In the last couple of weeks I’ve done a number of different jobs for a national charity organization here. Actually, since “here” is the UK, I probably ought to say it’s an organisation. As some of the work has had to do with language, things like esses or zees or zeds have been given extra importance by people who assign value to things like that. And now I’ve spent time elbow-deep in the process of translating complex ideas about genetics, immunity, toxicity, radiation, recovery and all the Byzantine requirements of aid agencies and government departments into language suitable for a 12-year old.

Can you remember being 12? Not just the events or habits of that age, but the limits of your understanding? Thinking about it, I can recall believing that someday I would be 21, but that 21-year-old-me would be so essentially different from 12-year-old-me that I would be unknowable, and therefore essentially non-existent. I recall thinking that there was still enough time for NASA to design a newer, bigger space shuttle; so that it would not be impossible for me to become an astronaut because I was too tall, never mind my near-sightedness, lack of discipline or inability to excel at math or science. I recall not understanding why I wasn’t satisfied with the way things were and not knowing why or what to do about it. I recall not being very clear on the mysteries of females. But I don’t remember the specific limits of my ignorance. I never felt that things existed which would never be understandable. With a little effort, things, anything, would eventually become understandable.

All of which is to say I don’t recall being unable to understand terms like abdomen, intravenous or supplement.

And yet people writing about issues of sickness, health, care and support have to find a way to talk about those things without using the precise language I took, take, for granted.

This particular organisation has made the choice to offer help to everyone facing a certain illness. And presumably, in order to make that offer available to as many people as possible, they’ve chosen to use language that would be clear even to someone reading at the level of a 12 year old. As a part of that self-imposed decision to be understandable at a 12-year-old literacy level, it is necessary for people writing for this organisation to find simple explanations for the unknown inner workings of genes, the mysteries of illness, and the arbitrary governmental choices about who gets help and how much.

I realize now that what I know is shockingly limited. Given all the things that a person could master, the fields of my expertise are neither vast nor numerous. And the things I truly understand make an even smaller group. Sure, I know how to use a computer, but can I tell you how, on a level of actual function, a transistor functions?

No, and the internet didn’t really help. I need to study more basic physics to actually understand, as opposed to just repeating an explanation. But not knowing that doesn’t affect my ability to use things that rely on transistors. Not understanding how to get medical or financial help in the face of a life-threatening illness would be a different story.

I’m lucky, I suppose, that I’m not continually faced with and frustrated by things that I know I don’t understand. But would I recognize the limits of my understanding if I was faced with them? The odds are that I probably wouldn’t.

Anyway, two more bank envelope sketches. This month’s theme is high-contrast portraits of men with beards.

Such as they are.

I think the third one is my favorite, but I do seem to draw that 3/4 view kind of a lot. I wonder if it’s because most of the photos I pick have that pose, or just that most photos taken have that pose.

So what happened? Why don’t I draw anymore?

Okay, I took a couple of animation classes in university, and actually completed some 6+ minutes of moving cartoons. Including holds, loops, cycles and titles, it worked out to about 4,300. drawings, more or less. I wasn’t burned out by that, I don’t think. But somewhere between the first post-university job and leaving for Japan, I kinda stopped drawing for fun.

Then I became an ESL teacher, which meant I had to find ways to communicate with people who didn’t, couldn’t or wouldn’t understand my words. Suddenly I was sketching things I’d never considered before, in order to get an idea across. For example, how would you explain what meaning is implicit in the past perfect tense to someone who can’t yet understand the grammar your explanation would require? “That thing you did before the other thing you did” rarely made it clear. And don’t even think about explaining it in their language. I was working in a school that specifically promised me to be a teacher who wouldn’t (or couldn’t) use Japanese in class.

As it turned out, a cartoon strip of a person making, then eating, instant ramen, totally bridged that cultural and linguistic gap. Other illustrations didn’t work so well. Washing hands before a meal? Opinions were divided, with washing hands after eating seen as an equally valid choice. Shower then work? Again, no clear answers, leading to unclear use of the grammar. But everyone agreed on first boiling the water, then opening a pack of instant noodles and pouring in hot water, before waiting 3 minutes and eating. Advanced students pointed out that they “had added salt flavor… envelope, before [they] poured the water.” And that miracle of common understanding was made possible by a few quick drawings, and the easily understood convention of two comic panels indicating time passing.

Of course, when I went back to school, I was studying writing, so only really managed to sneak the occasional bored doodle into my notes. Theoretically I could have pushed it and had more than the four illustrated panels of footnotes in my thesis, but it hardly seemed worth it. And that was largely it. In the last two+ years, I’ve hardly put pencil to paper.

Seems like a bit of a waste, so for the next six months or so, I think I’ll try and put some sketches on each of the envelopes I get from my bank. Why? Well, I hear recycling is supposed to be popular or something. Besides, I want this drawing thing to be fun again. No pressure to make the best use of the premium bond paper or the special pigment pens, just pencil or sharpie on the back of an envelope. Like so.

I’m almost looking forward to my next bank statement.

• setting up a new web page for OFF_press
• a new writing/performance project
• getting settled into a new place of residence
• and finally getting my portfolio halfway updated

And just because I can’t see you doesn’t mean I’m not actually talking to you. This is an official statement of intent, see?

So now that I’ve alluded to some of what I’m working on, what’s on your list? Let me know how you get along with it. I hear there something to be said for mutual encouragement, so let’s get some stuff done, yeah?

But I don’t hear jokes so much these days, and it’s kind of a disappointment. I mean, if a man walked into a bar, I don’t think I’d expect him to say much apart from his drinks order. Which is kind of sad for a former class clown.

Because it was primarily a working trip, I wasn’t expecting to do much in the way of sightseeing or tourist-type stuff. And since I’d been trying to attend to other matters that seemed fairly pressing beforehand, I didn’t really have, or take, any time to research where we were going; no learning train routes, no memorizing phrasebook questions, not even taking the time to look closely at a map. I was going to try and treat Poland like a blank slate.

As it turns out, I thought I knew a few things that turned out to be almost completely unhelpful in terms of providing a scale or context for understanding where I went. What did history class teach leave in my head? A much desired, ice-free port on the Baltic, serious population losses during WWII, something or other about cowboys and unions in 1989, and not much else of use. So being confronted with both present realities of life and explanations from different people about what they thought had brought the present was fairly overwhelming.

For a week I had the opportunity to meet some fascinating individuals, eat some of the heartiest meals eastern Europe has to offer, and to be looked after with good humor and hospitality by people with starling explanations for some of the ways their country came to be the way it is. But it will take some time to digest. Particularly the food from some of the milk bars.

“Oh, that’s just a regular night at Spolmans.”
“Can’t believe what Jilby did on this week’s panel! : P”
“I am sooo excited about the start of DFWBSE! This year it’s understanding!”

It was that last one that got me. What the hell is DFWBSE?¹ And what does it understand now that it couldn’t grasp in 2008? Google, the first and last refuge of a scoundrel who wants to seem knowledgeable, only confused the issue…But finally my search brought me to the Illustrated Dictionary of Vexillogical Terms.

First off, “vexillology” is a great word. The start of the word gives you a little combo of lip and throat sounds to make it serious², but finishing off with “la-lo-jee” gives it a playful turn. It could theoretically be worth 284 points in scrabble. And the meaning isn’t too bad either:
vexillology – the study of flags.

And how does the Illustrated dictionary of vexillology define a flag?

An opaque object, usually flexible and made of cloth, displayed for the purpose of identifying a country, political subdivision, military or other organization, individual, or to convey a message. Flags consist in material, shape, color, and design. Flags are products of the human condition, with symbolic meaning ascribed to them by their makers.
(italics mine)

It strikes me that whatever DFWBSE really involves, it probably won’t bring up anything that activates my mind as profoundly as that.

1. Okay, I have to admit, the acronym in question wasn’t really for the Dallas Fort Worth Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathics. But it made almost as little sense.
2. Think of some v-words: vibrant, vivacious, violin, victory, virile, love, live. V sounds are sexy. They’re voiced labio-dental fricatives, which means you have to use your lips and your teeth and your larynx together, to make a sound that buzzes and vibrates across one of the most sensitive parts of your face.

But it occurred to me that books are tangible items with at least one intended use; books are tools. Which means that a reasonably perceptive person could deduce something about our culture, and perhaps about our species, from the way these tools are made, presented and used. A well-thumbed novel from the used bookstore says something entirely different than a hardback dictionary with a dent in the front from supporting a short-legged couch. A Greyhound bus ticket left in as a bookmark is not the same as an expired commuter rail pass.

Take a look at whatever book you’ve got handy. How has it been put together? How did it get to you, and what do you do with it? When future archaeologists dig us up, what is that book going to tell them about you?

Perhaps I’m oversimplifying things, but the debate in this form is beyond stupid…The fact that average people in the US would take their opinions on healthcare from wealthy people who don’t have to rely the same system as poorer people, and will likely never have to worry about paying for any necessity, much less healthcare, is sad. Would you trust a fan of Pokemon for advice on animal care just because they’ve thought a lot about how theoretically to care for animals? Yet people seem to sincerely believe the platitudes of lawmakers who accept money in exchange for public influence. Let me say that again. People who are making noise about this, and the people who will make the laws about this, have been paid by members of the insurance industry. Who is likely to benefit in that situation?

Could the NHS be improved? Everything can be improved; pointing out room for improvement is an irrelevant criteria to decide if one supports the idea of universal healthcare or not. So to suggest that politicians in the UK somehow are failing in their solemn duty if they’re not seen as praising the NHS is akin to suggesting children are good because they’ve offered to protect mommy from Darth Vader. It would be nice to see an affectionate demonstration of idealized loyalty. But it does not tangibly serve any real interest to do so.

Does calling President Obama a socialist improve health care? Does a politician’s family sending Twitter-messages of support improve health care? Does suggesting that the head of the Tory party has been trying to hide some endemic, organizational hatred of the NHS improve health care? Does any of this energetic hand-waving and side-choosing do one damn thing to help protect and improve the health of the people?

So, here we go again. To work!