the "Rocky You've Met Your Match: The Preservation of the Raccoon Skull" and "The Creation of An Artist's Palette: A Rite of Passage to True Apprenticeship."



















(I can't get Picasa to stop repeating the beginning of the progression. Sorry.)

Coming Home

It's Homecoming Week at Central High School. And while the weather was beautiful for the parade today (a balmy 55 degrees), I am very excited to be, in fact, going home this weekend. So the glory of the thing is that I'll teach three days, enjoy the best that Texas has to offer, fall-weather-wise, and then sojourn back to Minnesota for some real weather. I'm giddy with excitement.

Somehow I got roped into driving for the "Freshman Favorites" in the parade today, which basically required me to drive to a car dealership, borrow a behemoth of a truck, and cruise slowly through suburban streets with wild teenagers all around. What made this event truly enjoyable, however, was the presence of my two sons. We had planned to go watch the parade, but I'm sure they loved riding in it even more. They loved yelling out the windows (something they always want to do, but are told not to) and being in the thick of things. My favorite part was a conversation that occurred on the ride home. It went something like this:

Brennan--4 yrs. old: (out of nowhere) "The air has gravity."
Me: "Are you sure?"
Aydan--7 yrs. old: "No, the ground has gravity."
Me: "Wel...(a brief, elementary explanation of gravity)."
Aydan: "It's like magnets. Picture it like this: the earth is the refrigerator, and we're magnets. So even when the world turns, and we go upside down, we don't fall off; just like magnets don't fall off when you tip the fridge over." (actual words)

Pure genius.

Freak Flag Fly

"Almost cut my hair; it happened just the other day..."

Transcripts from Central High School:

"You are the coolest teacher ever!" (Said in response to the fact that I ride my bike to school)

"You go to Central? (Response in the negative) Oh, I was gonna say, you look like you're thirty or something." (Said in response to recognizing a student outside of school hours. Of particular note was the way "thirty" was said, as if it were near death.)

"You work out, right?" (Said in response to a polo shirt that showed my arms)

"snicker" (Said in response to just about anything I am/do)

"Here's a tag for Aydan, and one for Dad...or, is it brother? Dad?" (Said in response to me checking my oldest child into childcare at church)

It is possible to feel very hip and with it one moment, and the very next instant realize that hip is momentary. It's nice when kids think I'm in shape, it's funny when adults think I'm a kid. It just goes to show that it's all perspective. The young think I'm old. The old think I'm young. Any I'm so tired today I don't know which I am. I did almost cut my hair today; I'm just so disgusted with it. But as I'm overly tired and overly agitated by everything, I think I'll hold off and see how I feel tomorrow.

Pointless

I was joking with a friend recently who told me she had a weak mind. She said she would read a book, like one she had just finished about an impending terrorist attack on the shores of a slumbering America, and be filled with wild notions influenced by the text.

"You weak-minded fool. He's using an old Jedi mind trick!"

I am not at all unlike this. I don't think anyone is very different. After all, Don Quixote read book upon book, filled with chivalry and fanciful notions, and so brooded and brooded until his brains dried up. In my case, I entertained the notion that all religions have the same stories. Seeking an answer for this, I returned to a person of interest I had heard of years before: Joseph Campbell. The man is brilliant. I plunged into comparative mythology. It was genius! I read further on the compelling claims of atheists ("unintelligent design" being the most memorable argument I read). They made good points!! I don't know how near I came, but I was on the verge of embracing the notion that everyone WAS right. We all had our own take on the universal, cosmic ideal. And it was precisely at this point that I noticed something.

No prayer.
All my reading excluded the Bible.

As Father Zossima relates in "Brothers Karamazov," "I carried (the Bible) ever with me, indeed I was afraid to go out without it, but I never read it. I did not know then that I had it, 'For the day, for the hour; for the month, for the season.'"

And so I entered "The Year of the Raisin." I wasn't sure in January why I titled my journal this. I emblazoned the cover with a raisin looking up at a grapevine, with the severed end of a vine in hand, saying, "Fancy that." Was the year of the raisin to be my return from shriveled life without Jesus? I hoped it would, and so I endeavored to journal daily, reading my Bible and praying.

My atrophy started years ago. There were moral lapses. There were lapses in judgment. There were new thoughts swirling in my head. I remember thinking of a scene in "Tommy Boy." He's trying to sell auto parts, and when people refused he politely, happily replied, "Super!" and bounced on his way. I was like that with Jesus. I didn't want to talk to people about Jesus. I didn't care if they said no. I didn't want to push him. I didn't want to be a salesman, peddling Christ.

This notion, one becoming more and more prevalent in Christian circles, is a nice and friendly idea. It sounds noble to not want to force Jesus on people. It sounds noble to live in peace and harmony with all people, regardless of class, color or creed. What am I saying, "It sounds..."? IT IS!! That's the trick: the ideas aren't bad. But what happens when the tension is lost?

I just had a vision of my son's bike chain slipping off the gears. Without tension in the chain, the bike goes nowhere, regardless how hard or fast you pedal. I'm sorry if that sounds like a cheesy sermon illustration, but it literally just came in my head as I was typing that last bit. What I had intended to move on to was the passage in Ecclesiastes where it says, "Don't be super wicked, but don't be super righteous either. The righteous avoid extremes". The biggest issue in all of life is balance. The Chinese got it right when they thought about yin/yang. Balance is central to life. What always occurs when extremes are taken is that a counterpoint will be raised with equal or greater vehemence, perpetuating further extremes. The issue I'm referring to above became prominent in church history at the turn of the 20th century. The Social Gospel people thought that most Christians were a bunch of lazy, good-for-nothings sitting around and waiting for the rapture. So they basically said, "Get up off your duff and do something!" What they did was good: seeking to eliminate poverty and injustice. Now the establishment reacted to this by claiming a lot of heresy (a lot was based on the pre-millenial/post-millenial debate) and saying, "Don't do too much! You have to hold to sound doctrine. Study and wait upon the Lord." Good things!! But pretty soon battle lines were drawn. Pretty soon each side thought the other side was composed of idiot heretics and would have nothing to do with each other. The gap widened. The extremes were more polarized. Along came WWI, and the New Deal. Social Gospel people said, "Let's get on board with FDR! He's got a good thing going." Establishment Christians watched and prayed, and served in the church.

The parallels between then and our current situation should not be subtle. The similarities between a century-old battle and a present-day discussion should be obvious. We didn't really learn our lesson, and so, forgetting, we repeat it. The issues today have more to do with tolerance, with global connectivity, but things are pretty close. Today, ideas like the one I mentioned, like the salesman pitching Christ, are gaining momentum. They are not original ideas. They are responsive ideas. Previously, within my own lifetime, we handed out tracts, we memorized the four spiritual laws (though now I can only remember, "God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life." Talk about sales pitch!) and we made the hard sell ("If you were to die tonight, where would you go? Are you ready to accept Jesus NOW?"). There are some obvious drawbacks to such an approach.

So the response is swinging to the side of leaving people alone. The idea is to love people without an agenda. The idea is to let people approach the ideals of Jesus in whatever context they choose. If they live out the message of Jesus, regardless of beliefs, they serve God, the Lord Jesus Christ. The biblical approach is to look at all the places where Jesus hung out with the drunks, sinners, the culturally diverse, the foreigners and "pagans" and admire how he loved them without pushing anything on them. Some nice ideas are tucked away there. It's not wrong to love people just to love them.

But recently I have been unable to leave it here. My "current events" reading is now overshadowed by the weight of what I find in the Bible. I've been reading only Luke. Looking at the life of Jesus. Trying to find what he was really all about. All Luke. Only Luke. Looking for Jesus. Ready for the shocker?

Jesus had an agenda.

I don't say he loved people to slip in his agenda. But he did have one. Take one beautiful example: Jesus is hanging out with messed up people, and the "religious" didn't like it. He was loving people and wasn't making them convert, or turn to him for salvation, and the religious leaders were pissed because they wanted them to give up Draco and Caesar and Shiva, etc. PLUS kick the booze, the pot, the whoring, etc. Only that's a modern day understanding. Yes, he hung out with people because he loved them, but he never stopped saying ONE thing:

Repent.

Ol' Uncle Bucky used to talk about the confusion of many seminarians asked to define the Gospel. Most launch into Jesus, Christ crucified, raised, your belief, etc. Nope. Repent. That's what Jesus wanted people to know about the Kingdom of Heaven. Check it out for yourself. That's what he says over and over: "Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is here."

So back to the example. The religious people are mad. They complain. So in Luke 15, Jesus drops some knowledge on them. Far be if from me to put words into the mouth of Jesus, but it's as if he's saying, "I want you to get this. I'm going to tell you 3 stories. They all say the same thing. This is what Heaven (the heart of God) is all about. Now, don't miss it." You'll see that the 3 stories are the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the lost son. What does Jesus care about? What is on the heart and mind of God? Some people are lost. He want them to return home to him. The found ones don't factor in as much, because they're found. It's not about them anymore. So, real simple like, here it is: Lost, God wants them, Found aren't the main thing.

Now we could play games with what being lost and found looks like. "You could be a lost Buddhist who acts like a jerk but when you stop acting like a jerk and act like a real Buddhist, you're found." If we look at Jesus, he says, "Repent. Come home." If we explore repentance and being found by Jesus, it's hard to come to that conclusion. Many are doing it, so it's not impossible, but it's hard.

So finally I get to the point of "Pointless." We don't love people because it's the right thing to do. We don't love people because it feels good. We don't love people because it gives us (and them) meaning and comfort. All great things. But we love people because God loves people. It's not about us anymore. If people matter to God, they ought to matter to us. If you remove God's love for a person from the equation, if you take away the "agenda" of Jesus seeking the lost and calling for repentance, you swing to a frivolous extreme. I know it sounds bad to say loving people just to love them is frivolous, but neither can we say that Jesus loved people without agenda. Repentance was all he talked about. We must live in the balance, the tension between extremes. We must love people AND we must allow people to meet Jesus--the one from whom they're missing. If Jesus isn't all that important, we shouldn't follow him. If he's not absolutely essential--but, gee, his ideas are fantastic--then live up to the ideas and drop him. To live in a world with Jesus and not care, not act, not love is pointless. To live in a world, loving and caring and act, but going without Jesus, is pointless.

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.