Category Archives: Paffooney

Remember November

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November is a light blue month.  I suppose me saying that, and especially me believing it is true, is evidence of some further mental illness… I know there are other people like me who think things you can’t see have colors, and they are probably loony-birds too.  But I have always felt that months have colors.  August is burnt orange.  September is rose red.  October is yellow-brown.  And November is a light blue.

November is also the month that I turn 59 in 2015.  Almost 60!  I am moving into my cranky-old-coot phase of life.  That’s okay too.  It is also probably evidence of mental illness.  Old brains tend to get a bit fermented… especially when they’ve been sauteed over time in a stew of stress, pain, doubt, and old wounds that never really heal.  I enjoy getting older because now I have the excuse that I am a doddering old coot to help me get away with the creatively evil things I was always too goody-two-shoes and afraid to do when I was younger.  No worries.  I am not changing into Dracula over night.  Halloween has come and gone without me doing anything seriously bad… other than writing novels.  At least, not that I am aware of.

November is also NaNoWriMo.  This year I begin the month putting the final editing touches on Snow Babies.  Then it is time to get serious about When the Captain Came Calling.  

Voodoo Val coverMary and the Captain

WTCCC is a novel about girls re-forming an old boys gang… with boys in it, and taking on the magic of sea-stories… lies that old sailors will tell.  Captain Noah Dettbarn returns home to Iowa from the South Pacific cursed with invisibility and being pursued by magical monsters.  Mary Philips, the girl on the right, has become the new leader of the Norwall Pirates.  Valerie Clarke, on the left, is the youngest member of the club, and she is the viewpoint character filtering the sometimes scary world of adults through her imaginative young mind.  She’s also in the picture of Mary since she has been turned into a golden-furred squirrel in that picture.

This novel I am using for NaNoWriMo already stands at 41 pages and more than 14,000 words.  So I have a good head start.  A novel in a month?  50,000 words?  Easy for a crazy old coot who is retired and not busy enough by half.  As long as I can keep on kicking (the dog is watching me as I write this because she doesn’t want me kicking her) and keep on living, I can do it easily.  It is a story idea I have been working on since 1981.  And even though November is a blue month, depression is not a problem.  It is light blue, remember?  The dark blue of depression doesn’t come along until December, a month colored deep indigo blue.  And by that time there is no way fickle fate can prevent Snow Babies from being published by 2016.

(Since I am still short of 500 at this point, let me point out the favorite words I have used in this post that tickle me passionate pink; coot, fickle, loony, doddering, and indigo.  Now you can ignore this parenthetic expression.)

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Filed under humor, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney

Rainy Saturday Blues (a poem about depression )

Blue Dawn

I must make a confession about crippling depression,

Cause today I have the blues.

It requires a concession of time for regression,

And dark days enveloping all views.

There is no progression in a working profession,

Cause clouds leave me missing all news.

I start the procession of blue notes in session,

And all melodies tend to be blues.

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Filed under Paffooney, pessimism, poem, Uncategorized

Sarcasm, a Super Power of the Future

It has come to my attention that the need for super heroes has reached a critical point in our history.  I have been watching television documentaries about Green Arrow and the Flash, and now there is a new one, Supergirl.  And I didn’t miss all the media attention when Robert Downey Jr. formed a super team of powerful people and destroyed a European country so thoroughly that I can’t find it on a map anywhere.  So, wanting to get in on the action, I decided I needed a super power of my own.  And I know what it is.  I am not strong.  I am not fast.  I am not as smart as Robert Downey Jr. who is both Sherlock Holmes and Iron Man.  So I have to settle for one of those second tier super powers.  Like sarcasm.

Sarcasto Fu

Unbeknownst to most who know me, I went away to the far oriental country of Kathman-dooki to study under an ancient master.  His name was Aiknowyooare Butwhattami, ancient master of the Shaolin art of Sarcasto Fu.  He was the one who taught me to meditate on the foibles of people I don’t like and the pet peeves that drive me to despise them.  He taught me that a well-placed sarcastic comment, like a well-thrown dagger, can cut right to the heart.

“You must focus your ire on the words you say, Grassstomper, to give the desired meaning to words that actually mean the opposite of what you mean to mean… in order to be mean,” said the ancient master.

“That makes perfect sense to me,” I said with a leftward eye-roll.

“Excellent, oh bug-headed one, you inflected that just right to hurt me fatally without revealing your witlessly shallow stupidity.”

I smiled at the praise as he wrote a big letter “F” on my report card.

Sarcastoman

But if I choose to use sarcasm as my super power, I have the unfortunate problem of competing with the super hero known as Sarcasto Man.  He has previously seized on this notion that you can defeat super villains by sarcastically shaming them into committing oriental ritual suicide… called Hairy Kurie, or something like that.  Or was that ornamental suicide?  You know, the kind that decorates the sides of your house with dark reds and crimsons.  I think you do it with a sword… or cut your own head off with a butter knife or something weird like that.  Anyway, Sarcasto Man has told me that he achieves his super-power effects by holding a very high opinion of himself and talking down to everyone else around him.  He was supposed to become part of a super hero team, but failed at the task because his sarcasm caused as many suicides among his teammates as it did amongst his super-villain enemies and their minions.  In fact, he could not use the power on minions very well because they are usually too stupid to understand that you actually mean the opposite of what you are saying.

“It was very discouraging after I defeated the Mangling Mingler,” Sarcasto Man told me, “because after he cut his own head off with a butter knife, his minions, the Mingle Men, blamed me for his death and started pelting me with rocks.  I got such a bunch of red welts on my buttocks.  Fortunately my head is rock-proof.” (Did I forget to mention that using sarcasm as a super power is greatly aided by having a very thick skull?)

turtleboy

I began to despair of ever achieving levels of sarcasm-ness to be in his league.  So I started looking for alternatives that were close in content, but different in application.  I briefly thought about using irony instead of sarcasm.  Tim the Turtle Boy (whom I interviewed as a potential boy sidekick… um, not trying to be gay or anything) demonstrates my irony skill by holding up his magical cast-iron flat iron with which he either creates irony or flattens out the super villain’s clothing wrinkles.  Well, maybe I am not all that clear on how one becomes a superhero, and I don’t want to make Robert Downey Jr. mad by trying to become Irony Man and crowding his personal shtick.  He might use sarcasm on me and suggest I would make a really great Pun-Man.  You know, killing villains with really bad puns and jokes that turn your head inside out.  That would be a truly shameful thing.

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Filed under humor, Paffooney, pen and ink

Pirates Updated

Today I am updating a comic in my Vault.  So if you wish to see the entire comic as it exists so far on WordPress, then here it is; The Atlas of Fantastica.

These are the updated pages;

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So now I have shared with you my nightmares about banks and finances.  Happy pirate dreams, and don’t take any wooden dahblooens!

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I Go Pogo!

I gave you fair warning.  Pogo has been coming to Mickey’s Catch a Falling Star Blog for a while now.  So, if you intended to avoid it, TOO BAD!  You are here now in Okefenokee Swamp with Pogo and the gang, and subject to Mickey’s blog post about Walt Kelly and his creations.

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Walt Kelly began his cartoon hall-of-fame career in 1936 at Walt Disney Studios.  If you watch the credits in Pinocchio, Fantasia, and Dumbo, you will see Walt listed as an animator and Disney artist.  In fact, he had almost as much influence on the Disney graphic style as Disney had on him.  He resigned in 1941 to work at Dell Comics where he did projects like the Our Gang comics that you see Mickey smirking at here, the Uncle Wiggly comics, Raggedy Ann and Andy comics, and his very own creations like Pogo, which would go on to a life of its own in syndicated comics.  He did not return to work at Disney, but always credited Disney with giving him the cartoon education he would need to reach the stratosphere.

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Walt Kelly's Earth Day comic

Walt Kelly’s Earth Day comic

Pogo is an alternate universe that is uniquely Walt Kelly’s own.  It expresses a wry philosophy and satirical overview of our society that is desperately needed in this time of destructive conservative politics and deniers of science and good sense.

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Pogo himself is an every-man character that we are supposed to identify with the most.  He is not the driver of plots and doings in the swamp, rather the victim and unfortunate experiencer of those unexpectable things. Life in Okefenokee is a long series of random events to make life mostly miserable but always interesting if approached with the right amount of Pogo-ism.

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And Pogo was always filled with cute and cuddly as well as ridiculous.

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As a boy, I depended on the comic section of the Sunday paper to make sense of the world for me.  If I turned out slightly skewed and warped in certain ways, it is owing to the education I myself was given by Pogo, Lil Abner, Dagwood Bumstead, and all the other wizards from the Sunday funnies.  There was, of course, probably no bigger influence on my art than the influence of Walt Kelly.

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So what more can I say about Walt Kelly?  I haven’t yet reached the daily goal of 500 words.  And yet, the best way to conclude is to let Walt speak for himself through the beautiful art of Pogo.

Pogo and Mamzelle

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Filed under cartoon review, cartoons, humor, Paffooney

Transportation by Imagination

How does one use the mind to move from one place to another?  Is teleportation by mental ability possible?  Can we find new ways to travel using only the mind?  New worlds to travel to?  Of course!  Anything is possible once you realize there are no barriers to human imagination.  It is possible to traverse even the beginning and the end of the universe itself.

My Art 2 of Davalon

Case in point, I have as a cartoonist tried to come up with novel ways to travel.  In Catch a Falling Star I imagined that an engineering prodigy and a scientific genius used recovered alien technology to turn an 1889 steam locomotive with a pair of Pullman passenger cars into a space vehicle using an old hot air balloon and Yankee ingenuity.  They used it to fly to Mars.

flying goldfish

A friend who read that book, Stuart R. West, who writes teenage horror story mysteries  (Here’s a link to Stuart’s stuff!) suggested an idea for an illustrated children’s book about three kids that feed bubble gum to a goldfish.  The goldfish urps up a bubble that ends up carrying them off on an adventure through the sky.  I drew a possible illustration for that book and killed the idea completely dead.  I have a secret super power for taking cute and funny ideas and turning them into things that are totally unmarketable.  I wonder if that makes me a super villain instead of a hero.  So, the cartoonist in me had to develop other ways to travel that are even more ridiculous.

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In Clowntown, a part of my Atlas of Fantastica cartoon, you travel the downtown Clowntown skyway by being flipped and flung along the Clowntown Trapeze-way.  It makes for a harrowing ride and it’s really heck to use for trips to the grocery store or coming home again with packages to carry.

Travelling in the part of Fantastica dominated by pirates is even worse.  Traveling by the science of Boomology means getting shot out of a cannon naked to get wherever you need to go.  It is not something I would want to try in real life, but the cartoon me seems to not enjoy it with only minor bumps and bruises.

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So, travelling by means of the mind alone, through imagination, is quite possible… and probably infinitely unwise.

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The Jesus Logic

Danse 4Here is a syllogism to explain Jesus logic;

  1. Jesus walked on water.
  2. Cucumbers are 80 per cent water.
  3. I can walk on cucumbers.
  4. Therefore I must be 80 per cent Jesus.

Here is another.

  1. Jesus turned water into wine.
  2. I can drink wine and turn it into urine.
  3. Urine is an icky kind of water.
  4. Since I can do the opposite of Jesus, I must be the anti-Christ.

You can draw your own conclusions about the mathematics of believing in religion.  I have no qualms about letting others believe whatever they want to believe about the universe, its purpose, and who made it.  I think it is very pompous and self-serving to think you are qualified, either from science or faith, to say you know the absolute truth about those things and others must accept your logical conclusions.  Here is my own pompous and self-serving opinion.  There is a God. I know this because I talk to Him daily.  He speaks to me through signs and resonances and Bible-reading and feelings.  But, here’s the rub; I have hoarding disorder and diabetic depression and other mental illnesses.  Since I am crazy, you probably shouldn’t believe the voices in my head that I listen to.  But I get comfort from my belief in God.  Christianity teaches that we should love one another.  This, I think, is the most important truth we can possibly accept.  Part of loving others is not condemning them for what they believe and trying to impose my beliefs upon them.  God, to me, is everything that there is.  The universe around me is vast and complicated.  I will never know even a half a grain of sand worth of all the knowledge wrapped up in grains of sand on all the beaches on all the planets in the universe.  But the universe is alive and self-aware because I am alive and self-aware, and I am part of the universe.  And here’s the kicker, my conclusions about life, the universe, and everything make no more sense than the Jesus logic I presented at the outset.  After all, I am provably crazy.

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Filed under humor, Paffooney, religion

Rehab for Disney Princesses

20151018_131244I am in the habit of rescuing dolls from places like Goodwill.  I particularly look for the abused or over-loved toys that may be a little bit marked up or a little bit broken.  My work table (which was once-upon-a-time a drawing table before being over-loaded with unfinished projects) is loaded with doll parts and beat-up dolls.  In the photo Paffooney you can see two naked dolls that I have been working on.  One is a Disney Princess, Ariel the Little Mermaid.  The other is a Barbie doll with jointed arms and legs, possibly a ballerina in her previous doll life with molded ballet slippers.  The fairy in the foreground is possibly a real fairy that I have coerced into lending me some of her magic to help these poor once-loved toy dolls.  We are in the process of rehabilitating them.

Now, you realize that Disney dolls are more cheaply made than Barbie dolls (that is important to understanding the evil corporate empire run by a cartoon mouse primarily for hideously huge profits… I love Disney, but it is evil).  Ariel has a funky body that has a signature lopsided waist joint.  She is proportioned in ways that make her hard to make clothes for, and definitely hard to dress in Barbie clothes.  That was intentionally done because Disney is in competition with Mattel and, besides, the basic Barbie body is patented.  Disney can’t just steal the entire design.

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The thing about dolls is that they are created for little girls to love.  And their plastic princess personalities are kinda air-headed.  They become easily addicted to the love they get from little girls, and they continue to soak it in no matter what it does to their bodies or how it shortens their potentially immortal plastic lives.  Ariel came to me with marks on her legs from black and red markers, and apparently melted rubber bands.  I had to scrape and clean her bendable soft-plastic legs with cleaning alcohol (the same stuff I use to reduce anti-electric build-up on the wheels and rails of model trains).  Her hair was a sunburned frizzy mess.  It looked exactly like you’d expect an addict’s hair to look.  I had to start to combing it with a metal dog comb, and then I was able to use one of the human combs I used on my own hair and beard.  Finally, I found a cheap Barbie costume that has an open seam in front to wrap around the  and seal with Velcro.

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I dressed Ariel by stretching the fabric around her (especially the badly-proportioned bosom… dang that evil, sexist Disney design).  I only had to twist her delicate arms slightly out of shape to make the dress that was never intended to fit her actually fit.  You can see that I still need to find a way to restore color to her sunburned hairdo, but it is plastic, and if no little girl talks her back into her cycle of addiction, I can probably use acrylic paint.  Ariel looks much better and healthier than when I found her.  Of course, I learned to do this doll rehab bit from having a daughter who played with dolls in a brutal way that apparently required ritual sacrifice and dismemberment.  Let me show you one of her Princess Jasmine dolls I saved successfully from addiction and death.

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Filed under doll collecting, humor, Paffooney

The New Me

Catbird Me 2I was recently half-bullied and half-convinced that cleaning up and cutting hair and beard would make me feel better over all in spite of six incurable diseases and the ravages of old age.  Well, I fell for that line of reasoning in spite of my lovely reddish-purple psoriasis patches and flaking skin on my face and back of my neck.  And, the added push came from a possibly brief respite from facial and neck patches.  Things are mostly healed up in the parts you can see.  So, now, my wife says I look twenty years younger.  (Of course, she probably thought I looked about a hundred and thirty-five with the long hair and beard.)

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So, see for yourself what I look like now.  It is scary to contemplate.  I look almost normal.  What kind of protection is that for society in general?  Now mothers can’s say to their children, “Let’s go over here, farther away from that creepy old fellow.”  There is danger that they might come close enough to hear me tell a joke.  Don’t believe me?  You should’ve seen the look on the face of that young mother from India who overheard me tell my kids at Walmart, “Milk prices have gone higher than gas prices here.  They must have changed to using gas-powered cows for milk.”  Really!  You’ve should have seen the expression on her face as she heard me say that.  It was like she had tasted some of the milk from gas-powered cows.  And it got even worse when she overheard my kids agree with me.  She was sure that I was an absolute danger to the educational health of her little happy brown children.

I am not certain that I can stay the way I am at the moment.  Being a spotty-faced old man again doesn’t have a lot of appeal.  But I am not sure I want to go back to Mr. Hairy again, either.  I liked the author’s beard and the Gandalf hair, but it had drawbacks of its own too.  I shall try this new me for now, and do the best I can to stay this way.  So be warned, keep your kids out of earshot.  You wouldn’t want to have any of them laugh themselves to death.

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Filed under autobiography, humor, Paffooney

Table Talk on Sunday

“What will future people think of our culture if the only archaeological artifact they have to go by is a spork?” Henry asked over Ramen noodles.

“A spork?” asked Mom.

“You know, one of those spoon/fork thingies, the plastic ones?”

“It won’t be a problem,” I said.  “In the far future the people will all be cockroaches.  They will know what a spork is because of racial memory.”

“Euuw!” said Mom.  “Not cockroaches!”

“Yes,” said the Princess, “cockroaches can survive nuclear winter…  They said in school that they are radioactive-proof.”

Donner n Silkie“I don’t think they can ever become intelligent,” said Mom.  “They don’t die when you cut their head off.  Um, well, they don’t die until they starve to death because they have no mouth to eat with.”

“But nuclear winter will make food harder to find eventually, and the smarter cockroaches will evolve,” I suggested.

“I don’t believe in evolution,” Mom said.

The kids looked at me and grinned, shaking their heads.

“And if it is true, they will run out of food with all the people and animals dead,” the Princess suggested.

“Ah, the cockroach population will boom with all the dead things to eat, and the rotted stuff will grow mutated plants and fungus that they can learn to farm,” I said.

“And the smart ones can eat the stupid ones,” said Henry.  “There will be lots and lots of those.”

“So we are all agreed that cockroaches will rule the earth, and it won’t matter if they know what a spork is or not, right?” I concluded.  So we basically solved the problem of repopulating the Earth after Armageddon.  Of course, Mom is a Jehovah’s Witness, and believes in a Paradise on Earth for forever, so we wish her well getting along with the evolved cockroach civilization.

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