I struggled to get started today… weird clouds covered the pinks and purples of a Dallas dawn as I stumbled through walking the dog. I think I mentioned before, I believe, that our goofy dog (who fortunately does not wear a hat and drive a car, so she is not a Goofy dog) has become a record-setting poop factory, pooping out five times a day and producing what I suspect is actually five times her own weight in doggy poo in a single day. If only it were worth money! I felt ill with an acrobatic stomach doing inner flip-flops while trying to transport twenty pounds of poop to the trash can. My arthritis made my joints crackle and walking was a total pain. But I made it. I walked the dog… deposited the poop…made breakfast for two kids… eggs for one, sausage for the other (I am not so much a dad as I am a short-order cook at breakfast time)… I avoided talking about religion or politics… I dropped them both off at school… and then I went back to bed. I woke up in time to hop in the car again and pick them up from their early release day. And on early release days they don’t feed the kids even though they don’t release them until after the noon hour. So rather than cook again… Taco Bueno! It is overpriced and really bad for you… especially with an upset stomach… but, hey, we didn’t have much food left in the pantry anyway. So, in spite of feeling like sudden death by heart attack would be a blessing… I made it through the morning of a weird and wacky, goofy, goofy day. And now my work for the day was nominally done. So I sat down and tried to think of a post for this blog. (44 days in a row with at least one post, you know) No luck. I couldn’t think of anything to write. And my schedule of ideas took way to much work to use on a goofy day. So, I took a picture of my toys… some of them… and tried to tell myself that I could turn that into a worthy post. The evidence is clear, however… I most certainly could not.
Category Archives: goofiness
Futterwacken
Yes, Futterwacken, the dipsy-doodah dance of the Mad Hatter. That is what life has been for me of late. This is my first school year in 33 years wherein I will not be teaching at all. The two jobless school years in 2005 to 2007 saw me teaching a cappella without a safety net (in laymen’s terms, substitute teaching- where a good sub can be called at the last possible minute to fly across town to take the class from hell that the regular teacher can’t tame with a whip and a chair. (Personal survival is entirely optional.) ) (Wow! I never pulled off a parenthetic expression inside a parenthetic expression before.) Being now in the eighth month of the Mad Tea Party of retired-teachery-ness, I have never truly been so free and schedule-lite before. I have pulled off repairing siding and painting the house while being arthritic and extra-wobbly on an aluminum ladder. I have registered two children for school three times (my son Henry in two different schools this school year). I have written and completed three novels (The Bicycle-Wheel Genius, The Magical Miss Morgan, and Superchicken). I have signed a contract to get one published in extreme slow-motion (Snow Babies). And I have managed this blog with the latest accomplishment being 36 daily blog posts in a row and uncounted Paffooney pictures, both photographical and colored-pencilical. I have invented three new words in this blog post alone (according to my computer spell-checker who was apparently an anal-retentive old-maid school teacher from the New England countryside in a past life.) So, imagining myself as a Mad Hatter, dancing a disjointed dance where my head spins like a top, is not so far out after all. Let me share with you one last wacky Paffooney choice for no particular reason…
Or maybe this Paffooney was to honor the comic book artist Murphy Anderson who inspired it. (Yeah! I’m gonna go with that explanation).
Toy Tiger
Tyger! Tyger! Burning bright!
I see thee holy in the night,
This for that, and that for this,
Shoot the gun,
And never miss!
A sillier poem there will never be,
And Tyger! Tyger! this poem’s for thee.
The first stuffed toy I ever owned was a tiger. It was almost as big as me the first time I remember it. I got it from Mom and Dad sometime before I started remembering things in my life.
When my oldest son was born I bought him a stuffed toy tiger. It was bigger than he was at the start. I don’t know why, but now that my son is a Marine in dress blues, looking spiffy and military trained… It just seemed important to remember a toy tiger.
The Rest of the Star Trek Collection
I am guilty of owning more dolls in my Star Trek collection. Here is the Next Generation set.
You may notice that I still have work to do. No Commander Data… No Geordy La Forge… No Wesley Crusher (if such a doll even exists)… These figures are all dressed for a TNG movie that practically nobody liked.
I also have two Star Trek Voyager dolls, Captain Janeway and Seven of Nine.
It is probable that no other figures from this series exist in twelve inches.
Captain Sisko is the only figure I have ever seen for Deep Space Nine, though I have a suspicion that more exist, at least the female crew members, and maybe that wonderfully devious Ferengi Quark.
Filed under collecting, doll collecting, goofiness, humor
The Rules for Collecting
Oh, no… My secret is out. I am a doll collector. (Wait, wasn’t I supposed to claim they are “action figures” so that I can get away with being a man who, at the age of nearly 60, still plays with dolls?”) I got started down this dark path back in 1965 when my parents bought me a G.I. Joe sailor for my ninth birthday. It was the beginning of an addiction that has dogged me even down to this very day.
There are some things that just aren’t easy to admit to, like being gay, or being a socialist, or being a werewolf. Well, I am not gay and I am not a socialist, so don’t worry about that. Those are not really terrible things to be when it comes right down to it. I have friends that are gay, friends that are socialists, and friends that are… um… well, enough about those things. I am writing about the terrible scourge of doll collecting. In order to control such a rare and debilitating disease, I had to come up with a set of rules that would keep me from becoming a penniless hobo living in a cardboard refrigerator box in an alley with thousands of Barbie dolls. So let me explain the sacred rules that have kept me at least partially sane for almost fifty years.
Rule #1; Thou shalt only collect and obsess over twelve-inch dolls and action figures. That allows for literally thousands of choices to pursue, and rules out the many size variations like the three-inch G.I. Joe’s and the three-inch Star Wars figures and all the Mego eight-inch superheroes who were everywhere in the Seventies and Eighties, but now are rare and expensive.
Rule #2; Thou shalt not collect and obsess over dolls and figures that cost more than twenty dollars. This is the poverty prevention rule that keeps an obsession from breaking the bank and wreaking havoc throughout the rest of my life. I have only broken this rule on rare occasions for hard to acquire dolls or figures, and most of those were actually presents paid for by somebody else. I can blame the exceptions mostly on people who know about my weakness and exploit it for their own personal reasons… hopefully because they just like to make me happy.
Rule #3; Thou must seeketh the lost and forlorn doll and redeem it from destruction. Whenever I can, I look for dolls at Goodwill stores and yard sales. I have bought a ton of naked and sometimes broken Action Man, Barbie, Max Steel, Ken, and G.I. Joe dolls. I then try to find or make clothes for them. My daughter went through her Barbie period in a most destructive manner. She didn’t merely discard dolls and Disney princesses, she beheaded, dismembered, disrobed, and chewed them. I have rescued and repaired many of them, but only after securing her promise that she doesn’t want to play with them or eat them any longer. I should note, though, that I no longer acquire dolls in this way, now that she is middle school aged and wouldn’t be caught dead with a doll.
Rule #4; Thou shalt not let your daughter be the the only one who has fun pulling them apart, but you will put them back together again in ways that make them into something new.
So, these are the sacred rules of collecting which shall not be violated in the pursuit of this weird religion, the bringing together of a multitude of dolls.
That is my “Enterprise Collection” above. Specifically the “Original Series Enterprise Collection”. Look more closely.
Spock is holding a Vulcan harp-thingy (whose name I won’t quote here because I don’t want to seem too much like a Trekkie… and besides, I forgot what it is called and am too lazy to look it up again… What can I say? I’m old.) Kirk is wearing a Wrath of Khan movie uniform.
This green Barbie doll is a Goodwill rescue turned into a green Orion dancing girl with paint, sequins, material from a quilting project, and a hot glue gun. 
Uhura was the hardest member of the team to track down and acquire. After Kaybee Toys went out of business, I had to turn to the internet to get hold of this beauty. I also had to pay $24.
You may also have noticed that Sulu is missing from my Original Series set. Well, I’m still working on that one. But I do owe a debt to J.J. Abrams for making a new movie version of Star Trek and inspiring a new set of twelve inch dolls.
And let me not forget Rule #5, the most important rule… Thou shalt play with the dolls you collect.
Filed under collecting, doll collecting, goofiness, humor, Paffooney
Happy Doodle… Now in Color!
Here is what it looks like in color. I fussed it up with markers because I like the bright colors. It helps it say “happy”.
Can You Draw Happy?
I have had to report racing heartbeats every night since I’ve been wearing the monitor. It has been recording things that I have missed. But do I really have to worry? No. The doctor hasn’t called to say go to the emergency room. I am now waking up every day with more confidence. Yay! I am still not dead! Every day is a blessing. And there is treatment to help non-lethal tachycardia. I have reason to believe I won’t be dead tomorrow too. So I will keep on writing and living and living to write, and to honor that resolution I will share the happy-doodle Paffooney that I doodled this morning after waking up not-dead.
The Rest of my Classroom Gallery
Here’s what’s left in my camera from school white boards and lessons.
There you have it, the results of 31 years of doodling on the chalkboard (which became the dry erase board). And yes, I did tell them the cartoon fairy drew all the pictures. Especially when they were in my class for the second or third year when they asked, “Who does all the pictures on the board?” And yes, I started doing this back in dinosaur days in white chalk on a green blackboard, followed by colored chalk, which later became a gray marker-board for washable marker, and finally became dry erase white board. And I really bought my own chalk and markers too. Teachers do that, you know.














