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I Am Not Happy… Nor Have I Ever Been

My life at the bottom of the sea

Both my father and my mother-in-law passed away on my birthday. My father in 2020 and my mother-in-law this past Sunday. I am not amused.

My health continues to deteriorate. Soon I will no longer be able to drive a car. I have Glaucoma and am slowly losing my ability to see. Tunnel vision and cataract cloudiness. My blood sugar levels are up even on Metformin. My blood pressure is finally stabilized by multiple meds.

Facebook deleted one of my WordPress posts because of nudity and sexuality. Of course, the illustrations in that piece, Nudist Notions, reveal no genitals, no female breasts, and depict no sexual acts or even sexualized poses. But I violated their nudity ban. They take revenge on that s**t. (Silt. That word is silt. Don’t ban this post.)

I prefer to write comedy. It has always been my go-to when faced with hideously terrible things. But I must confess that I have never been happy in the 68 years of my life. Not giddily, crying-for-joy happy. My secret is… I no longer hate myself and am satisfied with life. But not really capable of “happy.”

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An Old Man Gets Older

This old coot is now older by a year, having had a birthday on the day I wrote this, but yesterday to be technical about it. Celebrating the big 68 is not that joyful since my father died on my birthday in 2020.

The incoming President-elect has already caused China to shift its food buying from US markets to Brazil. Now, more than 71% of the farm business in Iowa is going to be gone because of Pumpkinhead’s threatened tariffs. The fact that I own 33% of the family farm in Iowa will make that change hurt my personal economy. That’ll be me in the future pictured above, penniless and naked in the snow… well, unless climate change reaches the point that snow never falls again.

But I have decided to outlive the Pumpkinhead President. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of robbing me of my joy. I like to be naked. I fancy myself a nudist. And I will write and say things I want to say. Pumpkinhead will never hear me. Jack-o-lanterns never have ears carved in them. And Trump doesn’t know how to listen.

And I still plan to make pictures every day that I’m still not blind.

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Anger Management Mickey Style

I am not happy. We should have been done with the Pumpkinhead Criminal four years ago. An insurrection is an act of treason. Look at how Putin dealt with his mercenary force, which simply marched back from the war front toward Moscow. Those guys are dead now. The law used to be that traitors were executed. This one gets to be a dictator.

In 2017 the Pumpkinhead really screwed me over. At that time I had been retired from teaching for three years. I had struggled to eliminate all my credit card debt and pay down medical debts. Pumpkinhead pushed through his massive tax cut for billionaires. There were also measures to raise taxes on certain classes of people who paid less taxes than the average worker. This included pensioners in education. So, even though my pension was funded by the money I paid into the pension system for teachers month by month for 31 years, he laid upon us increased taxes that went up by more than 100 dollars a month and would incrementally increase for five years after that. And then the rotted old gourd increased the massive wealth he and his billionaire friends got by retroactively making changes to the tax code apply to the entire year… from a tax law instituted in December. I suddenly had a $2,000+ tax bill that I could not pay off at tax time because no warning was given about how much more needed to be withheld from paychecks before the last month of the year. I had to file for a monthly payoff plan that lasted more than a year. I went bankrupt in 2017. Not the kind of bankruptcy that Pumpkinhead walked away from so many times, but a Chapter 13 bankruptcy where you have to have all your worldly possessions evaluated for possible attachment and make arrangements for a large monthly payout every month for five years. I have gone through this same period of rage before. I survived it by managing not to die in the pandemic and living longer than my parents to use a portion of my inheritance to pay off the bankruptcy. I also managed to outlast the Pumpkinhead who was defeated by Grandpa Biden in 2020. But now he has another impossible election win to blast me with.

I am through some of the stages of grief already. This last election was a cruel blow. I am already done with denial and bargaining. But ANGER? I would never seek to kill anybody. But I have been sorting through a number of murder fantasies. Many of them involve smashing pumpkins with hammers.

I am not, however, suited to long periods of rage and boiling anger. The clown dictator will not win against me. He can’t stop me from being a nudist because that occurs mostly in my imagination anyway. And he can probably throw me in prison for my books and my nude drawings. And he will probably deport my immigrant wife, even though she spent more than twenty years earning her US Citizenship. He cannot, however, spoil the bittersweet beauty of the poetry of life for me. I have lived a long and productive life. I have many more people who love and respect me than he does. And I do not suffer from his Narcissistic doubts and phobias.

The Pumpkinhead will not win against me. I will vote against him every chance I can get. I will testify against him before God. And I will no longer honor his MAGA Minions with responses on my Facebook and Instagram posts. I will no longer post on X. And I will get back to writing things that matter… at least to me. Firetruck You, Pumpkinhead. And I didn’t leave out the “iretr” part, so I didn’t use profanity.

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Things Are Not Fine in Carrot Castle

We were expecting Princess Kayflower to ascend to the throne after the sudden demise of King Brusselsprouts. King B had come to be referred to as Dark Sprouts because he kept foiling the evil former King Toadstoolsniffer in his evil attempts to overthrow and usurp the Throne. Rabbits, bunnies, and hares were all believing old Brusselsprouts would live forever. He was ancient, but he had a magical way of making the carrot crops bounteous and delicious, and he sometimes said stupid things in a way extremely old rabbits often do, but he gave off an undefeatable positivity that was reassuring to the older, wiser rabbits. And then he got brain freeze from an ice cream cone and suffered a bunny stroke.

Toadstoolsniffer leaped into action on King B’s demise, mostly because Kayflower was wrapped up in grief and funeral arrangements, and spewed forth a virtual geyser of misinformation and propaganda. The fat white bunny with orange powder on his face began claiming that there were weasels on the border, and that while he lived, King B had invited them into the city of Carrot Castle and let them eat bunny children wherever and whenever they wanted. This was not true. Only two weasels had shown up at the border, and the Royal Guard Hares easily chased them off with bucktoothed bites. Toadstoolsniffer then claimed that when bunny children went to bunny school, King B would have bunnies surgically changed into kittens, and baby rabbits surgically changed into puppies. The truth was that it was completely illegal to perform any kind of surgery on bunnies and baby rabbits without parental consent and medical need. It never happened. But the general rabbit population of the city-state tended to believe anything Toadstoolsniffer said because he said it in such a bigly white-rabbit way. And of course, everyone knew that white rabbits like Toadstoolsniffer were somehow superior to all others of rabbitkind.

So, in spite of all logic, loyalty, and adherence to the truth, the rabbits of Carrot Castle made Toadstoolsniffer the new king. He, of course, swiftly made an alliance with the weasels of Stoatia, letting them come wherever and whenever t.hey wanted into the city-state. They ate Kayflower first, then quickly reduced the rabbit population by breaking into the bunny schools and eating all the bunnies they claimed were now kittens and all the baby rabbits that were now puppies. And they all lived miserably ever after… unless they got eaten.

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Melancholy Music

I began this little free-writing by listening to Handel’s Water Music.

Made with AI Mirror, a photo of the park, a Mattel Ricky doll from the Barbie series, and Picsart AI Photo Editor.

If you don’t recognize the writing-teacher term, free-writing is where you wing it and simply start writing, letting the mind go wherever it will. It is necessary today because of the jumble of thoughts and emotions swirling inside my stupid head since the criminal Pumpkinhead’s reelection to the world’s highest office. I simply need to write it down. I don’t live in a conservative’s fear-besotted, demon-haunted world. It is not normal to me, this paralyzing fear that the world is no longer in the control of rational people I more-or-less trust. I can no longer be sure that good things will happen in the future to offset the bad things that can’t be avoided.

Gregg Abbott, the Troll King of Texas, is just as bad as Don Cheetoh Trumpaloney when it comes to authoritarian tendencies. If he sees the Paffooney for this post, he’s going to think, “Child pornography! Throw this pervert in prison!” And I acknowledge that the plastic doll I used as a model was naked. He’s a vintage doll from Mattel that was originally sold wearing swim trunks which were lost to the original owner before she sold it to me on E-Bay. “Internet pornography!” screams Abbott. Everybody knows that pornography is banned on the internet in Texas (Well, sure, the Supreme Court ruled it protected by the First Amendment. But that’s no barrier to today’s Pumpkinhead-appointed Supreme Court.) Thinking bad thoughts without being a hard-right conservative will soon be illegal throughout the US. Of course, if you are a hard-right conservative who listens to Fox News, Mark Levin, and Tucker Carlson, thinking the gayest possible pornographic thoughts is okay… if you have Republican levels of money lying around at home.

“Here’s another nudist picture, Gregg, your evil majesty. I waited for thirty-four years to become a nudist because I didn’t want any morality protests during my time as a public school teacher. I have a right to think what I want to think, draw what I want to draw, and be what I want to be. These are all things that used to be legal back when the world was saner than it is now. Arrest me if you must.”

If the new dictator (Does that really mean a potato with a dick? Dicktater?) takes away Medicare and Evil King Gregg takes away teacher pensions, life will get harder. I hope to live long enough to fight back against what’s coming. Maybe even live longer than Trump and see him defeated. (Uh-oh, here comes Seal Team Six.)

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So, You Did the Thing…

You really chose the criminal over the prosecutor? Why? Now the Pumpkinhead Felony-Master President has pulled a Grover Cleveland. And you obviously wanted this. Everywhere the votes fell Trump’s way. Because you can’t have a woman president? You can’t have a second black president? You want to pay the Tariffs because the eggs are too expensive?

Stupid people vote stupidly. And if you vote against your own interests, you are being stupid.l Republicans don’t love poor people, or middle-class people, or people who are not white-conservative Christians. I’m a liberal. They hate and persecute me. And I am married to an immigrant. And they hate minorities even if they are Christian and conservative.

“Oh, Mickey. You shouldn’t talk bad about Trump voters. You are being a bad sport about this. The choice we made should be respected.”

When did you never respect me when my candidate won in 2008. 2012, and 2020? I remember the name-calling. You demand respect from me, but you never do anything to earn that respect. I should never suggest you are a racist or a fascist, but you can call me a commie libtard worthy only of execution. And you don’t know what the word hypocrite even means.

I know my complaining here is being read by nobody. The people I am talking to don’t read my blog except to make comments I must delete, and this is too uncomfortable for the ones who would agree with me. But I suffered under Don Cheetoh Trumpaloney the first time. I was lucky to survive long enough to vote for Biden. Thanks be to Covid vaccines. I really don’t deserve another four-year sentence. Unlike the President, I have committed no crimes.

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Just In Case You Haven’t Seen It…

My sisters and I as kids loved old movie musicals with dancing in them probably as much as any genre.  This video making the rounds on Facebook is something I have seen posted and re-posted and have personally watched at least five times already.  I have shared it twice on Facebook, and it continually gets re-shared, especially by friends my age or older.  Why does something like this go viral?  Well, Bruno Mars is a popular young Michael Jackson clone with an amazing musicality that appeals to all ages.  And the video is beautifully edited so that all the dancers from old movie musicals are actually in sync and appear to be dancing to the beat.  But the game-breaker for me is the fact that the dancers are all the old stars that used to fascinate me with their dance moves on PBS back in the 1970’s when old movie musicals got played on Friday, Saturday, and sometimes Sunday evenings.  I recognize Fred Astair, Gene Kelly, Buddy Ebsen, Donald O’Connor, Ginger Rogers, Judy Garland, Cyd Charisse, Mickey Rooney, Groucho Marx, the Ritz Brothers, and many more from the movies I loved like Anchors Away, Singing in the Rain, New York New York, and so many others I can’t even begin to name them all.  This mash-up brings back a whole lost world for me and gives me joy.  It connects the past with the energy of the present.  It gives me something to long for, to sigh for, and to fondly recall.  I want to see all those movies again.  But it wouldn’t be the same without my sisters there.

Blue Dawn

One has to wonder if all the time we spent on entertainment during our lifetime was a lost cause or not.  I have a rich tapestry of memories of other people’s lives, gained through movies, television, and books.  But has that enhanced my life?  Or has it taken away from my life’s work?  I know work puts food on the table and makes continued life possible.  But it also has to define the value of our lives.  I have never, though, lived a moment as a teacher when something I learned from movies or a book has actually interfered with delivering instruction.  And I can name innumerable times, looking back, when being able to recall entertainment experiences led to a unique teachable moment.  Those things can actually be the most important things we teach.  And what an entertainer in any medium manages to communicate to me validates their life’s work.

This flash mob concert makes me weep for joy every time I watch it.  It makes me realize what marvelous fulfillment there is in the act of committing a work of art.  How must poor demented and deaf Beethoven be soaring in spirit to have his work take so many people by surprise like this?  It gives me chills to think about that kind of immortality even though the composer is long since dead.  He is still giving astonishing gifts to little girls who put a coin in a hat.

You don’t even have to be Beethoven-levels of famous to create moments that will live forever in the memory of the universe.  I have watched this video of street performers across the world so many times I have it memorized and can sing along.  I have shared this video so many times that I expect others to tell me, “Just stop it already!”  But they never do.  We learn the value of art by being an audience… by being consumers of art.  And it gives me hope as well for my own artistic endeavors.  Making money is not the point.  Sharing my work with others… even long after my own personal time on earth is up… is the precious thing.  I am reminded of the culmination of the long and glorious career of Charlie Chaplin.  And the movie clip that gets circulated so often now after another tragedy like the one in Paris.  I dare you to listen to this speech and not be moved… to hear it out and not learn something important.

Thank you for letting me waste your time today.  I intended to commit no further evil in the world today, than to let you share a few of the things that everybody seems to be finding beautiful and worth the effort of sharing.

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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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Good Wishes… In Spite Of…

In 2016 the election result really hurt me in several ways. My number two son was not yet of voting age, but he liked Trump. Trump appointed Betsy DeVos as the head of education, the lady who practically destroyed education in Michigan with her “school choice” charter school/private school/ defund the public schools plan. The plan that Texas promptly imported. And then the 2017 Trump Tax Cut. He passed that @#$%!!! plan in December and made it retroactive for the whole year. The 1% made millions in tax breaks. I owed an extra two hundred a month in higher taxes because “pensioners ought to be paying their fair share, especially teachers!” And that was charged times twelve for the entire year without having had the option to have it withheld month by month. I don’t normally hate anyone, so I hope Don Cheetoh Trumpaloney appreciates his special status from me.

34 felony convictions, four indictments, two impeachments, one insurrection…. I liked Gary Hart. He was taken out of the race for President by a single photo. I liked Howard Dean. He was taken out by a single yelp. Oy vay!

If the Trumpalump wins again… well, I don’t imagine I will survive it. But all my conservative friends who hate the people who he hates and approve of punishing trans kids and poor kids and minority kids in schools and hate me for being a liberal… I forgive them. I do believe in Christian values. And it is unfortunate that the Pharasee’s notion of stoning sinners is not actually Christianity because that is how they read the Bible. Still, I don’t condemn them for their mistakes. I will not throw the first stone. I am not without sin myself.

I hope for a better outcome tonight. But I am by nature a pessimist. I am preparing for the end of the world.

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Tess of the D’Urbervilles (by Thomas Hardy)

9781411433267_p0_v1_s260x420I decided I wanted to be a novelist because of Charles Dickens.  I loved the way he told a story with vivid characters, rising and falling crises, and story arcs that arrive at a happily-ever-after, or a how-sad-but-sweet-the-world-is ultimate goal.  Sometimes he reached both destinations with the same story, like in David Copperfield or The Old Curiosity Shop.  I have wanted to write like that since I read The Old Curiosity Shop in 9th Grade.

Thomas Hardy has a lot in common with Chuck.  I mean, more than just being old Victorian coots.  Hardy knows the Wessex countryside, Blackmoor and Casterbridge with the depth and understanding that Dickens bestows on London.  Hardy can delineate a character as clearly and as keenly as Dickens, as shown by Diggory Venn, the Reddleman in Return of the Native, or Tess Durbyfield in the novel I am reading at the moment.  These characters present us with an archetypal image and weave a story around it that speaks to themes with soul-shaking depth.  Whereas Dickens will amuse and make us laugh at the antics of the Artful Dodger or Mr. Dick or Jerry Cruncher from a Tale of Two Cities, Hardy makes us feel the ache and the sadness of love wrecked by conflict with the corrupt and selfish modern world.  Today I read a gem of a scene with the three milkmaids, Izz, Retty, and Marian looking longingly out the window at the young gentleman Angel Clare.  Each wants the young man to notice her and fall in love with her.  Sad-faced Izz is a dark-haired and brooding personality.  Round-faced Marian is more jolly and happy-go-lucky.  Young Retty is entirely bound up by shyness and the uncertainty of youth.  Yet each admits to her crush and secret hopes.  Tess, meanwhile, overhears all of it, all the time knowing that Angel is falling in love with her.  And worse yet, she has sworn to herself never to let another man fall in love with her because of the shameful way Alec D’Urberville took advantage of her, a quaint old phrase that in our time would mean date rape.  There is such bittersweet nectar to be had in the characterizations and plots of these old Victorian novels.  They are more than a hundred years old, and thus, not easy to read, but worth every grain of effort you sprinkle upon it.  I am determined now to finish rereading Tess of the Durbervilles, and further determined to learn from it, even if it kills me.

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