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Dave Barry

dave barry and alan zweibel
dave barry

I threatened to write a post about Dave Barry and the writing gods apparently thought that was a very very bad idea.  They have tried to prevent me from carrying out this idle threat by attacking my computer with gremlins.  Now my WordPress page is shrinking practically out of sight.  I can barely  see what I am typing.  You don’t believe me?  Here’s what it looks like at the moment;

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They obviously tricked me into pressing the secret shrink button on my computer, and I have no idea where to find the un-shrink features.  Not only that, but my Facebook page is automatically translating everything it can into French.  They really don’t want me to tell you about Dave Barry.  And why do you suppose that is?

Well, Dave Barry may actually be me from a parallel dimension.  He started writing for The Miami Herald in the early 80’s, at about the same time I started teaching.  He retired from that in 2004 after winning a Pulitzer Prize and started writing humorous novels…. the same thing I started doing when I left the job I loved and was good at.  Okay, so I am stretching the analogy to the point that all the buttons are popping off its shirt… but the point is, we are alike in some ways and I admire his work and I steal things from it whenever I possibly can.  Like this post.  I deeply admire the way he can say witty and pithy things.  Like some of these quotes;

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So, you see, he is very good at doing what I want to be good at.  He is a humor columnist and all-around imitation Mark Twain.  And I have read and loved his novels.  Especially the Peter Pan things he writes with a partner.

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Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson

So, I will leave this post here even though I could talk for hours about how Dave Barry makes me laugh.  I have to stop.  the words on the screen keep getting smaller and smaller, and my old eyes are about to fall out of my head.

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The Reaper Knocks Softly

Over the last couple of weeks, I have had small reminders that I am not immortal. My neck is plagued by arthritis pain near enough to my spinal cord that it put me in the hospital once by messing up an EKG and making the ER doctor think I was having a heart attack. (Multiple EKGs were messed up; it took a week to sort out the real cause.) This week, my neck has been cracking as if it were a knuckle that I would never intentionally crack for long-term arthritis sufferers’ reasons. I keep thinking my head might separate from the rest of my body after an egregious, unwanted cracking. Or, more realistically, it might pop and leave me paralyzed. a

My chest has also been hurting in an area on the left side, right above my heart. This, too, has sent me to the doctor’s office thinking of a possible heart attack. It is arthritis attacking my ribcage. It causes rapid muscle spasms that feel like my heart fibrillating and beating far faster than a living heart should. So, I have vast experience with false myocardial infarctions.

But this week, on top of the same old false symptoms, I have been getting heart rate readings on my blood pressure monitor that are far below normal. Even more concerning, I have passed out several times, followed by snapping awake again, possibly my body reacting to dangerously low heart rates. I haven’t been to the doctor yet about that, a thing that may put me in the hospital again for something that is not really a heart problem again. But it could also presage a death by heart failure.

One day, coming up, I may wake up dead already from heart failure as I slept.

I am not worried about dying. I don’t believe in life after death. But I do believe the entire universe is alive, aware, and actively ready to reabsorb me and repurpose that which makes me up. The problems I worry about associated with death are the effects I leave behind me, economic, emotional, and generational. And I have left behind me lots of writing that will tell my loved ones all the things they don’t really want to know about me.

The time for proof of mortality is near. But even if it does not occur this week, I am not afraid of facing it. I feel fully connected to the universe and fulfilled in my little patch of existence. It is good to know there are some things I can choose and can control about how I face it. I will try to get back home to the farm in Iowa to choose the place where it happens, the place where both of my parents died, and all four of my grandparents have died, and four of my uncles and aunts have died. Heck, there are more finished lives in my family than continuing lives. Of course, that’s true for everyone who ever lived.

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Appreciating Minions

Okay, I had accidentally stumbled across the un-shrink button on my computer for the last two posts, and then, somehow, my thumb accidentally found the shrink button again.  I am trying to write this post on a microscopically small screen and squinting fiercely at the teeny-tiny letters all the while.  So what do I do to avoid total mental meltdown?  I call upon my minions.  I have a picture file on my computer devoted entirely to minions.  So I ought to be able to make a decent collage out of that;

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Okay, I reached a point where I had to punch random buttons without any response and my computer finally enlarged everything again.  Ultron is obviously in the system though anti-virus software doesn’t detect him.  I guess I am going to have think about a new computer.  Meanwhile, a few more minions;

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Running Towards Tomorrow

Things are going badly in Mickey World. President Pumpkinhead is crashing the economy, raising sales taxes via tariffs, and gutting many of the government programs that I was planning on relying upon in my old age. My plan for dealing with the collapse of my world? I will run home to Iowa to live on the farm until I die.

The idea of running home naked isn’t primarily a metaphor only… I will probably have to divest most of my cherished possessions, leaving my library of books and videos, doll collection, HO train, and Toonerville Village behind me in the house with my daughter and wife. They are both staying in the Dallas suburbs for jobs until my wife is ready to retire. And they are hopefully going to get contractors to repair the foundation and roof of the house. I am going to miss them both. They will both be happy not to have me underfoot while the house is being torn apart and then be put back together.

So, I will be running away from home mostly unencumbered. Probably not completely and literally naked, but close. Oh, and there are probably alligators in every river I have to leap over.

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Facing Forward

I honestly feel that death could take me at any moment. Arthritis constantly gives me symptoms and pains that could easily be the start of a heart attack . I felt like I was having a racing heart and tingling thing down my left arm when I woke up this morning. I could have called an ambulance and they would have put me in the hospital because my neck arthritis screws up every EKG reading I get.

And how am I to tell when the arthritis pains and neck problem with my spinal cord turns out to be a REAL heart attack? I would rather die than go bankrupt again.

So, I feel the need to tell stories to my family and share the many wisdoms life has taught me with them. It is something I need to take on soon and finish before I die.

First of all, I need to spread the word that the universe is alive and constantly thinking and self-aware. So, dying is okay. You simply return to the oversoul and merge back into everything as you were before you were born. The universe is alive because we are alive. The universe is aware because we are a part of its collective intelligence. It will go on even though we individually die… even collectively die as a planet. Death does not rule us at any point in the story.

And at 68 and a half, I know quite a bit about making my way in this world, and being happy, even though a lot of hard times and difficult events have passed over me in that time.

And if you are wondering what this essay is for… have you stopped to think what you should be sharing before the end comes? We all have a story. And it needs to be told and retold to make it real.

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Nerd Class

Skoolgurlz

Back in the 1980’s I was given the gift of teaching the Chapter I program students in English.  This was done because Mrs. Soulwhipple was not only a veteran English teacher, but also the superintendent’s wife.  She was the one gifted with all the star kids, the A & B students, the ones that would be identified as the proper kids to put into our nascent Gifted and Talented Program.  That meant that I would get all the kids that were C, D, & F in most of their classes, the losers, the Special Edwards, the learning disabled, the hyper rocketeers of classroom comedy, and the trouble makers.  And I was given this gift because, not only was I not a principal’s or superintendent’s wife, but I actually learned how to do it and became good at it.  How did I do that, you might ask?  I cheated.  I snooped into the Gifted and Talented teacher training, learned how to differentiate instruction for the super-nerd brain, and then used the stolen information to write curriculum and design activities for all my little deadheads (and they didn’t even know who the Grateful Dead were, so that’s obviously not what I meant).    I treated the little buggers like they were all GT students.  Voila!  If you tell a kid they are talented, smart, and worthy of accelerated instruction… the little fools believe it, and that is what they become.Aeroquest ninjas

Even the goofy teacher is capable of believing the opposite of what is obvious and starts treating them like super-nerds because he actually believes it.  I soon had kids that couldn’t read, but were proud of their abstract problem-solving skills.  I had kids that could enhance the learning of others with their drawing skills, their singing ability, and their sense of what is right and what is wrong.  I had them doing things that made them not only better students for me, but in all their classes.  And I did not keep the methods to my madness a secret, either.  I got so good at coercing other teachers to try new ideas and methods that I got roped into presenting some of the in-service training that all Texas teachers are required by law to do.  And unlike so many other boring sessions we all sat through, I presented things I was doing in the actual classroom that other teachers could also use with success.  The other teachers tried my activities and sometimes made them work better than I did.

Teacher

Yes, I know this all sounds like bragging.  And I guess it probably is.  But it worked.  My kids kept getting better on the standardized tests and the State tests that Texas education loves so much.  And Mrs. Soulwhipple was still the superintendent’s wife, but she did not stay a teacher forever.  She eventually went to a new school district with her husband.  And guess who they started thinking of when the question of who would be the next teacher for the nerd classes was considered.  That’s right, little ol’ Reluctant Rabbit… that goofy man who drew pictures on the board and made kids read like a reading-fiend… me.

So, a new era began in Cotulla.  In addition to still getting to teach all the deadheads (because they weren’t going to trust those precious children to anyone else, naturally), I began teaching at least one edition of Mr. B’s famous Nerd Class every school year.  We actually assigned long novels and great pieces of literature for the kids to read and discuss and study in depth.  Novels like To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee and Across Five Aprils by Irene Hunt were read.  We began talking about “big ideas”, “connections to the wider world”, and how “things always change”.  We began taking on ideas like making our world better and how to help our community.  Kids began to think they were learning things that were important.  We did special units on Exploring Our Solar System, The World of Mark Twain, Finding the Titanic, and The Tragedy of Native American History.  And we spent as much as a third of the year on each.  I am myself cursed with a high IQ and a very disturbing amount of intelligence.  I am the deepest living stockpile of useless facts and trivia that most of my students would ever meet in their lifetimes.  And even I was challenged by some of the learning we took on.  That’s the kind of thing that makes a teaching career fun.  It kept me teaching and meeting new students and new challenges long after my health issues made it a little less than sensible to keep going.  And if I manage to tell you a few Nerd Class stories in the near future, then at least you stand a chance of knowing a little bit about what-the-heck I am talking about.  So be prepared for the worst.  I am retired now, and have plenty of time for long-winded stories about being a teacher.

 

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If the Show Does Go On

The audience has begun to actually form. My stories are being read and evaluated as a good thing. It could really take off if only I had the power to fan the flames of reading and liking the kind of stories I create. But so many things threaten to literally break my legs. Tornado season is here, and our house is so poorly defended that the insurance company threatens to take away the expensive coverage we have been paying for. Mango-flavored Hitler is creating a tsunami of economic waves of crash and failure. My worldly wealth may be taken away to feather the nests of all the Trump-approved grifter birds. Banko Merricka no longer has my accounts, but they have a reputation for re-collecting already-paid debts.

If I can continue filmmaking in the theater of my imagination, I should produce a few more books. The one that is now done and edited twice is Cissy Moonskipper Meets the Nebulons. It is the second book in the Cissy Moonskipper’s Travels series of science fiction novellas. Cissy meets the blue-skinned race that produced Suki Vorranac (pictured above), Cissy’s pilot, rescued from pirates in the first book. All that is left to accomplish is the publication step.

I also have half a manuscript of the above novel created already. The Haunted Toy Store is a break from my usual interconnected stories. It tells of people’s weird encounters with a decrepit old toy store that never seems to sell any of its antique toys. It turns out that the toys they do sell are the customers they lure in, bought by a customer base of dead people who need to play with human souls to try to solve their ghost problems.

I also have this book well underway as a manuscript that’s about one-fourth of the way through a longer-than-usual story that weaves together the loose ends of several previous Hometown Novels. He Rose on a Golden Wing is a story originally titled Valerie in Darkness. It is about teenagers working as a group to overcome their collective traumas.

If I can do it, I will publish these books before I die. The show must go on… if possible. Don’t wish me a broken leg because that may well happen.

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Trump Poo in Toon Shots

This time around I have been ignoring the essential cartoonist’s duty to comment on the doody made by the doo-doo makers who are once again in charge of everything because the fox eventually gets to run the chicken coop when the MAGA hens get high on sniffing all the chicken poop. Especially when the poo-poo smells are delivered by FOX News. I need to make up for that in purple paisley prose along with good cartoons from the cartoony gents who have signed their newsy work in the news.

I refer to the Pumpkinhead President with the bull-puckie cannon in place of a mouth as the Monkeyother Firetrucker. You can probably figure out which letters to leave out to arrive at my actual assessment of Don Cheetoh Trumpioni. He is kissy-kissy-bottom friends with the Porkypine Putin because the Russian bear has probably gotten photos of the Pumpkinhead with the Golden-shower Russian Bares. Yes, I know I am being disrespectful. But I suppose I have to go miles and piles of insults further to catch up with the insulting hurricane of disrespects he has heaped on me and us.

If Mr. Codor’s Russian Bear bites the Pumpkinhead’s Pumpkin off, it will slow the fellow down some because he will no longer have a burger-eating hole to suck in McDonald’s burgers with. It won’t kill him. Assassins have already proved that. And he’s the only felon in history to be convicted of so many felonies and then just allowed to run for Prexydent and go Skotty-free. No crime or crime fighter can touch him. The thick layer of bronzer prevents that.

So, it really is my sacred dooty as a cartoony maker of Paffoonies, as an American Cartoonist, to make dookie on the kookie as the subject of cartoons. And If you don’t understand what I am trying to say, it’s, “This Monkey is not a good Monkey. Let’s fire him, with a really hot fire.”

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Emergency Fillers Because I am Old

Some days, things like poor health happen, making me want to fill space to keep my daily consecutive essay number rising to 257 straight posts. I know it doesn’t mean much. I could be commenting on the numerous evil things that the Trump Pumpkinhead is doing—criminal things committed with a thick sauce of hatred, ignorance, and malevolence. But my stomach is already churning for other reasons. I offer a pretty girl picture that I drew with the help of AI Mirror. A distraction for your viewing pleasure and attention redirection. I would write more, but I really can’t.

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Making New Pictures of Old Ones

Anita Jones, in an old pen and ink and colored pencil drawing.

Anita Jones updated it with AI Mirror using an anime-style overlay.

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Bobby Niland and his little brother Shane in an original pen and ink and colored pencil drawing.

Bobby and Shane updated with AI Mirror.

Bobby and Shane at their super-cool treehouse. Background provided by Tapcolor Pro and Picsart AI Photo Editor.

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