Category Archives: Paffooney

Bird is the Word

birdwords

Birds are always talking,

And birds are always squawking,

And they are using bird-words,

These are the words I heard.

Twitter-pated – this word comes from the owl in Bambi and means not being able to think straight because you’re in love.

Aviary – is a great big bird house, big enough to fly around in

Feather-dusted – to you and me it means clean, to a bird it means the feathers are dirty

Bird-brained – don’t be insulted if a bird calls you this.  It is a compliment.

Fume-fluttered – you gotta fly and get away from that bad smell.

Wing-walking –  it’s how you get from here to there if you’re a bird… Duh!

Wakka wakka – it’s those dang ducks again, always telling jokes!

Egg-zactly – as precise and perfect as an egg.

Coo-coo-karoo – that stupid rooster wants us to get up again at daybreak.  It’s like a bird can never sleep in!

Clucker butter – Can you believe that KFC place?  Butter on improperly cremated dead chickens (ah, well, they were only chickens after all).

Now that you have less than one per cent of the bird vocabulary, please don’t try to tell me what they are saying.  I really don’t want to know!

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Filed under birds, humor, Paffooney, wordplay

For the Birds

Redbirds

If you have looked carefully at my blog and tried to make sense of it, you have probably noticed that sense is hard to make.  It certainly makes no cents.  Though, I am told by my writer and publisher friends that a blog is critical to marketing books, I really and truly have not figured out how.  I am guessing here, but successful authors must do what they love in their blogs and hope that leads people to think seriously about buying a book with their name on it.  But will people ever want the frabjous daylight that makes them say “caloo calay!” from my burbling books filled with nonsense and purple paisley prose?

Maybe I need to clarify what I write about.  Hmm, how do I do that?  I end up with such a plethora of scattered categories… err cattered scattergories… err, no… right the first time, that no one can make a mental framework that accurately describes my work… including me.  But I have to try… even if it kills me… but if it wants to kill me, I already have six incurable diseases (maybe seven) and am a cancer survivor, so it will have to take a number and get in line.

The bird-word post I did yesterday is what I call humor.  It is pun-ish if not punny, but possibly pun-ishable.  I like word play and word pictures and rhymes and alliteration, all the stuff that my serious writer friends warn me against.  Mark Twain, whom I actually deeply respect, says “When considering the adjective, cut it out!”  But I find myself unable to do that.  I have to spread the adjectives on two or three layers thick like butter, jam, and peanut butter.  I never use one word for something when I can use seven.  So part of the style that is mine is excessively goopy phraseology.  I guess I write like I talk and, since it’s humor, I actively try to talk funny.

What else can I say is characteristic of what I do?  Well I was a teacher for three hundred and ten years (possibly divisible by ten).  That may have impacted the way I write and what I write about.  I am pigeon-holed in the Young Adult novel genre because I write mainly about school age, particularly junior-high-aged, kids… Their problems with corresponding creative solutions, and the kind of things that make them laugh (there’s a lot of pigeons in that hole!).  Education issues are important to me.  That is probably the key reason that the novel I am working on today, The Magical Miss Morgan, is about a classroom teacher.  I hope that doesn’t limit me to an entirely kid-audience, because adults have the book-buying money, and not every adult gives in to a kid whining about wanting to buy a book (because most kids don’t and there are adults who don’t have kids).  (Besides, says another aside, kids is really little goats who eat books before they read them).

Finally, I am a student of art.  I search for it, chew on it, digest it, rearrange it in my heart and guts, and spit it back out with colored pencils (Dang!  I must be a kid too, at least at heart).  In my blog I have written about and shared with you Norman Rockwell, Paul Detlafsen, Thomas Kinkade, Maxfield Parrish, William-Adolphe Bouguereau, and Frederick Remington.  I know of a few more like George Herriman, Cliff Sterrit, and E.C, Segar that I am compelled to write about too.  Oh, and N.C. Wyeth, Andrew Wyeth, and Milt Caniff.  Uh-oh, better stop before another list comes on.  So, in conclusion, this whole mess will never really be concluded and since it’s convoluted, it will get all mangled up and end up back where it began.  I have tried to make sense out of everything, but instead I’ve just made soup… or if I take out the broth… stew!

Blue birds

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The Truest of Magicks

Okay, life is like this; you are born, a lot of dumb stuff happens that you are mostly not in control of, you suffer a little bit, you are happy a little bit, and then you die.   That is a pretty gloomy prospect, and most of us spend our entire lives obsessing over it, examining it with microscopes, doctoring it with needles and potions and chainsaws, trying to make it last a little longer, wailing and complaining about our sorry allotment, and wasting what little time we have.  So what secret exists that could ever make a difference?  Could ever open up our eyes… even just a tiny bit?

Zoric

The secret, as far as I can tell (and I am certainly one of the dumber and more random among you because I am cursed with insight and wisdom won through suffering and making huge mistakes), is reading the right books.

Eli Tragedy

I am not alone in this sort of thinking.  There are those who believe that if you gather the best books together into a personal library and read them, they add experiences and knowledge to your life that you would not otherwise have.  (Of course, one must acknowledge, especially if you read fiction, that most books are filled with lies and misinformation, and some, Bill O’Reilly’s Killing Jesus leaps to mind, might leave you stupider than you were when you started.)  It deepens, broadens, and intensely colors the experience of life.

Skorpio

People who read books a lot… really read them, and re-read them, and collect them, and study them, and think about and write about them… are called wizards.  Wizards are wise men.  It is what the word means.  Being one does not make you better than anyone else.  In fact, wizards are generally weaker than normal men.  It comes from all that ruining of eyes and fuddling up brains with too much thinking.  You don’t want a wizard to back you up in a fist fight.  You will certainly lose.  And you don’t want a wizard to tell you how live your life.  They are not good role models.  But if a wizard tells a story, you should listen.  Because if you really listen, and the wizard is really wise, you can expand the borders of your life, and push on nearer to immortality.

Ice Alchemist

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Filed under humor, Paffooney, wisdom, wizards

A Random Dragon

Okay, I need to keep my string of daily posts going.  So today, I will show you Pennie.  She is a copper dragon.  She’s been too shy to meet you until now.   But better meet than eat you.

Penny Dragon

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Magical Moments

There comes a time, a moment of truth, in which a decision has to be made, a problem has to be solved.  In the teaching business those moments can occur once per hour, or fifty times in the space of two minutes.  You can bat 900, hit nine out of every ten out of the park, and still come out on the losing end.  More often than not, you lose.  You continue to get it wrong, and you feel totally defeated at the end of the day.  No World Series of education for you.  Sorry about that.  But once in a while, you do not fail.  You say the perfect thing to diffuse the situation.  You think of the perfect example that, once explained, turns on every light bulb in every head in the room.  That is magic.  That is the reason you teach.

class Miss Mcover

I am writing a novel right now, The Magical Miss Morgan, about a teacher.  Without making a mystery about it, the teacher in the story, Miss Francis Morgan, is really me.  I am basing this story on things that actually happened to me.  Now, before the yelling and the accusations start, I will confess that I realize I am a male teacher and the main character is female, and there are things a female teacher does all the time, like hugging a student, that a male teacher can never do.  And I must also confess that this teacher I am writing about loves all her students, even the ugly and stupid ones, and that is probably only true for teachers who really are magical.  I further realize that the fairies in the story, just like the ones in Peter Pan, are not real outside of the story being told.  I’m not insane… well, okay, I’m a teacher… a middle school teacher… so let’s just say I am not completely insane.

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But there is real magic.  It happens in that moment when you desperately need that perfect solution to pop out of the magic hat like a white rabbit and say, “Howdy!”  Because if you have the courage to reach into that hat and pull the rabbit out, more often than not, it is there.  And it doesn’t end when the teaching ends.  I hit the wall with this novel at about 30,000 words.  I wrote myself into a corner with no way out.  But then I realized that I already had the answer.  I am basing this story on what really happened.  So, all I have to do is turn me into her and sprinkle some fairy dust, and voila! the rest of the novel is already plotted and as good as written.  Everything fell into place in only a moment.

Magical Moment

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Filed under humor, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney, teaching

Me, Myself, and It

MickeyX2

I think it is provably true that any time an artist creates a work of art, it is actually a self-portrait.  Did you see the works of Thomas Kinkade and Paul Detlafsen in my recent posts?  Can I not effectively argue that those paintings give you a glimpse of the real person behind the paintbrush?  Was Norman Rockwell not the man portrayed in all those lovely down-home, truly American oils he did?  Was Theodor Giesel not also Dr. Seuss?  Then I look back at some of the goofy pictures that I have created through the years and think, “Oh no!  What have I done?”  I sometimes think I don’t have to post nude selfies of myself for people to see me naked.  Should I really have done that…?  …Of course, I should!  And that means I have seen William Shakespeare naked too!  Good Golly!  I have to quit thinking these goofy thoughts!

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My Tinfoil Hat for UFO’s

I have been a conspiracy-theory nut for some time.  Back in the 1970’s, my father and I went to a movie called Chariots of the Gods.  It presented the insane theories of Erich von Daniken as if they were fact.  It mentioned the Nazca Lines, Stonehenge, the Great Pyramid, and other ancient wonders and seemed to show depictions of ancient aliens in the art of those cultures.  My father and I were convinced by his arguments and thought there really must be something to it.  I went to college with a real hunger to learn more.Erich von Däniken

I was disappointed to learn later that the man was a completely unprofessional, untrained archeologist, and that he may have actually stolen his main thesis for the Chariots book from Carl Sagan and  I. S. Shklovskii in their book, Intelligent Life in the Universe.  Sagan would go on to say;

“That writing as careless as von Däniken’s, whose principal thesis is that our ancestors were dummies, should be so popular is a sober commentary on the credulousness and despair of our times.  I also hope for the continuing popularity of books like Chariots of the Gods? in high school and college logic courses, as object lessons in sloppy thinking. I know of no recent books so riddled with logical and factual errors as the works of von Däniken.”

—Carl Sagan, Foreword to The Space Gods Revealed (quote and citation borrowed from Wikipedia)

So I went through a number of Sagan-influenced years of my life saying that there was no sound reason to believe that out of an infinity of places to visit, interstellar tourists would want to come and visit here.  Does a normal, sane tourist want to go to an island full of cannibals?  Our movies, after all, always depict us killing, dissecting, or taking advantage of alien visitors.

But then I discovered the whole story of the Roswell, New Mexico crash in 1947.  Convinced at one point that the crash really was a Project Mogul weather balloon, I began to discover the work of another alien-visitor-obsessed gentleman by the name of Stanton Friedman.  This man is much harder to dismiss.  He has a master’s degree in physics and spent fourteen years as a nuclear physicist “for such companies as General Electric (1956–1959), Aerojet General Nucleonics (1959–1963), General Motors (1963–1966), Westinghouse (1966–1968), TRW Systems (1969–1970), and McDonnell Douglas, where he worked on advanced, classified programs on nuclear aircraft, fission and fusion rockets, and compact nuclear power plants for space applications.[2] Since the 1980s, he has done related consultant work in the radon-detection industry. Friedman’s professional affiliations have included the American Nuclear Society, the American Physical Society, the American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics, and AFTRA.” (quoted from Wikipedia… I know, I know… but this is all verifiable information, not made up or imaginary like von Däniken’s.)  He is also the first civilian to investigate the Roswell crash.  He began by interviewing the air-base’s intelligence officer during the incident, Major Jesse Marcel.

Stanton_Friedman_Alamogordo_2010wikidotorg

More and more I became interested in the phenomenon and the people who research it.  I have a pretty good list of liars and clowns who talk about aliens, and I will use some of that in a future post.  There is comedy gold in that topic.

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But I do believe that aliens are real and have visited our planet.  I began researching the topic again for my novel, Catch a Falling Star, because it centers on an alien invasion and a clash between incompetent space travelers and single-minded Midwesterners who can’t possibly believe.  There are just too many people surfacing with stories to tell about alien encounters, UFO sightings, and government cover-ups.  People like Nick Pope, a former Minister from the British government, Paul Hellyer , a former Defense Minister from Canada, Edgar Mitchell, an Apollo astronaut,  and numerous technicians and inventors from McDonnell-Douglas and other aircraft manufacturers are coming forward in legions to testify that things like this are very real.

My Art 2 of Davalon

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Filed under artwork, colored pencil, Paffooney, tinfoil hats

The Rules for Collecting

20141207_150302  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.

20141207_150408   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.  20141207_150449

20141207_150510  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.

20141207_150710

And let me not forget Rule #5, the most important rule…  Thou shalt play with the dolls you collect.

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Filed under collecting, doll collecting, goofiness, humor, Paffooney

Happy Doodle… Now in Color!

Happy DoodleHere is what it looks like in color.  I fussed it up with markers because I like the bright colors.  It helps it say “happy”.

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Filed under doodle, drawing, goofiness, marker, Paffooney, pen and ink

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.

DSCN5422

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Filed under artwork, drawing, goofiness, humor, Paffooney