going down the only road I've ever known

I grew up reading comic books. Specifically: Garfield, Calvin and Hobbes, Farside, Asterix and Obelisk, Tintin, Archie, Dilbert, For Better or For Worse, and Foxtrot. I read other comics in the newspaper and upon occasion, but I only read collections of the ones I just listed. I devoured them like novels, and rereading them always gives me a sense of nostalgia and heightened appreciation for the intelligence and talent behind each strip.

Naturally, as with most of my interests/entertainments, I decided to try the art out for myself. I read my favorite authors' descriptions of their work processes, was given a "How to become a cartoonist" book, and set to work developing characters. I ended up with a young girl and her obnoxious pet monkey who would mock/make terribly witty remarks towards anyone else entering the scene (think Lord Henry Wotton).

I'm not sure what makes animals in cartoons so appealing – perhaps because paper is an equalizing medium: they have an equal claim to reality as their 2D human counterparts. Vraisemblablement, there is something naturally humorous about animals; especially talking animals. Particularly cows. (Yes, I adore Larson beyond all reason.)

**

This is the part where I move away from the mike to breathe in.

At Lifegroup the other night, the topic of trust came up – trust in God, trust in others. Somebody tied trust into control, and I haven't been mentally able to break the two since. Trust requires relinquishing a certain amount of control; like the chair example – you don't trust it until you sit in it.

Even when trust is simply a matter of spending time with someone and believing that they will accept you and your intentions, it allows them to have a certain amount of control over your well being. Any relational investment does, just ask Simon and Garfunkel:

I've built walls,
A fortress deep and mighty,
That none may penetrate.
I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain.
It's laughter and it's loving I disdain.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

Don't talk of love,
Well, I've heard the word before.
It's sleeping in my memory.
I won't disturb the slumber of feelings that have died.
If I never loved I never would have cried.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

I have my books
And my poetry to protect me;
I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

**

Sometimes when I'm walking, hiking, or riding the bus, I turn on the LOTR soundtrack and pretend I'm on an enthralling quest. I highly recommend it.

**

Every day I have the joy of hanging out with and walking Adam, a 6 month old Havanese Shih tzu.

When I first met Adam, he made a mad cap dash towards my crotch, wondering if I was a suitable love interest. He then flung his body in the air, aiming for my face, but contenting himself on chewing my hands. I'm glad that humans have developed a system of social norms to prevent this sort of behavior.

Adam is young, eager, and rather a ditz. He has the energy of a youthful John Travolta, and the attention span of Ellen Degeneres. When I throw a stick for him he runs frenetically at it with what appears to be a single minded fixation until he overshoots the target and runs onwards until called back or utterly confused.

Occasionally he doesn't run past the stick. Instead, he simply gets distracted before reaching it. Causes of distraction include other sticks, leaves, bits of dirt.

At only 6 months, he has only recently learned the art of lifting his leg and marking his territory. He is extremely excited about this discovery and literally marks objects every seven feet. At the beginning of our walks, that is – about halfway through he runs out of ammo and lifts his leg as more of a symbol of power than an actual deposit. (Once in a while he manages a few drips at the end.)