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Cheating at Reading

Three years ago I read 100 books during the school year.  I was a reading teacher.  I had piles of classroom books at all reading levels.  I wanted to record the feat on Goodreads, but I hadn’t figured out how to record things properly on the Goodreads website.  I have no record of those books to look back on.

So this year, 2016, I determined that I would read at least thirty books and record that reading on Goodreads.   Unfortunately I reached the beginning of September 17 books behind schedule.

So, I decided to cheat.  I gathered up a bunch of popcorn books… easy reads, books I set aside after reading half or more of the books, and books about drawing.

I also have a few books by comedians that are easy to buzz through because of the unique way that people like George Carlin and Lewis Black think… unfortunately rather close to the demented way I think.

I also read cartoon books and comic books quickly.

So, I have been cheating right along, finishing at least a book a day.  I am now at only 3 books behind schedule.  It probably is not a good thing for a former reading teacher to cheat at reading.  But I am filling up my reading shelf.  I enjoy the books.  And the way Donald Trump manages his businesses and does charity work, I don’t feel the least bit guilty.

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Because of Pinkie Pie

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I was bummed out today by bankers.  But it made me forget that there are side benefits to throwing up in the bathroom at Toys-R-Us.  Yes, I found Pinkie Pie.  I completed a My Little Pony collection.  Good times!  Yeah!

“Mickey, do you really believe that talking about that is humor?”

“Yes, Michael, bizarre things are funny.”

“Kinda like talking to yourself when you are depressed?”

“Yes, Michael, yes…  Pinkie Pie!”

“You’ve got me there, Mickey.  You’ve got me there.”

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Stardusters… Canto 11

You may be wondering why it’s “Canto 11” rather than “Chapter 11”.  Well, my novels are supposed to be like long poems, divided into lyrically composed pieces of verbal music.  Rather conceited, right?  But that isn’t what “literary conceit” has always meant.

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Canto Eleven – In Golden Wing One at the Initial Landing Site

Farbick set his Golden Wing down gracefully in the garbage-filled lot next to the large, un-destroyed structure.  His ability, unlike that of most Tellerons, came from practice rather than egg-inserted programming from the nurturing computers.

“Oh!  I can see why there were so few life signs from the city,” said Starbright.  “This plaza is full of skeletons.  There must be hundreds of them.”

“Can you tell what they died of?” asked Commander Biznap.

“The air is filled with toxins and pollutants,” said one of the nameless cadets.  “It’s why we will have to wear our protective suits and breath masks to disembark.”

“Could it be that that killed them?” asked Biznap.

“Probably not,” said the other nameless cadet.

“It looks like, because all of the skeletons are intact, that they died of some kind of virulent disease,” said Starbright.  “We can’t tell for sure without further examination, though.”

“We will take every precaution, then,” ordered Commander Biznap.  Farbick thought the order probably reflected the fact that Biznap’s mission on Earth had failed due lack of proper planning and fore-seeing of the unforeseeable.

“Hostile environment suits and skortch pistols?” asked Farbick.  He hated skortch pistols.  They were actually molecular disintegrator rays, and they dissolved you completely, molecule by molecule.  He had himself survived being shot on Earth because Earthers used slug-throwers to shoot lead projectiles into you.  Bad enough, but they gave a slim chance of surviving.  What he thought might be out there, though, made him suggest skortch pistols.  Those icky evil things didn’t need a survivability opportunity if they were really going to attack.

“Yes.  Get dressed and ready quickly.  We need to find them before they find us.”

The team was suited up quickly in heavy-duty Danger Suits, sealed environmental suits with built in A-I intelligence computers and nano-robotic fabric that could repair itself and even treat small wounds.  Each Telleron was handed a lethal, humming skortch pistol, fully charged and ready to burn things into dust and smoke in seconds.  Farbick hoped he was handing them to Tellerons more capable than poor Corebait, a fellow Sindalusian Fmoog who had accidentally skortched himself back on Earth by shooting into an unfortunately positioned mirror.

“Perhaps Cadet Starbright should stay and guard the ship,” Farbick suggested.

“We could easily guard the ship if we stayed too,” said both of the other cadets.

“No,” said Biznap.  “I may need my full available fire-power out there.”

“I couldn’t stay behind and have to worry about the safety of all of the rest of you anyway,” said Starbright bravely.

“Move out,” commanded the Commander.  The team of five moved through the air lock and out into the corpse-filled plaza.

“Turn on your cloaking fields,” Biznap commanded.  One by one, the Telleron commandos winked out of sight behind their invisibility cloaks.  The ship also shivered and disappeared.  “Be ready for anything,” warned Biznap’s voice.

*****

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Making Hay

I call this post “Making Hay” as a goofy farmer reference.  I spent an hour this morning weed-whacking the yard that hasn’t had any attention for the month of August.  I know… lazy me… lazy arthritic, diabetic, lung-diseased me.  At the end of the hour I had a quarter of the yard weed-whacked and a great pile of hay lying in the middle of the sidewalk where it has no right to be according to the city.  And, of course, I did not have any energy left to rake it up.

So I came inside to re-learn how to breathe, to stop losing fifty percent of my body weight in sweat, and to rest my aching bones.  And while I was recovering, or possibly re-animating myself, I decided to try re-photographing an old work of art.  My portrait of Prinz Flute, the wizard-prince of Tellosia, is difficult to photograph because the colored pencil has a developed a sheen to it over time that reflects glare every time I try to photograph it.  The result isn’t that great.  But hey, I’m tired from making hay.

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The Many People That Are Me

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Yes, I am a wizard.  That is a complicated thing to say.  It is complicated because a wizard has to be a wise man, and wisdom has to begin with the idea that you know practically nothing about anything… but you can find out.  So one version of me has to be my wizard D&D character, the wizard Eli Tragedy.  This is because I know practically nothing about anything… but I am willing to not be stupid and look stuff up before I tell you anything and pretend it is a wise thing to say.

lil mickey

I have been thinking about who I am because I want to re-do my About the Author page.   And that leads to the difficulty of explaining who Mickey actually is.  You see, I am actually lots of different people in my head.  Mickey is the cartoonist, the humorist, the clown.  He is not the every-day me.  He is the goofy and foofy and lovey-to-drawie part of me.  And yes, I know some of those are not real words.  Mickey is like that.  He speaks Mickian Goof Speak.  I have no control over that part of him.  I am not certain where this Mickey-part of my soul originated, but it may be the result of too much TV when I was a kid.

And of course there is the Teacher-Me, Reluctant Rabbit, the person who stood in front of groups of twelve-thirteen-and-fourteen-year-olds for three decades and tap-danced, told stories, stood on my head, and begged them to internalize at least a lesson or two of what I tried to teach them.

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Teacher

And the wizard part of me was just barely wise enough to realize that a teacher can open doors, but you can’t shove a kid through.  They have to take the critical learning step themselves.  They have to want to learn something.  But even though they actually do the learning themselves, they will come back to me in later years saying, “Oh, thank you, you taught me so much!” when really all I did was be a guide on the side and stayed out of their way.

And, of course, there is the Cowboy Me.  I live in Texas.  I was a Belmond Bronco in high school, but I became a Cotulla Cowboy for 24 years of my teaching career.  I ended up as a Naaman Forest Ranger.  I have worn the hat a lot in my life, being as much of a straight shooter as the Shakiest Gun In The West can be, always trying to shoot the six-guns out of the bad guy’s hands rather than shoot people.

So how do I explain a thing like that?  Probably the way I just did it (ironically).  I should use Paffoonies I have created over time and waffle about stupid stuff that might make people laugh when they realize how self-contradictory it is.  And I should say it like I mean it… because I probably do.

 

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A Superhero’s Lament

Muck Man, the world’s smelliest superhero, has the blues.  He sits now in the midst of the trash in the Muck Cave and feels that the world is unfair and the super villains are winning.

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It seems that no matter how often Cinnamon Hitler says something disrespectful, racist, unpatriotic, or anti-woman, he still seems to be winning the 2016 Presidential election.  The Organization of Evil Governor’s Named Rick (the O.E.G.N.R. includes Rick Perry of Texas, Rick Snyder of Michigan, and Rick “Skeletor” Scott of Florida) has been busy polluting the Atlantic to cause red tides, poisoning the Flint, Michigan water works with lead, and trying to strangle Texas education to death through reduction of State funding.  They also, it seems, have been drowning puppies while grinning insanely.  Oh, and winning re-elections every time the government says that it is necessary, though, apparently not winning fairly.  Future President Stinky Orange Cheese Man keeps insisting that all elections are rigged.

And Muck Man feels powerless to stop any of it.  He is as stinky as ever.  His super power of making villains pass out from the smell has never been at higher levels.  But he is mostly confined to the Muck Cave by poor health.  And the Muck Mobile is in the shop again.  And he can’t communicate his distress to the outside world effectively because his previous publisher broke his contract, potential future publishers have rejected him, and the only reason he gets traffic on WordPress is that people keep searching for the words “naked” and “nude” on Google and he has at least three posts with those words in the title.

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So, it feels like the bad guys are winning.  It is hard to go on.  But superheroes never give up.  And we will make a come-back, he and I, because that’s what superheroes do.

 

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Stardusters… Canto Seven

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Canto Seven – The First Golden Wing

Farbick was aboard the golden wing to serve both as pilot and navigator, though he was fully aware that Commander Biznap could also do both.  He watched the three cadets strap in to the secondary seats behind the cockpit.  They were all wearing red shirts over their cadet uniforms, and Farbick wasn’t sure that it didn’t reveal a Star-Trek joke in very poor taste.

“Well, Farbick, old Fmoog, the Galtorrian Adventure is about to begin,” said Biznap, strapping himself into the cockpit seat next to Farbick.

“It may be more enlightening than you fear, Commander,” said Farbick.

“Fear?  I’m not afraid.  I’m just cautious.”

“Well, I’m afraid,” Farbick admitted.  “I was lucky enough to survive the Earth invasion fiasco, but this time more is at stake.  It isn’t just my life on the line.  Our whole population could be seriously decimated or even destroyed.”

“I don’t see why you’d be concerned about anybody but yourself,” said Commander Biznap.  “What does it benefit you to worry about anybody but you?”

“I could argue that I wouldn’t have survived on Earth if it hadn’t been for my friendship with young Davalon.  I was saved from death on Earth partially because Davalon cared enough to come looking for me when I was shot by the Earther policeman.”

“It isn’t normal behavior for a Telleron to care about a tadpole.  They are so easy to replace that it seems pointless.”

“They are not easy to replace if you consider them as individuals.  What would you feel if you lost Harmony Castille?”

Biznap opened his mouth, but the retort never came out.  He must’ve been thinking about what life would be like if he no longer had the one being in all the universe he actually seemed to care about besides himself.

The golden wing spiraled down through the cloud cover into the denser part of the atmosphere of Galtorr Prime.  Warning buzzers went off.

“The warning is because of the presence of acid rain,” said Starbright from the seat behind.

“In the name of Charlie!” swore Commander Biznap, “this world appears to be horribly polluted!”

That almost appeared to be an understatement.  The clouds around them boiled with storm winds and were a sickly yellow-green in hue.  Lightning was accompanied by flaming puffs of ignited methane.  The wing’s instruments indicated high concentrations of various poisons.

“Do we abort the mission?” asked Farbick.

“No.  We take the risk of landing.  We have environment suits.  We need to find a place to live in all of this mess.  Cadets?  Does anyone find any evidence of the native population?”

“Negative, sir,” said one of the nameless cadets.  “Is it possible they have polluted themselves to extinction?”

“I’d say it’s not only possible,” said Commander Biznap, “but it is highly likely.”

“We are definitely going to have to look out for one another on the surface,” warned Farbick.

“I will definitely watch your back, Mister Farbick, sir,” said Starbright.  “Some of us have learned the lessons about loving your fellow Tellerons from the Earthers on our crew, especially Mrs. Castille.”  Farbick looked at her, and her green face bloomed with a beautiful smile.

*****

(Pictured Above; Commander Farbick (on left) and Starbright)

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Stardusters… Canto Six

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Canto Six – The Tadpole Nesting Quarters

Unlike the other tadpoles, Davalon put on clothing all over his body as they returned to their sleeping chambers and assigned areas.  Alden and Gracie Morrell also dressed, of course, but they weren’t Tellerons whose skin needed to stay moist and open to the mists.  Drying out was bad for Telleron health.  Still, when they saw Davalon put on his cadet uniform, Tanith, Brekka, Menolly, and George Jetson all found their Mickey Mouse Club jackets and put them on.  Naked otherwise, but covered on their upper torsos.

“So, Dav,” asked Menolly, “What was it really like to live on the Planet Earth?”

“I don’t think I can tell you what it was really like.  I was only there for a couple of weeks.  That isn’t long enough to really know.  You should ask my new mom and dad.”

The little green faces all turned to Alden and Gracie.

“Well, I only lived there for forty years,” said Alden.  “I don’t think that is long enough, either, to really know.”

“Oh, you old fuddy-duddy!” said Gracie.  “You kids can ask me.  Go ahead, ask me anything.”

“Tell us about sunshine,” said Tanith.  She was the prettiest of the Telleron girls, as far as Davalon was concerned, even though, as a nest-mate and daughter of Xiar, she was technically his sister.  For Tellerons incest had never really been a “thing”.

“Ah, sunshine,” said Gracie with a twinkle in her eye, “it was yellow and warm and… gorgeous.  You could bathe in it.  It made you feel loved by God.”

“Until the UV rays cooked your skin and gave you bright red sunburn,” added Alden.

“Yes, well… there was that,” admitted Gracie.  “But I always loved sunny days, and the bright blue of the Iowa sky.  Oh, and sunsets… sunsets were beautiful in ways that are hard to describe.”

“And rainy days,” said Alden, “dark and overcast with thunder and lightning rumbling on the horizon.”

“Ah, you’re just being an old poop,” said Gracie with a frown.

“No, I mean it.  I’m a farmer, remember?  A farmer needs the rain.  And it cools things off… and rainbows.  You remember rainbows, Gracie?”

“Ah, yes.”

“But,” said Brekka sadly, “you both gave those things up to live in space with us.”

“Yes,” said Menolly.  “Will you miss those things?”

Alden looked at Gracie, and they both nodded to each other.  Davalon could feel the sadness.  And that in itself was something new.  Before they had met Earth people, Tellerons had not really known strong emotions.  Tadpoles were programmed while still suspended in their gelatinous egg sacs with years’ worth of technical knowledge, math, and science.  But nowhere in their training had they ever learned how to love, or laugh, or have empathy, or feel remorse.  Those things had come from Earther TV broadcasts and actual contact with human beings.  It was hard to be around human beings and not get a bit infected with human emotions.

“We’ll experience those things if we colonize a planet,” said George Jetson.  “There could be sunshine and rainbows on Galtorr Prime.”

That brought smiles to every little green face, even Davalon’s.

“But we hear that Galtorr Prime is a very dangerous place,” said Gracie.  The little-girl twinkle was gone from her eye, replaced by a sad longing, a remembered pain.

“Yes,” said Menolly, “I’m scared of Galtorrians.  They eat meat, and would eat us if they catch us.”

“That would not be so nice,” said Brekka.

Gracie, in the frilly dress she had put on, moved to put an arm around each of the two female tadpoles.  She looked like Shirley Temple to Davalon, the girl in that old black and white movie with the orphans that needed comforting.  Was it Animal Crackers?  Or was that a Marx Brothers’ movie?  Dav didn’t remember.

“Maybe we should be brave explorers and go down there to find things out,” said George Jetson.  “We could be like Davalon, and help out our entire race.”

“That’s not wise,” warned Davalon.  “We could get into trouble we could not get out of.”

“You could be our leader, Dav,” said Tanith.  “We have faith in you.”

Davalon didn’t like the fact that they were all warming to the idea so quickly.  It was a scarier world than Earth.  They stood to lose everything they had gained from the Earth adventure.

“None of us know how to pilot a Golden Wing,” warned Alden.  “And we can’t all stow away on the adults’ missions.”

“I was programmed with pilot skills,” said George Jetson.  “And you and Gracie are really adults, just in child bodies.”

“I think they may have a good idea here,” said Gracie to Alden.  “If we are going to be star-explorers, we need to start somewhere.”

To Davalon’s utter horror, it was decided at that moment.  There would be a secret tadpole mission to the surface of Galtorr Prime.

*****

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There you have it, Canto Six of the extremely alien-based goofy sequel to Catch a Falling Star that I call Stardusters and Space Lizards. I would apologize for inflicting it upon you, but the truth is, I really like it.   I did a good job of telling what really happened… um, errr…  Well, I mean, telling it just as I once imagined it.

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Another Danged Filler Post

Some days there are just not enough hours available to do everything that needs to be done.  So let me do Another Danged Filler Post to keep the every-day-posting thing going in what is now the 20th straight month of daily posts.

Self Portrait vxv

A picture of me and my goofy imagination.

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Stardusters… Canto Two

I am trying to follow through with my insane writing plan to post a chapter from this unfinished Sci-Fi novel every Tuesday.  So, here is the second installment of my comedy about the end of the world if it was a lizard world, which it isn’t… or, at least, we hope it isn’t.

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Canto Two – Xiar’s Captain’s Quarters

“What do you mean by Galtorr Prime?” shouted Captain Xiar at his first officer and his first officer’s Earther primate wife.  The Captain had inherited his rank rather than earned it, so he firmly believed that shouting was the key ingredient in good leadership.  “We can’t be at Galtorr Prime.  That’s the worst place for us to be.”

“This was not the plan, Captain,” said Biznap.  “We arrived here by accident.”

“Well, reverse the process.  Even going back to Earth is better than here!”

“Well…” Biznap scraped the floor with his foot.  “The thing is… we can’t.”

“What?  Why?”

“We corrected a fundamental flaw in the program that has been there for over a hundred years.  The astrogator has been rebooted with a new primary Sleer seed.  It can’t find the coordinates for Barnard’s Star or for Earth either one.   It will just calculate up a spot in empty space.  We have been travelling using the wrong coordinates for more than a century.”

“Why can’t we go back to those coordinates?”

“They are now gone from the system.”

“How could this happen?”

Harmony Castille, the beautiful blonde Sunday school teacher, raised her hand.  “It’s my fault.  I corrected the math and caused the system to operate on new coordinates.”

“Really, Captain,” said Biznap. “It turns out we have been operating with faulty math for too long.  Now that we’re doing it right, the machine won’t go back to the old, wrong system.  We would have to map out new coordinates all over again.  Re-explore the entire empire.”

“So you are telling me we have no choice but to live in orbit around the most dangerous planet in existence?”

“No, it is worse than that.  No longer recycling protein by eating our tadpoles means we have to find new food sources on the planet below.  We are going to have to establish a downport colony to continue to survive and grow as a community.”

Xiar sat down on his resting pad thoroughly stunned.  His new wife, Shalar, beautiful and green and wearing only the satin robe made for her by the Morrells, put both arms around Xiar’s thick green neck.

“What do we know about the Galtorrians, dearest?” she asked innocently.  Hugging behaviors were entirely new to Tellerons.  They had seen humans do it countless times on Earther television, such as the I Love Lucy show that Tellerons loved so deeply, but they had never practiced it until Alden and Gracie Morrell had adopted Xiar’s son Davalon who Xiar had nearly marooned on Earth (accidentally).  They had shown him how to do it as they showed him how to actually be a good parent.  Xiar found it totally alien… but he liked it.

“I don’t really know.  We have to get Farbick to work on it right away, but I believe they are lizard-men who eat meat and fight wars.”

“We knew the Earthers ate meat and fought wars,” reminded Shalar.  “They didn’t turn out to be so terrible.  In fact, we learned a lot about them.   They were very kind and generous to us.”

“Do you really think we can be so badly mistaken about two races we believed to be our enemies?  One was unlikely enough.”

“I really fear we are not mistaken this time,” said Biznap.

“Do we have their broadcasts to monitor?” asked Shalar, “We had a wealth of information at the tips of our sucker pads last time thanks to the broadcasts.”

“No signals at all,” sighed Harmony.  “It’s like they haven’t invented TV or radio yet.”

“Maybe our superior technology will help us this time,” suggested Biznap.

“Not when guided by stupid brains,” moaned Xiar.  “This time we are surely lost.”

“Don’t give up before trying,” said Harmony.  “The Lord helps those who help themselves.”

“I don’t know who your Lord is,” said Xiar, “But fire up the ritual laser lights and let’s get praying.  We need all the help we can get.  Do we need to consider sacrificing a few tadpoles or junior officers?  What appeases your god?”

“Ach!  Educating heathens can be such a trial!” swore Harmony.  “Let me get my Bible.  I have some serious educating to do.”

*****

So, there you have chapter two, which probably makes no sense whatsoever, unless you read chapter one… or possibly bought and read my published novel Catch a Falling Star.  Tricky about shameless self-promotion, ain’t I?

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