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The Magic of Pez

This had to be shared again as I had completely forgotten I had written it before stumbling on it today.

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In 1927 in the mythical land of Austria, where they seem to know how to make candy… a condensed form of peppermint was created in a lozenge form and then placed into a plastic toy dispenser.  The spells that were cast to make this magical item probably had nothing to do with toad warts and bat wings and eye of newt.  It has more to do with Mickey Mouse, then Katzenjammer Kids, and Marvel Super Heroes.  I have been caught under the spells of a PEZ fixation since childhood.  I remember begging for a Bugs Bunny dispenser in Merle Hay Mall in Des Moines when I was probably six years old.  My parents wisely said no hundreds of times when I was a kid.  Who wanted to spend a nickel on a penny’s worth of candy?  Just for a Pez dispenser.  If they ever caved to my begging, even once…

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The Uncritical Critic

Here’s a blog from a Summer long past. It gives me joy to recall how a movie can shape my life. And I still haven’t grown out of my seven-year-old movie critic self.

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The Lyric Theater on Main Street, Belmond, Iowa The Lyric Theater on Main Street, Belmond, Iowa

My family took me to the movies last night.  We went to see Jurrassic World.   We went to the local hometown theater in Belmond, a place that I first went to movies at in the 1960’s for I don’t remember what… well, I’m old… you can’t always remember early childhood when your old brain is clogged with fermenting memories and nostalgia on steroids.  I saw Battle for the Planet of the Apes here.  I saw Tarzan and the Valley of Gold here.  Bedknobs and Broomsticks, The Gnome-Mobile, The Love Bug… Disney movies, Christmas movies, musicals, cartoons, westerns… science fiction… This was an important feature of my Midwestern Iowegian childhood.  I watched all kinds of movies here, and they were all the best movies I have ever seen.  Even the really bad ones.  Even Harum Scarum with Elvis Presley.  I…

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Elf Art

Old re-posts galore.

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Elf Art

Much of my colored pencil ability came from drawing Dungeons and Dragons characters. I created this as a logo for my sister’s archery club, but it owes more to D & D and LOTR than to any commercial art. The tricky part was getting the bow and the elf’s form right. Movie elves are for the most part not real archers. So I tried very hard to get this elf to shoot the bow correctly in front of a green moon.

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June 5, 2020 · 6:51 pm

The Black Wizard

So, dragons and black wizards… yeah. That’s a thing.

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Admit it, you’ve been expecting a post about the Black Wizard.  Haven’t you?  Or is it just crazy old Mickey thinking he represents the other shoe that needs to drop?  Well, I do get kinda goofy talking about Dungeons and Dragons, don’t I?

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The Black Wizard had a name that the player characters eventually learned… but I have stupidly forgotten what it was.  So, I merely refer to him by the name they knew him by for most of the game.  He was a personal nemesis to two of the player character wizards.  He is shown here kidnapping Balin, the young son of the wizard LeRoy, my brother’s fifteenth level wizard.  He also faced off against Asduel, the Sorcerer played by young Fernie the flunkie who was in my eighth grade English class for two consecutive years.  Neither one could defeat him by themselves, and they never played in the…

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…In the Eye of the Beholder

I needed a re-post today, and this was a first thought, a bad thought, but the girl is pretty… at least on the outside.

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20160530_145416 Meet Xandu, the Beholder… I can’t say he’s a bad guy, but only because he’s a giant floating head full of eyes, and doesn’t have the proper parts to be considered a guy.

Those of us who were nutty about playing Dungeons and Dragons in the 1980’s hear the phrase, “Beauty is in the eye of the Beholder” and we’re automatically thinking weird thoughts about Xandu, and maybe even questioning, “Which eye do you mean?”

Beholders have one big eye, and a lot of little ones equipped with death lasers, gazes of perpetual sleep, nausea looks, and fear-eyes that make you run away in terror.  With that kind of surreal right-brain crapola going on in my stupid old dungeon master’s head, it’s no wonder I might go into this discussion of the Beholder with monsters on the brain when I really intended to talk all along about this particular beholder;

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June 5, 2020 · 6:44 pm

Garrison Keillor

I am definitely feeling old. So, as a result, I am re-posting something old. My literary hero, Garrison Keillor, somewhat faded now by the #metoo movement, still makes me laugh and still inspires me.

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Sometimes it is good to acknowledge your influences and the people whose work has changed your life into what it now appears to be.  Such a person, a profound influence on my story-telling habits, is Garrison Keillor.

"GKpress" by Prairie Home Productions. Licensed under Attribution via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:GKpress.jpg#/media/File:GKpress.jpg “GKpress” by Prairie Home Productions. Licensed under Attribution via Wikimedia Commons – http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:GKpress.jpg#/media/File:GKpress.jpg

This man in the picture who looks like one of my relatives, is the story-teller, writer, and radio personality Garrison Keillor.

The only way to accurately explain this whole honorarium-business is to tell you a story…  You see, Great Grandma Hinckley, when she was reaching the tarnished end of her golden years, the latter part of her 90’s, the nearly-a-century mark, always called me “Donny”.  Apparently “Michael” was too hard a name to actually remember.  To be fair, though, it was my Uncle’s name, and I did look in the 1970’s very much like Uncle Don when he was a…

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Butterflies and Blossoms

I may not be able to make it home to Iowa this summer. Health and the pandemic may prevent it. So, here is an old blog about looking back.

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A Red Admiral butterfly... A Red Admiral butterfly…

I am temporarily at home in Iowa, visiting the farm where my grandparents and great grandparents have owned the land and raised crops for over 100 years.  My parents live there now in retirement, and while somebody else tends the corn and rents the land, they maintain the yard and grow flowers.  Retirement is hip deep everywhere around the place.  My old retired self and my wife and my kids are all descended upon them just like the butterfly who came to sample the purple flowers on the porch trellis.  Little work gets done.  My wife and eldest son have jobs and contribute to society still, but we retired folks putter and stutter and watch the butterflies flutter.  We watch the kids and the flowers grow.

The Family Farm House The Family Farm House

Watching stuff grow has always pretty much been what farming-family Iowegians do.  Corn and soybeans, watermelon…

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Why We Doo

I remember when Scooby Doo, Where Are You? premiered on Saturday Morning Cartoons in 1969. I was thirteen and in the 7th grade. I had been six during the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962, seven when Kennedy was assassinated in 1963, ten when I was sexually assaulted in 1966, and still twelve when Neil Armstrong walked on the Moon in the Summer of 1969. I was obsessed with monsters, horror comics, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, and the Pirates threatening Jim Hawkins in Treasure Island. I knew what fear was. And I was mad to find ways to combat the monsters I feared.

Don’t get me wrong. I was under no illusions that Fred, Daphne, Velma, Norville “Shaggy” Rogers and Scooby Doo were the answer to all my fears as viable heroes and heroines. They were goofballs, all of them, based on the characters I vaguely remembered from The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis. I was aware that Shaggy was just Maynard Krebs in cartoon form (the hippie character portrayed by Gilligan’s Island actor Bob Denver.)

One of the critical things about the show for me was the fact that there was a rational explanation for the monsters. They were men in masks, special effects and projector tricks, or remote-controlled mechanical things.

And the way you overcame them and saved the day was by having Shaggy and Scooby act as bait, cause the traps to get sprung at the wrong time, and then fall on the villains, trapping them under the butt of the talking dog.

Villains and horror could be overcome by laughing at them. They were more likely to be clowns than carnivores. And even if they were carnivores, the teeth were not real.

There was a universal truth in that. Danger and horror and fear were easier to handle when you could laugh in spite of those things.

And to top it all off, those meddling kids and their stupid talking dog were with me my whole life. Those cartoons got remade and spun off so many times that my kids learned to love them as much as I did. And those four meddling kids and that talking dog are still making new stories even now.

Give us your creepiest or goofiest smile, guys!

And that is why we do the Doo!

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The Inner Clown

Here is an old blog that sums up how I am feeling again today. It is a goofy life to be a clown, whether it is only on the inside, or inside and outside both.

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HarkerSometimes it is entirely necessary to acknowledge the fool and the helpless, hopeless clown that lives inside us all. Okay, I hear what you are thinking.  Not you.  There is no clown inside of you… only me.  That is one of a myriad of mistakes that makes me acknowledge that I am far short of perfection.  I am not a know-it-all.  I am a know-it-sometimes who too often tries to bluster his way through like he isn’t completely unsure of himself and terrified that other people will see what he truly is and laugh him out of business.  I am a pratfall, butt-of-the-joke, snicker-at-snidely sort of buffoon who never gets it right and deserves every guffaw thrown at him.  Clowns are often all blue, squishy, and sad on the inside.  That is often the only thing that makes us funny.  Do you know what brought on this wave of self…

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The Bare Necessity

I have finished the book about nudists for nudists, but most of the rest of this, including taxes, is still to be accomplished. I have quit Uber and I have finished one end of the retaining wall.

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I intend to to spend a lot of time in this essay talking about Twitter nudists, but that is not what this essay is about. A rather large amount of the meaning behind all of this has more to do with setting priorities, what things to pursue, and what things to abandon.

A lot of my time on Twitter is filled with tweets by nudists, authors who write about nudists, Russian video artists, and Tom Hiddleston fans. I do not fully understand the connections between those things.

If I manage to stay alive long enough to see the next Avengers movie, and hopefully even beyond that, then I am going to have to budget my time and moderate my efforts towards certain endeavors. Does that mean I intend to give up all association with nudists? Or possibly twitter?

Of course not. I am simply not that smart. To give up…

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