Category Archives: feeling sorry for myself

Idea Fertilizer

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Picture borrowed from the North American Manure Expo’s Facebook page

This morning as I was going to QT for my daily dose of wake-up juice with caffeine in it, Jody Dean and the Morning Team on KLUV radio station were making fun of the North American Manure Expo taking place in London, Ohio this week.  Jody Dean, the radio talk-show host, was suggesting that the Expo would’ve been a natural thing to host in Fort Worth because, well, Texas and cow poop just naturally go together.  But it occurs to me, that this is fortuitously a part of Ohio this month because the GOP convention is taking place shortly in Cleveland, and the bull dookie won’t have to be shipped as far for that.  Besides, having grown up as an Iowan, I have a farm-boy awareness of the intrinsic need for poo-poo conventions where the latest distribution technology is on display.  After all, cow poo is fertilizer… it makes stuff grow.

Yesterday I was unable to write the post I had planned about the tragic police shooting in Dallas.  There was a lot to write about.  It was a terrible thing that affected me deeply and did considerable damage to the fight for human rights in this country and preserving the respect and dignity we owe to the men in blue who too often give their lives to keep us safe.  It also gave our Lieutenant Governor Dan Patrick a chance to actually put both feet in his mouth at the same time, and for Dallas resident and former rodeo clown turned president George W. Bush to do a goofy smiley-faced dance during the playing of the Battle Hymn of the Republic while the memorial to the fallen Dallas policemen was in the middle of a rather somber occasion.  Poop makes stuff grow, and that post would’ve been epic.

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A project I was working on yesterday while sulking.

You see, yesterday I didn’t have the usual amount of time for writing because I had to install an air conditioner for my hot wife.  It was difficult to install because the bedroom I installed it in has no regular windows.  Only a window/door onto the patio.  And I had to do the installing because my wife wanted to take a sledge hammer to the bedroom wall and knock out enough bricks to make a vent hole for the air conditioner.  I did not want my determined little wife taking up the hammer herself, so I carefully mapped out a plan and bought supplies to cut a hole in the drywall and then jury-rig a makeshift air duct to a pre-existing hole in the brickwork.  I got the hole cut in the drywall and then ran into a snag when I exposed a support beam in the way of my plan.  Well, this led to a discussion of the details executed rather loudly and I believe I was compared to a donkey at least three times.  We then reached a compromise (by which I mean what husbands usually mean when they use the word “compromise” which is that we did things the way my wife wanted them done.  Or, rather, my wife picked up the hammer and crowbar, and I retreated to my room to sulk like a proper adult.  The air conditioner is now humming.  It is blowing half of the exhaust out through the space left by the two bricks she knocked out rather neatly, and the other half up through the wall into the attic.  Oh, well, it works and she is happy with it.  Hopefully no building inspectors read this post.

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Another piece of alien art done while sulking.

The point is, cow poop happens.  And cow poop is fertilizer.  It makes things grow.  Including ideas for posts on my blog.  I was able to illustrate the Telleron alien kids from two of my novels while I was busy sulking and feeling sorry for myself.  In fact, the novel Catch a Falling Star probably only exists because of Iowa and cow poop.  Yes, life in farmville is resoundingly boring and uneventful, so my fertile imagination couldn’t help but make up an alien invasion of a small Iowan farming community.  And my imagination was probably fertile due to so much exposure to cow poop on my grandfather’s and my two uncles’ farms.  So now you know.

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Filed under artwork, autobiography, blog posting, farm boy, feeling sorry for myself, humor, Iowa, irony, Paffooney

The Need for Magical Teddy Bears

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I woke this morning in excessive amounts of arthritis pain.  My left elbow has not been working well for a month.  My lower back is always painful after a restless night’s sleep.  Neither of my knees is willing to do the basic job required of knees in the early morning when you first wake up.  So I had to work joints back and forth to loosen them up despite the pain.  I had to stretch parts where muscles were knotted up in protest to stretching.  And it took me a half hour of painful work to get on my feet.

I have been psychologically in pain of late as well.  Being a school teacher who dedicated his life to getting young people to work together and grow up and mature, I have been deeply distressed by both the police shootings of innocent black men and the massacre of policemen here in Dallas.  My publishing goals have also hit a brick wall with recent rejections and cancelling of contracts.  I need to curl up in a corner and lick my wounds.

When I was a child I relied on stuffed animals to make me feel better when I was sick and in pain.  I had a toy tiger that was my constant companion.  I had a couple of teddy bears, one a panda, the other Smokey the Bear.  And there was a terrycloth pink elephant that I shared with my sisters.  Like many children, I talked to the stuffed animals.  Like a strange few other children, the stuffed animals would answer back.  I think that plays a large part in explaining why I am a writer of fiction stories.  I medicate my mind not with drugs, but by talking things out with imaginary people.

At this moment in time, when I am on the verge of being overwhelmed, it is a good thing that my hoarding disorder has caused me to collect stuffed toys.  I have more than one magical teddy bear to turn to.  Everything will be all right in the end.

 

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Filed under Depression, feeling sorry for myself, goofy thoughts, humor, illness, photo paffoonies

The Need for Easy Pants

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I have never been an advocate of hard-to-wear pants.  Pants are suppose to be an aid to civilization, allowing a man to hide away the sensitive and sorta ugly bits that make him more like the animals, and in certain situations, unable to access the rational data-base in his little bean-like head.  My own need for comfortable pants is further complicated by an enlarged prostate that presses on the spine, as well as two lower vertebrae eroded by years of arthritis.  Pants have to be tight enough to hold me together, yet not so tight they cut off the blood flow and kill my lower half.  It would be danged inconvenient to have to walk around without any legs, or any butt, or any naughty bits.  If I wore Urkel pants, I might even lose my heart and my stomach, things I’m almost certain I would miss.  And I wouldn’t be able to do the Urkel dance, either.

Of course, there are times when the whole issue of easy pants can become a real concern.  I am trying to make my way through the labyrinth of problems of the retired on a budget.  So I tend to favor cheap pants.  I buy most of my pants from Goodwill Inc.   They are mostly used pants… or previously loved pants… or previously worn-out pants.  The pants I am wearing at the moment have developed holes in the region of the crotch… not a good place for unwanted air-conditioning.  And the pants I bought to replace them have buttons in place of a zipper in the fly.  I didn’t realize the potential for spontaneous bathroom dancing that the combination of buttons and arthritic fingers could cause.  My best pair of blue jeans are the kind of denim known UN-affectionately as “high-water pants”.  This, of course, leads to inconveniently aerated ankles.

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The final verdict is in about easy-pants issues.  To avoid all pants-related issues you have to give up wearing pants.  And I do still have issues with becoming a nudist as well.  So the struggle to obtain and wear easy pants is a never-ending battle that we simply cannot afford to give up on.

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Filed under angry rant, autobiography, commentary, feeling sorry for myself, foolishness, goofy thoughts, humor

Butts and Nolts

“Don’t you actually mean nuts and bolts?” someone is surely going to say.  Oh, yes, I misspelled that little item on purpose.  This is another inane post about the writing process and trying to improve my “brand” with my blog.  It is something I have no earthly idea how it works or how to go about it.  So I often have to go back and think about the nuts and bolts of how you put this stuff together and try like heck to figure out what I am doing wrong.

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Doofy Fuddbugg here is an example of what a “Nolt” is.

So, the problem is, while the blog as a whole has been gaining momentum, my blog traffic is down for this month.  People are not viewing and reading my actual stuff and nonsense as much as they were in the other months besides February.  So I have to look again at what works and why it works.

A lot of my work generates interest from the real world outside of my stupid little head because of the artwork.  I am really probably better at drawing colored pencil Paffooneys than I am at the constant yadda-yadda-yadda of trying to write humor.  Pictures like Mr. Fuddbugg here draw people in better than anything else I can post.  Of course, the artwork I post from my favorite cartoonists and comic artists of the past, like Wally Wood and Rumiko Takahashi draw far more views than my own artwork does.  This is due to the undeniable fact that they are better known and better at it than I am.

And both of those artists are well known for the “butts” that are in their works.  Yes, nudes and naked pictures increase your blog traffic.  Two of my top ten posts of the past two years are Be Naked More (https://catchafallingstarbook.net/2015/12/20/be-naked-more/) and Naked and Nude (https://catchafallingstarbook.net/2015/03/04/naked-and-nude/).  (Sorry for the poor link quality, but my computer is still having brain farts and keeps shrinking stuff and blowing stuff up at random, so I cannot, for the moment, make proper links.)  So, I can probably boost my blog traffic by posting another nude I have never posted before, even though it may make it impossible to share this on Facebook.

Gryphon

This picture is actually a very complicated thing to post.  I have issues with things like sexuality and nudity because I was assaulted as a child.  And some of my nude drawings involve real-life models whose privacy I don’t want to invade.  (Yes, I had a real Gryphon pose nude for this picture.)  But this picture is old, having been created during my wild days as a grad-school college nerd.  Adding the “nude” tag to this post will undoubtedly draw in viewers.  (There really do seem to be a lot of people out there who want to look at naked Gryphons.)  And I am not ashamed at having drawn this pencil-piece.  It brings back lots of grand and glorious memories, though probably not the ones you think I mean.

Finally, I may need to get more aggressively insulting.  It seems to be the thing to do to create political humor with the impending Presidential Election coming up between the Wicked Witch of Wall Street and the Racist Orange King.

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The Orange King is very, very HYUGE! but his hands are small.

But there are difficulties in pulling that one off.  I mean, I spent a lifetime learning how to love the unlovable in the classroom because all students are able to learn and we owe them all, as teachers, the best education we can give them.  (Believe me, you will have a better life because I spent my teaching career trying to iron out the stupid from the laundry basket of Texas education.)  So I will have to settle for a more serene and gentle sort of political wit (if I may be allowed one last oxymoron).  Because I agree with Neal Gaiman on the subject of Political Correctness.

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There’s my two cents, such as it is.  Four cents after inflation.  I have had my say about the Butts and Nolts of this essay.  And if that’s not enough to explain it, then feel free to call me names in the comments and look at some of my other recent posts that nobody is reading so you can see how terrible those are too.  And thank you for actually reading the whole post.

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Filed under artwork, blog posting, feeling sorry for myself, finding love, humor, nudes, Paffooney, politics, writing humor

Travel Troubles

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My wife visited her home in the Philippines as a consequence of her father passing away there at the beginning of the month.  It has been a mixed bag of treats and tragedies.  Yes, there was a funeral involved.  But it has been years since the six sisters and one brother have been together.  They were able to re-connect with friends and family, eat their favorite foods from the old days, and gain weight.

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Here’s what they looked like once upon a time before anybody came to the United States.

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They are a bit bigger now.

But things always happen to complicate simple happiness-es.  Somehow, before she left she managed to put her green card in the wrong pile while sorting stuff to go and stuff to stay.  As a resident alien for more than twenty years, she absolutely had to have that green card to get back into the country.  So, my daughter and I tore the house apart for three days trying to find it.  Then, after throwing my hands up in despair of ever finding it, I managed to sit on a pile of stuff near her bed in the bedroom and realize with my very intelligent behind that I hadn’t searched that pile yet.  There it was!  I rushed it to UPS with the carefully copied address triple-checked against the text my wife sent me with the warning that it should be written exactly as it appeared in the text.  But, naturally, the clerk at the UPS Store was confused by the idea that the zip code had to come before the name of the province.  I should’ve asked to see how he wrote it down.  The green card finally arrived there two weeks late because the Filipino UPS couldn’t find Tatang’s house.  They called the US twice asking for other ways to contact the household.  Of course, on our side, we had the advantage of there being no convenient phone in the neighborhood.  I finally had to send my wife the tracking number, and she tracked down the package herself.

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Of course, we were not home free on the whole return trip thing either.  During her journey home, my wife encountered a flight delay in Shanghai that made her miss a connecting flight in Los Angeles.  It was a gift of an extra day of travel courtesy of terrorists in Turkey.  So, it was a huge relief when yesterday, we were finally able to pick her up from the airport.  Of course, now her luggage is missing.  Virgin Air had to comb through their entire inventory of lost bags and still didn’t find it.  So, there’s a continuing battle we didn’t particularly need either.

Still, in spite of the fact that so many things went wrong, and it was all about a loss of a treasured family member, the adventure has ended, and she is back home again, safe and well.

 

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Filed under family, feeling sorry for myself, humor, photos

Aunty Entropy Moves In

Mother Nature’s sister is one of those rich relatives you don’t really like, but have to endure.  She tends to take charge of everything and ruin all your plans.  Yes, we do not throw a party when Aunt Entropy comes to visit.  Well, at least not the happy kind of party where everybody has fun.  Aunt Entropy has come to stay for a while and take things apart.

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One thing Aunt Entropy likes about Texas is its utter dedication to fracking and oil money.    High profit motives have continued to force oil companies to pump toxic liquids into the underground to break apart shale and push out the oil.  We have fracking to thank for lower gas prices and Fox News talking points about no longer being dependent on evil ookie-icky foreign oil.  We also have it to thank for the current condition of the foundation of my little house.  Alternating years of flooding and drought have expanded and contracted the small hill the house sits on so much that the front end of the house has all but cracked off.  The frequent Dallas area earthquakes have no doubt helped this process.  Auntie Entropy clucks her tongue at it.  “Insurance doesn’t have to pay for this because you should have invested in foundation repair long ago.  It isn’t earthquake damage, it is neglect!”  Of course, my healthcare costs over the last decade have completely prevented any notion of paying out for foundation repair.  No one would loan a deadbeat former teacher money for household repairs just because he is old and broke and decrepit.  Lovely caring woman, that Aunt Entropy.

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The fracking related sinkhole under Wink, Texas… those lines around it are roads and highways.

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The Grandbury, Texas parking lot sinkhole which formed after heavy rain and a long history of fracking.

Aunt Entropy is, after all the personification of the 2nd Law of Thermodynamics in the science of physics.  To put it simply, Entropy is a process by which matter and energy progress from a beginning state all the way to a final state.  In the case of our universe, the process goes from the Big Bang of creation to the final star winking out at the end of the universe as we now know it.  Entropy means the progress we are making towards the ultimate ends of death and decay.  Every action we take leads to a consequence and a further action until we are dead.  Not just me.   Not even just you and me.  But all of us, everywhere in the universe.  This is why the little things where our lives break down make Auntie Entropy smile when nothing else will.

Here are some things that make Auntie Entropy smile;

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The Orange King with golden crown and tiny hands may be our next president.

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The hatred and self-aggrandizement that he campaigns on have taken root in the fertile soil of fear and hatred that Fox News and conservative leaders have tilled and toiled over for so long.  They are beginning to bud with flowers… if you can call weeds flowers.  And they are bound to produce poisonous fruits.

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Mickey’s car is breaking down again because of heat.  After paying over a thousand dollars to get pot-hole damage to the front tire and rim repaired, the coolant pump gave out and had to be replaced.  Now the overheating warning light comes on daily and we are forecast to have dangerous levels of heat in Texas weather for the next few days.  I am going to have to decide whether to spring for more car repair, or go see the doctor about the pain in my extremities.  I won’t be able to afford both.  Oh, my aching bank account!

My wife is overseas in the Philippines spending a month with her family after the death of her father.  But she left her green card here.  I had to express mail it to her for a large amount of postage cost and risk losing it along the way in the mail.  She might never be able to return to this country.  Well, I do see that as a bad thing, after all.

So while Aunt Entropy is visiting… or rather living here permanently, and feeding us her bad-luck salad made with equal parts misery, misfortune, and mayonnaise, we must learn to endure her wicked sense of humor and micro-managing ways.

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Filed under angry rant, commentary, feeling sorry for myself, humor, Paffooney, pessimism, self pity

Meanwhile, at the DMV

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Yesterday we went to the DMV to make a second attempt to get Henry a learner’s permit and make him into a driver of cars.  We had already been once, but this is Texas.  You need multiple forms of ID to get an ID.  After all, we might be trying commit voter fraud like those other eight people somewhere in the U.S.A.  (Former Governor Perry assures us they exist and are a major threat to the Constitution and our FREEDOM.)  So we brought a folder full of potential proof that my son exists and is currently present in this State, not including DNA evidence, but realizing we would probably need it.

I have been there before.  I do realize what kind of an alternate universe the DMV actually is.  They pack in 3,ooo people, including children, babies, Tia Carmen from Honduras, and random homeless people that the DMV applicants needed to provide moral support.  Then they tell you that everyone needs to take a seat because of fire codes, and they provide a generous twelve chairs for that purpose.  You have to be given a number to proceed.  But they don’t call those numbers in order.  And the time you first enter the infinite waiting room has no bearing on the time they finally call you out either.

So, a wait of three hours gave me plenty of time to observe, well… not stupid people exactly… but people displaying much of the basic and endearingly non-smart simplicity of the species.

Like the guy who pulled up in his sports car while we were still part of the 35-minute outside wait line still waiting to get in the door to be told by the officer guarding the twelve chairs that everybody had to take a seat because of the fire code.

Harker

This simple citizen asked us, “Is this the line you have to stand in just to get in through the front door?”

Somebody gave him the more-polite version of, “No, Duh!”

“Oh,” he said, “Frog that!” Or possibly the less-polite version of that… and proceeded to back his car out again, nearly running over the young Asian lady being dropped off behind his car.  He roared out of the parking lot, apparently not needing a renewed license anyway, because white guys are obviously Republican enough that voter ID laws don’t really apply to them.  (I have wondered if a “heart Trump!” button would be enough ID to get you in to vote in Texas in the upcoming elections?)

Murphy Clan

Of course, there was also the lady with the five… or possibly seven… or thirty-two kids in tow who put her baby stuff on seven of the twelve chairs as she took her horde of non-license-getting little ones to the restroom and drinking fountain.  They have the lovely side-effect of extinguishing all nostalgic feelings for when my three kids were that small… or did I have thirty-two of them back then too?

And of course there were numerous random wandering folks who didn’t bother to read signs, or listen to the angry officer tell them where to go or what to do next, or even understand a word of English, because they all thought that even though they had no earthly idea what was going on, they were going to be given a driver’s license in Texas, and they were probably next at the counter.

After almost three hours of this we finally got to the counter.  There the exhausted and impatient lady that was working the desk took all of three minutes to discover the two things we still didn’t have to qualify.  It turns out you have to enroll in the driving school before you get the learner’s permit.  The opposite of the way it was five years ago when we got my older son his permit.  But possibly because last time we asked the driving school first.  So, I ended the very exhausting day at the DMV secure in the knowledge that I would have to do it all over again the next time I work up the courage to tackle the whole issue.

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Filed under autobiography, conspiracy theory, empathy, feeling sorry for myself, humor, Paffooney, strange and wonderful ideas about life

Nerds and Dragons

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I have been a D&D nerd since the early 1980’s.  I have played the game with  brothers and sisters, kids I taught from middle school and high school, and my own three kids.  It was a chance to be a story-teller as the game master, the plotter of plots, the maker of tales.  It gave me a focus for things to draw and books to buy.  Then, I got old, and my kids grew up and didn’t have time to play any more.  So, I end up a sad old nerd with a vast collection of game books and D&D drawings.  So what do I do?  I use them for posts on my blog, naturally.

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Filed under Dungeons and Dragons, feeling sorry for myself, humor, Paffooney

The Annual Appointment with Disappointment

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Since the 1970 St. Louis Blues’ Stanley Cup Final where they lost to the Boston Bruins in 4 straight games, I have waited for the chance to return and have one more shot at rooting for my team to win their first hockey championship, their first Stanley Cup.  We were in the finals and we had beaten the two best teams in hockey to get there.  But hockey playoffs are more grueling than any other sports playoffs. We lost in 6 games.  I am a dedicated fan.  And I will be one for life.  And I will root for them again next year.  And they will very likely lose again this time of year next year.  But that’s not the point.  They will always be my team.

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Filed under feeling sorry for myself, hockey, sports

Critiques in Color

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I recently posted about being synesthetic and discovering how I am different from normal people.  Here is the post if you are interested..   Then I discovered that Kanye West is also synesthetic as he gushed some southern-fried crappie-doo about how wonderful he is as an artist because he sees the colors of his music.  Well, now I don’t want that mental affliction any more.  I don’t wish to be anything like him.  Of course, it has to be incurable, doesn’t it.

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Now I am wasting today’s post on another metacognative thinking-about-thinking style of paragraph pile when I could be rhapsodizing about the humor of Dave Barry or the wisdom of Robert Fulghum, the author of

All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten.

Here it is on Amazon.

I could be shamelessly promoting the work of artists whose works I love instead of examining the random filing cabinets in the back rooms of my stupid old head.  But I can’t because I now need to explain myself to myself again.  Self doubt and self examination are features of being an artist.  We reach a point where we have to think about how we do what we do, because if you don’t know where the magic comes from, you might not be able to call on it the next time you need it.

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I am a self-taught artist.  I have had art classes in high school and college, but never professional art training.  I know how to manipulate the rule of thirds, directional composition, movement, perspective, and lots of other artsy-craftsy techniques, but it is all a matter of trial and error and an instinct for repeating what works.  I have had a good deal more professional training as a writer.  But I do that mostly by instinct as well.  Trained instinct.  I have reached a point where my art is very complex and detailed.  And I don’t mean to suggest there are no flaws.  In fact, I am capable enough to see huge, glaring mistakes that really skew my original intent and make me feel hopelessly incompetent.  But others who see it and don’t know the inner workings of the process can look past those mistakes and not even see them.  Given enough time to look at my own work with new eyes, I am able to see at least some of what they see.

the Clarkes

Now that I have totally wasted 500-plus words on goofy talking-to-myself, what have I really accomplished beyond boring you to death?  What’s that you say?  You are not dead yet?  Well, that’s probably only because you looked at the pictures and didn’t read any of my sugar-noodle brain-scrapings in loosely paragraph-like form.  And if you did read this awful post by a colorblind artist who doubts his own abilities, you probably didn’t learn anything from it.  But that’s not the point.  The point is, I care about doing this, and I need to do it right.  And I managed to learn something… how to ramble and meander and make something that is either a hot mess… or something that vaguely resembles self-reflective art.

 

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Filed under art criticism, artwork, autobiography, colored pencil, coloring, feeling sorry for myself, humor, magic, Paffooney, strange and wonderful ideas about life, Uncategorized