Nose to the Grindstone

*Warning! Whining ahead!*

I started Summer Quarter at Art School two weeks ago. Man, it is hard! Actually, it should be called Design School, since it doesn't train for the Fine Arts,( although there is a good deal of that involved in the homework), but for Client-driven arts, such as Interior Design (my field), Graphic Design, Animation, Audio/Sound Engineering, Industrial Design, Culinary Arts, and Fashion Design. That's not an exhaustive list of what fields the school trains people in, but you get the idea.

At any rate, Summer Quarter is compressed into ten weeks, but with the same amount of study/homework involved, so it's more stressful. And my least favorite teacher last quarter? Is now my most favorite teacher (so far)* this quarter. Not because she's improved so much (she most definitely has not), but because the other teachers I have this quarter are that. bad. Yeah. You see, this school hires professionals in the field; every person who "teaches" any Interior Design class is an Interior Designer or Architect themselves. You'd think that would be really beneficial (which it is, in some ways), but what I've come to discover is that some of these people just do not know how to teach. They hand out the assignments and say, "Get to work...let me know if you have questions." No brief overview of how to even go about working the assignment, and often, the teachers take for granted certain tips and tricks that they know about, but we students don't. And when I said something along the lines of "I wish the teachers would be more specific about how we should do this," (to my least/most favorite teacher), she replied, "Well, we can't tell you EVERYTHING, or you'd never learn it for yourself!"

Um, no. I'm paying an outrageous sum of money to attend this school because I *can't* teach myself. I'm paying you to teach me. I want to know everything you know, not learn through spending 15 hours on my first 3-D design model which was only supposed to take me six (at the most) figuring things out by trial-and-error. The teachers are constantly saying, "work smarter, not harder," but they don't seem to want to *help* us think smarter. My brain does not naturally think in a sensor-logical way, so asking me repeatedly if I *see* how something is "informal symmetry" does not help me see it; it only makes me feel stupid for not understanding *why* it's "informal symmetry." Mmmkay?

So when I ask a teacher how to do something, I don't want to hear, "you figure it out. In the real world, you'd have to figure it out for yourself." This is not the real world yet. This is SCHOOL. You teachers are supposed to be preparing me for the Real World, so when I get there, I have the mental tools, vocabulary, and skills to function and yes, be able to figure things out on my own. But right now? I don't have those things; I'm trusting my teachers to help me and give me the knowledge I need to one day, figure things out on my own, and work smarter, not harder. You don't have to tell me every little detail of every method, but at least giving me a logical reason for why things need to be a certain way would be helpful. Or at least point me in the direction of where I can find the answer for myself.

Trust me, there is plenty I've already had to figure out on my own. In fact, there are quite a few of my peers who come to me to help them understand certain aspects of a new skill we're supposed to be learning. And I've learned a lot from my fellow students who already have a better grasp of those skills. These teachers don't seem to understand that students often think in a way that is different from them, so explaining things a few different ways should not be an indication that the teacher is teaching complete morons. Total comprehension for the maximum amount of students is a worthy goal, not something these teachers should see as a waste of their time.

I can appreciate the Real World policies they have in place such as "No late work. All work handed in late will receive an automatic "F," because that's how it is in the Real World." I appreciate that the teachers aren't so specific that they leave no room for creativity.

But I'm not going to school to be told, in essence, "I'm not going to help you succeed. You have to teach yourself."

< /rant>

So, school is kicking my butt right now. I apologize for the lack of blogging ahead. And I will probably visit your blogs when I get the chance, but I can't promise I'll have the mental functioning power left over to string together coherent comments. All my brain cells will be spent trying to "figure it out for myself," not to mention the vast amount of glue-sniffing that is no doubt in my future.

Thanks for understanding.

*Edited to add: I just got through two classes again yesterday, and the teachers for those classes were way more helpful than they were the first two weeks of class. Maybe they were just having a bad start to the quarter, or were adjusting their teaching style to a new crop of students.

So in conclusion, my least favorite teacher is still my least favorite.

Need Party Advice

From depression we turn to....parties. I'm throwing a party this weekend for a group of people (fellow interior design students) I totally dig, but aren't as close to as other friends. Mainly because I haven't known them for as long. In fact, all of us have only known each other for about three months, but have worked in close proximity with each other for that time period. So we feel close, but we haven't all really hung out in a non-school/work setting for an extended period of time.

So, I need advice on how to entertain for this party. Any ideas? Has anyone out there in the blogging community ever thrown a party for co-workers/peers? Got any good ideas for ice breakers, games, food, music?

It's nothing too formal; just a get-together and hang out time. I've asked everyone to bring a dish or drink (whatever they want). This is just a "it's the start of another quarter" party, before the schoolwork and stress gets too crazy. We didn't get a chance to do a "yay, we made it through our first quarter!" party, so instead we're having this, and the responsibility fell to me, since the Pete and I have a fairly accessible house and don't live with our parents or in school apartments like most of the students do.


Oh, and I'm nervous because they're all interior design/creative types, and they're going to be SEEING INSIDE MY HOUSE OH MY GOD.


Thanks for your input.

When Depression Strikes

Got this picture from Nicole.

This church probably just alienated everyone who suffers from depression, trivializing their suffering and implying that if you're depressed, you are not blessed by God. Obviously, this particular church denies that depression is a clinical disease, not just a mood swing. Or, as Kevin pointed out, they probably think depression is a sin.

A lot of people are currently battling depression; some don't even realize that's what it is (but they have all the symptoms). Clinical depression has to do with chemical imbalances in your brain. I've had that type of depression, and it is terrifying. You can't reason your way out of it. You can't "get a hold of yourself." You can't talk yourself into feeling better. You can't pray it away. Life has no meaning, no joy, no matter how much you try to "count your blessings." It's one of the scariest feelings in the world. Probably the scariest part is that it doesn't feel like a mood or a feeling, it's more like you have a different brain entirely; an alien brain that's taking over the ever-shrinking part of you that you desperately hope is still hidden safely away, deep down. And the alien brain is blocking you from experiencing joy, peace, and true contentment. Everything, everything seems meaningless. Depression is a real mind-fucker.

The last time I was clinically depressed was in college. My boyfriend at the time had broken up with me on my 21st birthday, and the next day, I was struck by a bad case of the flu. I was out of school for a week, living in a nightmarish haze of puking, diarrhea, and fitful sleep, as all my bodily fluids tried their damndest to exit my body as quickly as possible through every available orifice and move to Texas. When I finally surfaced from this virus-y cesspool, I headed to the doctor to see if anything could be done to really get me back on my feet. Little did I know, at the time, that once a virus has taken up residence in your body to such an extent, there's not much that can be done other than to let it run its course and let your body fight it. But the doctor didn't tell me that. He prescribed antibiotics, which did absolutely nothing for me, since they fight bacterial infections, not viral infections.

Actually, I take that back. The medication didn't make me feel better, it made me clinically depressed. I didn't know that was what was going on at the time. All I knew was that I had emerged from my Cave of Putrosity to be greeted by a world in pale, watercolored greys. At first, I thought I was just feeling down because my boyfriend had broken up with me, but I knew it must be more than that. Break-ups had never affected me like this. Sure, they made me sad, but usually I could at least eat. With this, I couldn't eat. It was too much of a chore. There was no pleasure in food. I felt like I would just puke it back up, anyway. I couldn't force it down. The world was just a vast, sucking vortex of nothingness. The fact that my boyfriend had broken up with me meant nothing. I tried to go to class, I tried to enjoy the outdoors, but everything felt meaningless. I was standing on the edge of a great cliff, and there was nothing but darkness all around me. I cried, but it was a cry of frustration, desperation; a hope in life that was being crushed in the great despair of utter emptiness. I understood why people, seemingly happy people who had their whole lives ahead of them, committed suicide. I was on the brink of it myself.

Finally, I went to see my favorite professor, the one I was a TA for. He was a dapper old gent, mild-mannered, brilliant, kind and wise. I sat down in his office, and told him how I felt, and how I knew I wasn't supposed to feel this way, and expressed my utter frustration at my inability to even eat. The tears were streaming down my cheeks as I confessed that I understood why people committed suicide, because that's exactly how I felt.

He said, "Ninjanun, the one time I was seriously depressed, I was taking antibiotics for something. Are you on any kind of medication?"

"Yes," I admitted. It had not occured to me before, that that might be the cause.

"Well, here's what I want you to do," he said. "Stop taking that stuff immediately. Go down to the student center and buy yourself some juice and a package of donuts." [Here, he handed me some money.] "Your blood sugar is low, and you are too weak. I want you to come back here to my office with your food and eat it in front of me."

Which is exactly what I did. Having him there, knowing he cared enough about me to do something made it easier to get food down. It was a struggle to swallow, but his encouragement made it easier. I felt better, finally having some food in me. I felt better knowing this depression wasn't really me. I felt better knowing the most joyous, brilliant, respectable person I knew had suffered as I had, and had seen it through.

Eventually, the depression subsided, and color came back into the world. I grieved over the loss of my relationship with my boyfriend, but even that was a relief, because it was an honest emotion from me, not the dull, grinding hollowness of the depression talking. I felt real emotions again. Life was beautiful, even in the midst of my personal sadness.


There are other, milder forms of depression that hit me occassionally, but those are mostly circumstance-related. I got depressed recently when I learned my brother is to be deployed to Iraq for a third time, over Christmas, when we were planning to come visit. I got depressed when a "friend" gloated over the fact that I had gained a few pounds.

But I find I get most depressed when I let myself slide into a downward spiral of do-nothing-ness. As in, reading blogs all day, which is what I did yesterday. Then of course my self-esteem plummets because I feel like I've wasted the day and didn't get any of the things accomplished that I intended to. I really have to force myself to do stuff, even if it's just small victories like pull a few weeds in the garden, or go to the gym to work out.

If you're feeling depressed, please, talk to someone about it. If you don't understand why you're depressed (as in, it's not circumstance-related), most likely it's not really you, it's a clinical disease that you can get medication for. Or maybe it's medication that's causing you to be depressed. At any rate, I know you probably don't feel like fighting it because the depression is telling you you can't win, but that's a lie. Depression is very treatable, and there are people all around that care about you and want you to live your life to the fullest. I am one of them.


I know I'm blessed but that doesn't keep depression at bay. God, I wish churches would stop it with the happy-sappy facade of "we've got our shit together," and instead welcome the whole spectrum of human emotion in their midst. It's as if they're afraid of real suffering. Maybe they should take a closer look at Jesus in the garden of Gethsemene, or Jesus on the cross. If the most "blessed" person ever to walk the earth suffered, why do churches pretend that the rest of us won't, at least occassionally, encounter similar pain?

*Edited to add this helpful link on depression. If you are currently suffering from depression, or have suffered in the past, you may find this website helpful (as I did). It's very likely that medication alone does not "cure" depression, but only treats the symptoms. This website offers lots of insight based on a 15-year study, and offers solutions on how to really overcome depression, not just treat the symptoms. It takes a while to go through the whole Depression Learning Path, but I think it's worth it.

Organic Crunchy Pirate Fuckers

I know I haven't posted very much while I've been on my break from Art School. Truth be told, I've really just enjoyed hanging out on other people's blogs. Everytime I think I'm going to get my rear in gear and write a thoughtful, well-timed post on something to do with Christianity and Art, I end up just getting distracted with other people's blog posts. Or, I decide my time could be better spent running errands, organizing the house, or writing songs taken entirely from loops in Garage Band on iLife.

Plus, I've been slowly getting all my flower beds back in shape. Over spring quarter, a plethora of weeds and tall grasses invaded my garden, and it was getting pretty embarrassing. The guy who owned this house before was quite the gardener, and in fact, had inspired some of our other neighbors to spruce up their lawns. Now that we own it, I've made a valiant attempt at keeping things nice, and even shuffling around a few plants and adding some more. But this year, what with school and homework, our yard might as well have had a rusty old truck up on blocks in the front yard, it was that white trash, y'all. Meanwhile, the other neighbors were actually doing some nice landscaping, with specimen plants and brick pavers. I seriously considered putting up a sign on our lawn that said: "The Occupants of this house are attending school; please excuse the eyesore" or something.

But now, the front yard is looking spiffy again (after days and days of weeding, and a nice layer of bark mulch). In fact, I should probably take a picture, because who knows when it will look this nice again?

I still have all these thoughts brewing in my head about church culture, art, personality type, and the Fundamental Interconnectedness of All Things, but I'm afraid those posts will just have to wait. I'm off to the gym, because I've gotten seriously out of shape over the past four months.

p.s. The title is an official admission that you can now say 'fuck' on this blog. Just remember to use this power for good or for awesome, not to wound someone personally with your words.

We've Joined the Fastest Growing Cult Church in America

The Pete and I are now, officially, quantifiably, cool. Many, in the past, have had doubts about our coolness. It was all a matter of subjective taste and questionable good looks before, but now, the coolness is undeniable.


We have joined the fastest growing Religion in America. True, not everyone who adheres to this religion is cool (I personally know at least one guy who is a jerk), but trust me, they'd be far worse off if they weren't part of this faith. This, at least, gives them one thing to add to their (short) list of cool traits. Whereas with the Pete and me, this catapults us well into the Coolness Stratosphere.


You enter the various temples of the faith, and you are met with edgy music, speakers blaring, the latest technology, and helpful, friendly people. Everyone is smiling. There's a special place for kids. The decor is a minimalist's dream in cool, hygenic white and clear glass. The priests and priestesses wear black garments and are very knowledgable about their faith. They do not fear your questions or your skepticism. Make a simple appointment, and you can talk with a real genius of the faith. They make it so easy, so accessable. And they hold your hand every step of the way. Tithe to them, and you will be blessed immediately.

People are thirsty for this kind of faith, you see. People are tired of the kind of "support" the other religions give; where you have to wait for hours/days/weeks just to talk to a real person. People are tired of the other religions, which come crashing down around their heads just when they need them most. People are tired of faiths where those in charge do not provide real safety; allowing enemies to enter through the backdoor, and letting thieves break in to kill, steal, and destroy.

Whether you have a little faith or a lot, all are welcome, and all marvel at the glory of this most wondrous religion. Amen.