Zen Dixie - The Front Page Blog

Time!

1/3/2022

"Time is an illusion, lunchtime doubly so."
-Douglas Adams as The Encyclopaedia Galactica from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Adams was only partially right. Time is a purely human construct based on our perception of sequences of events both inside and outside of anthropomorphic influence. I'm kicking off the year at Zen Dixie on the first Monday of January. It feels right. That's January third for those of you paying at home, which would be all of you.

Is that why I called my first front page essay "Time?" Not really. It was the first word that came to mind. I might have called it "Laundry," or "Kitty Litter," or "Glove Funk" and it would have felt just as fitting. It's called "Time." Deal with it.

Sometimes no news is good news. This is a no news kind of week, which is nice. The only site news I have is that I am on my way to getting the website cleaned up and tamed. When I started last week, it was a surprise to see how much was here! Over the next few days, sections will appear, sections will disappear. Some of these changes will be permanent, some are just for the immediate future because I lack the time and inclination to add to them.

One interesting thing about this: When I started cleaning up "Emily Dickenson Is Sick Of Your Shit," I received submissions and requests to submit or be a part of the site. It's a nice thought, but I'm not really cut out to be a managing editor and learned the hard way that doing so pretty much meant working a full-time job with no paycheck. I will review books, movies, TV shows, music, and websites. Drop me a line via the contact for if that interests you. Here is a link to a fussy, verbose guide to what I need from you if I review your thing. BTW, the list of items for the tear sheet is a nice blueprint to use even if you don't contact me.

So welcome to housecleaning week and a few new things besides. I hope everyone has a happier, more blessed, kinder year.

This Is Going To make Me Cry, Isn't It?

11/23/2021

I don't know of anyone who is a fan of the Ghostbusters franchise who didn't hold their breath and hit the pause button on the first trailer when McKenna Grace pulled back the now iconic khaki jumpsuit to reveal the name on the left breast patch. It's not like we didn't already know just looking at the grandkids. Of course they are Egon Spengler's.

What I didn't expect was the news that a CGI version of Egon would make an appearance. The stories differ about what Egon does in the movies. Frankly, I think I've spoiled enough even writing about it.

Should I be grateful or not for being warned about this gut punch? A little under a year ago, I was one of thousands of people who saw the final episode of Season Two of The Mandalorian. Luke Skywalker walked onto the bridge of the ship where everyone was trying to wait out a siege by residual Empire troops to retrieve Grogu (AKA Baby Yoda.) I am not about to pretend I was too cool for it all and just shrugged and murmured, "Luke's here. Nice!"

No. I was a mess. I wept through the rest of the episode and then got in touch with every geek my age I knew to ask if they saw what I saw and then some of us cried again.

Now here's the thing about that. It really wasn't a Star Wars thing or a Mark Hamill* thing that caused such an emotional reaction. 2020 was an awful year. What some of us saw when Luke Skywalker raised his hood was a vestige of the life we knew we'd never get back. To see that unexpected ghost of our collective past was a reminder of how far we were from 1977 to now not just in the calendrical sense, but our ability to believe in heroes, to assume that good always wins.

We know better and we really, really don't want to because of how it makes the world look and feel.

So now we're doing this dance again in 2021. Still fearful, and still trying to fit the pieces back together, we see another ghost. Like last year's reappearance of young Luke, this is a bit of CGI fabulism. I wonder what it will be like for Harold Ramis' friends and family to see him onscreen and hope it offers them the comfort of a beau geste. For those of us who loved the movies since the mid-80s', is it going to be like seeing Luke Skywalker as he looked in 1977? It will also serve as a sort of goodbye to the First Gen of this story tradition. We need to understand that life moves on and there is room for a new generation of 'Busters who will belong more to the kids who go see Afterlife than they will to we GenXers. It should be a sign of hope that there are people willing to take up things that mean as much to them as they meant to us.

Maybe those outsized reactions can be cleansing if we let them. This is ultimately a mix of joy at seeing something we loved again and mourning as we finally let it go.

*No shade intended on Mr. Hamill. He's fun to follow on Twitter.
The Ghostbuster image is property of Sony Pictures.

Let's Talk About Politics

11/3/2021

  I've written about this before and will most likely repeat some of my talking points.

Let me start with a little story. Should I really have to say this? I'm from the American Southeast. Every flipping point we express starts with a story. Even science ed is prefaced by stories before anyone gets to the meat of the facts we're supposed to absorb. But I digress.

I'm from the American Southeast. Of course, I digress. Everything we write or say wanders through mental pigtrots before we arrive at... Okay. I'll stop.

The story:

In the mid-eighties, I attended an art school in the East Bay. For one of my classes I had to document the visual and texual evolution of a comic strip. So many of the usual suspects were done to death. After all, this school was located right on the Oakland/Berkeley line. It was a storied landmark of mid-century counterculture. Owsley Stanley sold Blue Cheer on the steps leading down to the sidewalk in front of the campus. The instructor who taught that class was probably on the brink of shooting up the bad public sculpture in Nahl Garden if he had to read one more paper about Doonesbury or Mister Natural.

So I picked Little Orphan Annie. (For those who know me, yeah, I know. Really? No Pogo Possum?) Even though I was living in the Peoples' Republic of Northern California, resources were thin on the ground at my school regarding Pogo. I was so over people starting up conversations just to hear me talk, the idea of going to Mills or Berkeley and asking for whatever they had about Pogo made me feel -What's a good, polite word for this?- disinclined.

I don't remember much about Little Orphan Annie except the scolding tone got to me and I'd do some research and then flee to the Pacific Film Archive to watch East European animation for the rest of the afternoon. One thing that stood out was the repeated warning to keep your politics to yourself. Every election cycle, there would be a strip with someone badgering a neighbor to reveal how they cast their vote. In the last panel Annie and Daddy Warbucks would appear to remind everyone that talking about your vote was not only rude, it was un-American! Right Sandy? ARF!

Here I was, right in the middle of an election year and... You want to know what is more disappointing than turning in your V card? Going to vote for the first time and your options are Reagan/Bush and Mondale/Ferraro. Politics permeated everything. I couldn't go buy a graphite pencil or take a walk without someone shoving a clipboard in my face demanding to know where I stood the on the election or Sandinistas or if I cared about the snail darters. (Pro tip: Yelling "A snail darter ate mah deddy!" will scare away some members of the Birkenstock crowd.)

By the time I returned to Beulah Land, I was pretty firm about my left to center views and had a fairly well-developed loathing of my fellow progressives. I voted, but my energy went to specific causes that were important to me. I got the vibe that public figures who got teary over the babies at St. Jude or the AIDS/HIV death tolls one minute and turned around and voted to abbreviate the rights of the same people on those lists were pretty much full of it.

Over the years, the more I knew about Of The People people, the more I realized what they did and said had nothing to do with the greater good or leaving a better place for the generations to come. This was all about winning and power and money. Voting was not a grand exercise in showing democracy in action. It was about holding my nose and pushing the button every two to four years. So I decided to be good for goodness sake and let the cults eat each other.

The culty "them versus us" dichotomy has gotten worse over the years. Families, friendships, and marriages that might have weathered differences in the past have devolved into socially balkanized units who talk the same, walk the same, and love or hate cilantro and pineapple on pizza.

It was in this environment that I created an artist and artisans group for my suburb of the Greater Metropolitan Nashville-Davidson County Area. It was and is a growing thing with good people, some of whom are trying to make a living by making and others who see it as a hobby that speaks to them.

Warning: I'm heading into another story.

One of the members made beautiful things. Their work wasn't just clever. They were making the kinds of things that could eventually be viewed as family heirlooms. All of us were awed by this person's talent.

Via backchannel, I contacted a friendly acquaintance who runs a gallery and represents this sort of artist. I asked if he wanted to take a look at the work they had posted and possibly represent them.

The next day, I got messages from group members complaining about this artist. What I saw was a beautifully executed item of an image that is now associated with extremists at one end of the political spectrum. I tried to reach this person, but they had disabled messages, so I finally had to take the post down, as well as some retaliatory posts from the other end of the political spectrum.

I posted a message restating that everyone needed to holster their politics at the door. This wasn't the place for it. Some people liked the post. Not a word from the political posters. I also contacted the Gallery Guy, who was one of the people who reached out to me. He told me he wanted to take a wait and see attitude. Things got fairly quiet and I got back to the task of finding resources for the art people.

Then it happened again. Monday the image went up and I was not quick enough in taking it down and gallery guy saw it and noped away from this artist. Here was what he had to say:

    "Going to pass on this one, J. I'm sorry because I know you were trying to help (redacted) and me. Just to
be clear on this, it wasn't about (their) politics. You know I have people from all over the map on my
walls. When someone shows you they can't behave in an online forum, it's a good bet they're going to be
hard to deal with at the gallery. They are talented and I hope they find their niche. It's just not at (redacted.)"

This has me frustrated and sad. The artist did this out of loyalty to political leaders who will never know his name and would not care that he screwed himself out of a decent side-income. I seem to be saying this more and more often. When you set out to own the fascists and own the libtards, the person who is more than likely going to get owned is you. People smarter than I am are addressing the bigger issues. Let them go macro, I'll stick to micro. We're shitting the bed every time our populace lurches to one side or the other in futile search for that sweet spot where one foot stays uncovered and the cool side of the pillow stays cool. I am talking about something a little more localized, doable on an individual level, and a part of being a good earthling.

To the point (Really? NOW you want to get to the point?) quit trying to turn your life into a hybrid echo chamber and hugbox of people who think, talk, act, and live like you. If things feel flat and shallow and you feel peevish all the time, it might be because you have lost the ability to tolerate any form of disagreement. I'm not saying you shouldn't take a stand for the things that are important to you. Relentless screaming with no interludes of inside voices and -YES- the blessed quietitude of listening wear everyone down. When everything is critical, nothing is important.

All of those politicians, every one of them: The Clintons and Cruzes and Trumps and Bidens of the world really don't give a damn about the people who argue and advocate and vote. (And we do need to vote!) It's up to us to care for each other. People? In the big picture, we're all we've got.

picture credit: This is an internet meme. If anyone knows who made it, please let me know so I can give them credit. Thanks!

What Was I Saying?

3/5/2021

Hello from Narnia, Wonderland, Oz, my office...

"What're ya gonna do wit dat website, ghellie?"

That was not me doing a terrible job of writing in Irish dialect. It was my transcription of Alice doing a terrible job of speaking with an Irish accent.

"I didn't sound like Colin Farrell?"

"No, babygirl, you sound like Sam Rockwell. Did you finally watch Seven Psychopaths?"

"And now I want a Shih Tzu."

I sighed. Everybody wants a Shih Tzu after they see that movie.

"I warn you. It will need a puppy cut in our climate. Also, they, um, they're...I don't know. It's like having a tiny, grouchy senior citizen follow you around all day."

"Yeah, but Niklas Lidstrom was twenty when he died."

True. And his other collar is still hanging on the towel rack in the bathroom. Like so many things, it's something that feels like the life clock stopped and everything froze.

Funny. I've been sheltering in place for over a year and looking back, I didn't accomplish everything on my to-do list. I had the time. I had the resources. As time wore on and the news got worse and thirty-nine friends, former classmates, and colleagues died and people seemed to get meaner and...and... I felt logy all the time. It was bone-deep and unshakeable. When the body count passed the double-digit mark, I was no longer able to cry. Feeling sad felt like trying to emote through a sleeping bag. I reached a point where I was approximating emotion.

I needed to do something. Anything. I started eating healthier again. The 5Ks I planned on running/walking in 2020 turned into the virtual races I've taken on this year. I've started writing and drawing again. The clearing out of stuff (Argh! The STUFF!) has recommenced. All of these were things that screeched to a halt when a friend in the U.K. told me in February '20 to prepare to hunker down for a long time. All I needed to do was kickstart myself.

To be clear, we are still sheltering in place. It seems like every time we as a people take a step or two forward, someone, somewhere wants to take a step back. Yes, I am worried about this. Every infection presents an opportunity for mutation. If enough of those happen, it obliterates the progress the scientific community has made so far. So we're sitting tight for now.

And I have this website.

What am I going to do with it?

Housekeeping for a start. There are landing pages to be built, half completed projects, and I need to prepare for some projects I've put off for a while. I have my work cut out for me.

In the meantime, I hope everyone is taking care of themselves. If you need help, please, please, please reach out. The past year has taken a toll on everyone. I promise you're not alone.

Below are some internet happy places if you just need to breathe in the good, breathe out the bad:

Miranda Hart on Youtube

Canterbury Cathedral
Morning Prayer with Dean Robert & Many Cute Animals
Canon Emma on Julian of Norwich/What we can learn from her wrt lockdown.

The Honest Guys

Until next time, be well and be kind.

Reach Out. It Might Save A Life

1/25/2021

Last weekend (AKA yesterday and the two days that preceded it) I had more than the usual number of contacts with people who live or lived in abusive situations. By the time I signed off Sunday night, I felt like I'd spent the last few days getting repeatedly punched in the head and gut. I went to bed trying to figure out a way to explain this and why it was important to post about it.

I woke up at two in the morning thinking about KC Green's "This is fine." meme. Yes, that was it.

People ask what group is the hardest to work with. Many then offer their opinion that being on a paediatric crisis unit or talking down suicidal people has to be the worst.

Nope.

Let's go back to that meme. Intervention can be compared to getting people to leave a burning building. The kids will follow you out, the depressives will let you lead them out. People with abusive partners will either refuse to budge or they will run back into the fire once you get them out.

I talked to people who wanted me to tell them how to get their partners to stop hitting them.

I talked to people who escaped abusive relationships but wanted to go back because "every child needs a father/mother."

I talked to people who would go so far, admit things were not good and then double back with, "But I love him/her!"

One thing I did not do was give up on them. They gave up on themselves. I pray they see the point where they've had enough and begin to rebuild themselves into the person who finds the strength to get themselves and their children out.

It is statistically likely you know someone in this situation. You may not have heard from them lately. You may think everything is fine. You don't have to do very much. Just check in with them. When you do that, you leave a door opened just a little so light can come in. You give them a nudge that there is life beyond where they are.

Asking For A Friend

12/29/2020

The Holy Family's flight into Egypt detail from the Moone High Cross. (10th C Ireland) photo courtesy Wikimedia Creative Commons

A quick note: Everyone mentioned in this post knows I have written it. They read it before I hit the button and want to help anyone else who may be turning over the same issues right now.

What does the church have to say about abortion? It wasn't any easier to answer this question when the person asking was the same age as her daughter is now and I was her age. If anything, it's harder to say where the church stands.

Oh, gosh. The details. She asked the specific priest because I'd written about him and she did the math. Then she asked about me, which led to me asking the prerequisite questions. Did she ask about me by my legal name or my pen name? What did she say about how she knew me? Does all of this matter? Yes, it does. I told him to go ahead and give her my email address. Her note arrived roughly twenty minutes after J. told her how to reach me.

She's doing well. She loves being a mom. She loves her work. She loves her life.

Yesterday, her daughter asked her, seemingly out of the blue, what she thought about abortion. She was asking for a friend. My gut clenches whenever a kid adds that qualifier. I know sometimes they really are asking for a friend. I've spent nights on the only nonsectarian youth crisis line in Nashville answering the kinds of questions young people are afraid to ask their peers, parents, and other trusted adults. After a while you take a chance that someone is taking the piss and just answer the question. The worst that can happen if you get a kick in the seat and the best is when you can put someone's mind at ease because now they know.

If she couldn't tell her what she thought, what did the church think? A text and an email to their minister netted her no answer, so she decided to contact the next parish over, to ask a priest I'd occasionally written about. He told me he'd given her the stock answer, that she'd have to search her own conscience. It didn't feel adequate.

Probably because it's not.

He knows that and I know that and he knows I know and the person who reached out to both of us more than likely knows we know. We also both know I thought I had all the answers back in 1989. I was almost finished with my undergraduate degree and getting ready for a gap year and then graduate school. That was also when one thing led to another that culminated into a rather reckless weekend and a broken condom led to me being pregnant.

One of my favorite expressions is, "Man proposes and God says, 'That's cute!'" That's pretty much what happened that Fall. I always thought I'd do what any proud feminist pro-choice person in my situation would do and just take care of it and go on my merry way. It wasn't that easy. This was a brand new life. My rubric for acceptable graduate schools changed from places with a good theatre/creative writing program with interesting anthropology classes to good for writers/good for babies. I looked for schools with excellent early education programs so Rowan or Willow (aka Sproglet) would have a running start at being well-cared for and educated.

Even as I argued for every woman's right to make choices for her own body, I felt like I was choosing for two. This was so big, this finding out I wasn't the only one listening to lectures about Victor Turner's ritual systems and the elegant mechanics of Italian set design. Those who knew felt differently. Some of it came from shared politics while others worried about my future. I could not end Sproglet's life. It made as little sense to me as capital punishment or needless lab tests on animals. Life, it turned out, was life.

Twenty years ago, I discerned that the now-Mom who contacted me really was asking for a friend. At the time, I told her I was was Pro-Life for me, but I wasn't sure I could make the same call on behalf of someone else. While that sort of response might give me the impression I was off the hook, it really doesn't help the person asking for guidance.

I brought this up to J. To be fair, J. had no idea until after the fact. I failed Sproglet. As much as I wanted Sproglet to be a part of my life, I couldn't carry him/her to term. Everyone who knew seemed relieved except me. This is probably the most I have ever written or talked about it. J. was there to offer advice when I grieved, but at the time, I found no guidance from the church.

So I talked to this sweet Mom who told me she was sure her daughter really was asking for a friend and she knew who. AND, she needed to hear what I and what J. had to say. We told her we really didn't have answers. The question is not without nuances. One thing J. and I agree on is we do need to make it easier for people to ask the hard questions.

I feel more than a little frustrated that we as a denomination, a communion, and a congregation shrink away from real life questions that could off the comfort of biblical answers. We can sing of the loss of the children Herod killed and we can't discuss the lives affected by an unexpected pregnancy. I was in my twenties, educated and moving forward with my life. What if I'd been younger, poorer, a person of color, and not yet finished with my secondary education? Would I have made the same choices? Would I have felt comfortable contemplating a change like this?

As a part of the Anglican Communion, I am glad we have a feast day for the innocents. What I wish we did less of is saying, "Amen" and "Thank you" and more talking, listening, and contemplation of how we can help the innocents who walk among us right now, some of whom may be carrying innocents of their own.

Namaste, y'all!
Jas Faulkner

And So This Is Christmas...

12/27/2020

A local friend posted she woke up before everyone and logged in to the internet expecting to find greetings from far-flung friends and family. Instead, she found our city all over the news. Someone exploded a car bomb in downtown Nashville at approximately 6:32 am CST. At the time, I was still trying to figure out what happened. One news outlet stated the vehicle was parked near the AT&T Tower (AKA the Batman Building), while another equally trustworthy agency said the RV was next to the Metro Courthouse. All of this was confusing, because those particular landmarks are at opposite ends of the district. Then someone mentioned the arts area, which consists of Downtown Presbyterian, The Frist, Anne Brown's place, and few other galleries, all of which are a few blocks away. The only thing the stories agreed on was it was deliberate.

The only thing any of us could do was stay out of the way and wait.

Even though we exchanged presents and I finished making the Christmas dinner I'd prepped the day before, everything felt tamped down as we went back to the news to see if the police, TBI, and FBI released any more details. It was safe to assume that the majority of us in this big city and environs were safe. Still, a free-floating fear tinged the day. We kept seeing reports of three injuries and hoped that was the extent of the human cost. Still too high, but had this occurred, say, an hour or two before a Titans or Predators game, it could have been so much worse.

By nightfall and throughout the 26th, I found myself unable to shake off feelings of dread. This is not something new. Having worked in inpatient and outpatient clinical psych, I'd been trained to expect the worst and think out what I would do if those grimmest of "ifs" became a reality. That backing track of fear has run through my life since then. What if someone came into my office with bad intentions when I ran a legal outreach NFP? What if someone took exception to the pastor at my mother's UMC church? What if I visited a synagogue and someone decided to plow through the sign asking visitors to call ahead and identify themselves? What if someone did the unthinkable at a clinical facility or the city's arena while I was covering a game? Silly as it may sound, all of these things ran through my mind whenever I was in a crowded place.

I was not there Friday morning. To everyone who has called and texted, even while admitting they figured I was okay, thank you. I am. I have been offering prayers for the first responders and those who lived in the lofts above the street where the explosion took place. My thoughts are with those who expected to get up and celebrate the day only to hear the eerie sound of a recording warning everyone within earshot to evacuate.

Oh, my God, my God. Were are so close to emerging from under an uncontrolled pandemic spread, only to find people want us to live in fear. One theory going around is the person responsible is/was afraid of 5G and wanted to target AT&T, which is a popular tele-carrier around here. As silly as it sounds, I hope they are right. I am anxious for my country, for my state and city to begin to heal. We can't do that well if we're afraid of each other.

By late Friday and well into Saturday, I have to admit not feeling anything but shocked and still fearful of what this might bring. A friend who is in recovery from COVID described having days when he couldn't find the bottom of his lungs. It's probably not nearly the same, but I had that same feeling. I hope it subsides soon.

God bless us all, everyone, and God help us get back to that place of peace.
Jas Faulkner

An Open Letter To PR People About Reviews

12/21/2020

Starting January 2021, I will regularly review what I'm reading, watching, and listening to. Sometimes these will be new things, sometimes, I'll devote space to works I think deserve another look or listen. Last year, I took some tentative steps toward regular reviewing and then ended up walking away from the endeavor, muttering to myself. What was a happy thing where I got to point some people to things they might like turned into a source of frustration.

So I am going to offer some guidelines that might make it easier for everyone involved. If you already do these things, great! If this is not on your to-do list, at least think about adding these items. If you think I'm too demanding, I am sure there are plenty of websites with writers who will be happy to accommodate you.

1.) Reviews will be posted here, at Goodreads, and on Librarything.
I have posted on platforms that offer easy ways to post at Amazon, B&N, and other sites. Even when those devices were in place, some authors used a multi-step approval process where I would be asked to post on more sites. Sometimes the links in the emails did not work and I couldn't get back to the right page to post and...

Okay, you're going to see this phrase more than once: If you create unnecessary steps for me, I'm gonna walk away from your book/movie/music/whatever it is.

2.) Please, please, please in the name of everything that is good, have an e-tear sheet.
A couple of years ago, someone put out a call for reviewers on Twitter for a comic book they were publicizing. I have experience in this area, so I volunteered. This person was very pleasant to work with and fairly prompt when I requested an e-copy for review. Here is why I never reviewed the book. They sent an email expressing excitement about working with the movie director whose name was being used to brand the series. They mentioned the revival of the genre the book represented. Aaand that was it. Here are the pieces of information their email did not contain:

The Writer
The Artists (Pencilers? Colorists? Backgrounds? Lettering? Cover Art? No, no, no, no, and no. I guess it was put together by elves.)
The Actual Title Upon Release (It changed.)
When It Was Going To Be Released
The MSRP (The US MSRP would be great, and please know I have readers in Canada, AUS, NZ, and the UK. Prices for consumers in those countries might be nice as well.)
Available Formats (Those darned elves, they're so low-tech!)
Where it's available. (Strange elves on street-corners distributing media is no basis for a system of publication.)
ISBN
Number of Pages
Cover Art -or-
Preapproved Image of Author(s) or Illustration(s) From The Book

When I sent this list to the PR person, they sent me one, sometimes two of the pieces of information I asked for. After the third request for details about the book, I gave up. A week later the, "WAAAAAIT! Where did you GOOOOOOOOOOO?" emails started. ::sigh::

One other thing, if I have to search the internet for cover art or scan the letter enclosed with the book if it's a paper copy, it might not get done in time or to your satisfaction. I have had to pull reviews because "Our deal with the artist fell through," "We changed our mind about images," "We don't own the rights to the cover." Yes, someone actually asked me to remove the images for those reasons.

So I'll say it again: If you create unnecessary steps for me, I'm gonna walk away from your book/movie/music/whatever it is.

3.) Keep It Simple
I get it. You've poured you heart and soul into your work. You feel protective of it. Vet me by searching for previous reviews if you feel the need. It won't hurt my feelings. I am happy to answer queries within reason. If you come at me with a series of byzantine measures where you email me part of the thing and then I give you my impressions and then you might email me the rest and then I send you my review and then... No. Send me the information I need so my readers can find what you're selling and I'll put up a review and send you a note with the URLs if you want to see what I think.

Once again, with feeling: If you create unnecessary steps for me, I'm gonna walk away from your book/movie/music/whatever it is.

With all that written, I wish everyone a happy, productive, creative, and prosperous year to come.

The Next Best Thing

12/12/2020

I am working with a friend on a project she started about the difference between fully living in the world and having a simulacrum of life where people act more like audience members than actual participants.

Some of the people she and I talked to included clergy who held services on social media and virtual environment platforms pre-COVID, members of defunct online theatre games groups, and a theatre company that used avatars (!) and teachers who worked in online/virtual classrooms before the pandemic made this a necessity.

We talked about how our own lives had changed since being online for the past three decades made it almost too easy for shy folks and introverts to essentially hide. Yes, there was no small amount of self-assessment going on. There are probably a lot of people in our field who would prefer to not acknowledge that, but it happens.

There's no argument we can't have life as we knew it before the pandemic, at least for the time being. Things are changing. At some point in the near future I am going to be able to go out in the world again. So are a lot of other people who are clinging to some semblance of feeling like they're part of the human race by means of social media.

One priest who has worked with us quit doing virtual services because he felt it was at some level still playacting. The larger the groups got, the more it seemed like he was getting more expected responses than actual inquiry.

This hit home.

Another thing he brought up was the idea that more of us seem to be converging into groups of monologists and those who made up their audience. He told us his friends list had grown from a little over eighty people to just south of a thousand.

Another thing he shared was a conversation he had with his wife. She asked him how many on that list were people he could comfortably approach just to talk, to seek comfort from if they needed to do so, were people he felt comfortable about calling.

F. and I agreed it was a pretty brave line of inquiry and one that might lead to some uncomfortable answers. It is one I will be asking myself in the week ahead.

Years ago I sent a friend request to someone I had interacted with on a message board in the past. Her response was something to the effect that I was nuts if I thought she would want to be friends with me. For a long time, it made me very cautious about sending and accepting requests. Although I have to admit the "lonely guys just looking for love in all the wrong places" are still fun to mess with! I haven't had one in a while. They keep running away when I mention the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation Internet Fraud Division. Pleh. Killjoys.

F. and I were very honest with each other about how easy it has gotten to hide from the world. Kind if silly, really. After all, we're both part of the proud, the nearly unemployable, the ones with at best marginally marketable skills, the people with anthropology degrees.

Here are some of the thoughts we have about online "life."

1.) If people aren't responding to you, you're not in the right place.

2.) Assess your expectations. If you're getting what you need in the way of information in a passive environment, ie. online lectures, that's great. Keep it up. If anything, this experience should have given a lot of us the chance to broaden our knowledge base.

3.) The following things might be a stopgap, but without inclusion and direct participation, they are pale imitations of the real thing. Moreover, they might actually exacerbate depressive tendencies. I'm thinking of: online religious observance, some kinds of creative collective groups, support groups... All of these are more dependent on the shared energy of people being with us than we realize until we lose that particular attribute. F. adds classroom dynamics have drastically changed as well. She says the whole concept of pedagogical presence has changed.

Does this mean people should do away with ALL online interaction because in-person is better? No. We all have those Cheers-like places where you log in and everybody yells, "NORM!" If you don't reach a point where you feel like you may have found your people, why are you there?

I used to chalk these sorts of questions up to being spectrum-y and overthinking everything. Then F. started asking her students questions about this and asked me to work with her. From what we've asked people about life online before and life online after, it seem a lot of people are either settling in or asking if they are seeking friendship or accepting something that is actually very different.

There's so much I miss. I think other people miss these things, too. What worries me is if I get too comfortable accepting little or no interaction, it's going to make it harder to engage when the pandemic is under control.

A Call For Compassion

12/7/2020

Yes, I know. Advent wreaths have five candles. Alice's boys want their wreath picture posted and she's taking a hard line on it staying in the family. I'm tempted to find some similar candles and make one of my own to show. Here is where I cop to the fact that we didn't do our Advent Two thing because I worked 10 hours and then promptly went to sleep.

I tried to find the Canterbury Cathedral Advent services. They posted nice pictures and hashtags that take you to long lists of things that are, at best, marginally related to Advent. The last time I looked, I saw someone posted a knitted naked old people Advent. Okay, let's get one thing straight about that. I have nothing against naked old people. When I get in the shower, I become one of the ranks of naked old people. I just don't want to see little knitted versions of them carousing around their teeny living room, playing with their little knitted dog and leaving little knitted cookies for Santa. I can't unsee that. Canterbury Cathedral Social Media People? Please post LINKS! This also goes for your other series. Do you know how distressing it is to see "Becket Pilgrimage, Part Two?" Where is Part One? Do I search for "Becket?" When you think about it, searching under the terms "Becket" and "Canterbury Cathedral" is a bit like looking for "Joe Bob" in the Lubbock, Texas directory.

Safe to say, I'm having a hard time keeping up, and that's just over the liturgical calendar. For some people, it's a far more serious thing to contemplate. Not keeping up can mean feeling isolated goes from being a vague concern that will pass when everything gets back to something resembling normal to a crumbling sense of self-worth. It can mean having to balance meeting family expectations regarding holiday customs with paying rent, feeding yourself and your family, keeping everyone healthy and safe. Not keeping up can mean a motherlode of ways we don't meet some arbitrary standard when it comes to spirituality, relationships, or material comfort.

I bring this up because I am talking to people whose distress is beyond what I normally encounter on a typical day at work. Our little part of the big for-profit that employs us usually sees around eleven suicidal callers in a month. We had over fifty this weekend. At one point, I took three suicidal callers in a row.

This year has been hard for a lot of us. It's safe to say that the stressors we've been dealing with are well out of the realm of the usual first world problems. It's been pretty darned brutal. And this holiday? For many people, it's turning out to be a big bowl of creamed, chipped wretchedness. If you're doing okay, that's great! Just don't take for granted that everyone else is doing the same. Drop a note. Tap out an email or text. Reach out and ask people who might not be on everyone's list how they're doing.

Are you okay? If you can't answer that right away, let me ask you: Do you need to talk to somebody? There's no shame in asking for help. If anything, it takes strength to admit you need help. I have been keeping up the proud family tradition of working with the wobbly-pated for almost three decades now.* I have seen what it takes and I have a tremendous amount of respect for anyone who seeks help.

According to the Weebly statistics widget, most of the people who read this site are in the U.S., Canada, and the U.K., so here are some places to contact if you're feeling like everything is hopeless. I hope you'll use them if you need them. And please remember: You are loved. You are cared for and you are here for a reason. On top of that, you are wonderfully and fearfully made of star stuff.

Stay safe!
Jas Faulkner

US: National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-8255
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline Text Chat

Canada: Crisis Services Canada 1-833-456-4566
Crisis Services Canada Text 45645

UK: Samaritans 116 123
Samaritans Online Chat

*One ancestor rode with General Hood on multiple campaigns, another followed Patton into the European theater. Yep. We are genetically predisposed to be crazy-magnets.

About this blog...

Someone asked about an essay I wrote for the front page some time ago. I'd always thought of the home page as something akin to a Buddha Board. Whatever I wrote for it was there as long as I needed it, and then it disappeared. Maybe I do need to save those pieces. At least for now, I'll put them here for anyone bored enough to read them.

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Legal stuff to make you very sleepy (binaural beats not included.)

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