Catch a Falling Star

December 6, 2021 · 10:17 pm

The Fire Grows Hotter

I was forced to admit he was President of the United States for four long, long, extra-long years. And I am no longer mentioning his actual name in the same paragraph with the actual title of President. He is that, officially, no more. And he never was that as far as I can see by the actual job requirements.

But he did not get shot or lynched during the failed coup. And they did not execute him as a traitor afterwards… or even remove him from office. It is possible that he could even be back as President in 2024. But the criminal overripe mango with the badly thatched straw roof is guilty as hell of ruining our country.

He broke everything. The vaccines appeared so fast for Covid 19 that it could have been as miraculous as Obama’s cutting off of the Ebola outbreak that we never lost control of. Remember that? Probably not. The Ebola outbreak was controlled by s system developed by both Presidents George W Bush and Barack Obama. ;It was a seriously-tested and proven playbook that the Cheetoh-powdered clown threw in the trash.

He totally mishandled the pandemic, resulting in over 700,000 deaths in this country alone. Soon to be over 800,000. And his propaganda ministers on FOX News killed my cousin with Covid by convincing her she wasn’t properly loyal to Cinnamon Hitler if she got vaccinated.

My classmate Tim, a Navy veteran and retired firefighter died two days after Karen from the same thing. I couldn’t convince Tim that the Orange Menace was a bad guy. Pumpkinhead convinced him it was completely okay to hate Muslims, Africans, Middle-Easterners, and other people who are the wrong color or religion. He also convinced Tim that he should hate intellectual elites, liberals, and college-educated snowflakes… in other words, people like me.

And now that the Big Stinky Cheese Man in Mar-a-Lago has made it publicly acceptable to be totally hate-filled and actively punish those you hate, there are others who have taken up the belching cannons of hatred and have begun to fire at will.

Black Lives Matter and ANTIFA are the terrorist threat to be exterminated, and teens like Rittenhouse can now legally take up their beloved AR-15s and go hunt them. The KKK and the Proud Boys are made up of the “good people on both sides.” Let them have their way.

The problem is CRT being taught in schools. Critical Race Theory is a law-school study of structural racism that is NOT taught in any public schools. But it is the reason that Dr. James Whitfield, the first black principal in Texas Colleyville High School’s history was fired. He apparently was teaching CRT by saying in an email that George Floyd’s death was a bad thing.

Books like Nobel-Winner Toni Morrison’s Beloved have to be banned and removed from school library shelves because it makes white kids feel bad about slavery. Apparently everything will be better if white students aren’t made to think about race and slavery and human cruelty, and apparently we shouldn’t be teaching black kids about it either. No more Walter Dean Myers, no more poet Langston Hughes. No more Maya Angelou. All we can learn from them is shame in ourselves, not empathy for the tragic histories of others. (I must remind you that I am a white guy being sarcastic here. I love these authors and their works, and I would sooner die than see them burned.)

Right now the Democrats control the government tentatively and are trying to fix all the things Republicans managed to break in just four long, long, super-long years. They will probably have some limited success and be voted out in the midterms for their trouble. Then the hatred will be ramped up even more. The flames will lick higher in the atmosphere. And snowflakes like me will reach the limit and be melted. You are free to laugh at me for being wrong again, Tim. Yeah, I know… from Heaven or wherever else firefighters and heroes go in the end.

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Filed under angry rant

December 6, 2021 · 2:28 pm

Living in the Spider Kingdom

Life seems to be getting harder and harder. And I realize that a big part of that perception is the fact that my health is deteriorating quickly. This is a humor blog, but it has been getting more and more serious and more and more grim as the grim reaper becomes more and more a central character in my own personal story.

My perception of reality, however, is best explained by a passage in a novel that spoke to me in college. It comes from the novel, the Bildungsroman by Thomas Mann called Der Zauberberg, in English, The Magic Mountain. In the scene, Hans Castorp is possibly freezing to death, and he hallucinates a pastoral mountainside scene where children are happily playing in the sunshine. Possibly Heaven? But maybe not. As he goes into a stone building and finds a passage down into the ground, he sees wrinkled, ugly, horrible hags gathered around a child’s corpse, eating it. And this vision explains the duality at the center of the meaning of life.

For every good thing, there is an equal and opposite bad thing that balances it our. There is no understanding of what perfection and goodness mean without knowing profanity and evil. Just as you can’t understand hot without cold nor light without darkness. And you don’t get to overturn the way it is. You try your hardest to stay on the heads side of the coin knowing that half the time life falls to tails.

So, what good does it do me to think about and write about things like this? Well, it makes for me a sort of philosophical gyroscope that spins and dances and helps me keep my balance in the stormy sea of daily life. I deal with hard things with humor and a sense of literary irony. I make complex metaphors that help me throw a rope around the things that hurt me.

We are living now in the Spider Kingdom. Hard times are here again. The corrupt and corpulent corporate spiders are spinning the many webs we are trapped in. As metaphorical as it is, we wouldn’t have the government we currently have and be suffering the way we are if that weren’t true.

But no bad thing nor no good thing lasts forever. The wheel goes round and round. The top of the wheel reaches the bottom just as often as the bottom returns to the top. So, it will all pass if we can only hold out long enough.

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Filed under commentary, empathy, feeling sorry for myself, humor, metaphor, Paffooney, philosophy

December 5, 2021 · 8:35 pm

I am Made of Words

Yes, I was an English teacher. So, I was charged with teaching children, both exceedingly clever and oppressively stupid, including every child in between the extremes. how to read and to write in English. Words are my profession. Words are, in fact, my world.

I’m sure you realize that the title is a metaphor, and in no way literal. But now, as a retired senior on Medicare, my parents are both gone, I lost two cousins to Covid this last week, both of whom refused to be vaccinated because they were Republican FOX News watchers in ultra-conservative Iowa; I have six incurable diseases or conditions that I will have until I die. My zombie-skin is all peeling off. My prostate has gone from softball-sized to giant grapefruit. And eating is a diabetic nightmare now. My favorite foods will all kill me with knives of brain pain.

So, my physical life is all about deterioration and decay now. I have no happy days if you have to gauge happiness by lack of pain and surpluses of ease and things to be grateful for.

No, my world now is mostly interior in nature. Memories of the cherished past. Imaginary worlds I have built up all in my head over time. And re-imagining of the events of my past to make them more palatable and less filled with regret.

And so, I am made of words. I live in the stories I write, whether it is a story about my cousin’s recent passing on here, or a story about three-inch-tall fairies who’ve built a castle out of a willow tree with magic in my novel-in-progress.

I define myself and my life with words. And I am fortunate enough to be able to do it with some skill, learned over the decades of telling stories to kids in an English classroom.

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Filed under artwork, autobiography, humor, metaphor, Paffooney

December 5, 2021 · 4:29 pm

Made-Up People

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I often get criticized for talking to people who are basically invisible, probably imaginary, and definitely not real people, no matter what else they may be.

The unfinished cover picture is from the novel The Bicycle-Wheel Genius which I finished the final rewrite and edit for and then published in 2018. All of the characters in that book are fictional. Even though some of them strongly resemble the real people who inspired me to create them, they are fictional people doing fictional and sometimes impossible things. And yet, they are all people who I have lived with as walking, talking, fictional people for many years. Most of those people have been talking to me since the 1970’s. I know some of them far better than any of the real people who are a part of my life.

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These, of course, are only a few of my imaginary friends. Some I spend time with a lot. Some I haven’t seen or heard from in quite a while. And I do know they are not real people. Mandy is a cartoon panda bear, and Anneliese is a living gingerbread cookie. I do understand I made these people up in my stupid little head.

But it seems to me that the people in the world around us are really no less imaginary, ephemeral, and unreal. Look at the recently replaced Presidentumb of the Disunited States. He is an evil cartoon James Bond villain if there ever was one.

Animated cast of OUR CARTOON PRESIDENT. Photo: Courtesy of SHOWTIME

People in the real world create an imaginary person in their own stupid little heads, and pretend real hard that that imaginary person is really them in real life. And of course, nobody sees anybody else in the same way that they see themselves. Everybody thinks they are a somebody who is different from anybody else who thinks they are a somebody too, and really they are telling themselves, and each other, lies about who somebody really is, and it is all very confusing, and if you can follow this sentence, you must be a far better reader than I am a writer, because none of it really makes sense to me. I think everybody is imaginary in some sense of the word.

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So, if you happen to see me talking to a big white rabbit-man who used to be a pet white rabbit, but got changed into a rabbit-man through futuristic genetic science and metal carrots, don’t panic and call the police. I am just talking to another fictional character from a book I finished writing. And why are you looking inside my head, anyway? There’s an awful lot of personal stuff going on in there. Of course, you only see that because I wrote about it in this essay. So it is not an invasion of privacy. It is just me writing down stuff I probably should keep in my own stupid little head. My bad.

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Filed under characters, colored pencil, commentary, goofy thoughts, humor, novel plans, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney, rabbit people, strange and wonderful ideas about life

Tagged as characters, imagination, the Bicycle-Wheel Genius

December 4, 2021 · 5:50 pm

Story Illustrations on Art Day

One of the things I am increasingly doing is illustrating my novels and essays in the pages of books published on Amazon.

As you can see, Amazon allows me to use my own artwork on the covers as well as illustrations inside. I-Universe would allow neither.

This is the most recent illustration from my as-yet unpublished novel, ***The Necromancer’s Apprentice***.

More from the work-in-progress, The Necromancer‘s Apprentice;

Yes, they’re naked, but that’s because they are Sylphs (3-inch-tall fairies,) not human beings.

What follows are published illustrations;

Recipes for Gingerbread Children

One of the glorious things about ebooks is the fact that they allow colored illustrations which will print as black and white in the paperback version.

These, of course, are only a small sampling of the many illustrations in my books, especially the more recent books.

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Filed under artwork, humor, illustrations, Paffooney

Tagged as Saturday Art Day

December 3, 2021 · 4:34 pm

I Hope You Dance…

When you walk to the front of the classroom and take up the big pencil in front of a group of young teens and twelve-year-olds, there is a strong pressure to learn how to sing and dance. That, of course, is a metaphor. I was always too arthritic and clunky in my movements to literally dance. But I looked out over a sea of bored and malevolence-filled eyes, slack and sometimes drooling mouths attached to hormone-fueled and creatively evil minds. And I was being paid to put ideas in their heads. Specifically boring and difficult ideas that none of them really wanted in their own personal heads. So I felt the need to learn to dance, to teach in ways that were engaging like good dance tunes, and entertaining in ways that made them want to take action, to metaphorically get up and dance along with me.

I wanted them to enjoy learning the way I did.

But the music of the teacher is not always compatible with the dance style of the individual learner. The secret behind that is, there is absolutely no way to prompt them to dance along with you until you learn about the music already playing in their stupid little heads. (And you can’t, of course ever use the word “stupid” out loud, no matter how funny or true the word is,) You have to get to know a kid before you can teach them anything.

The discordant melodies and bizarre tunes you encounter when you talk to them is like dancing in a minefield blindfolded. Some don’t have enough to eat at home and have to survive off of the nutrition-less food they get in the school cafeteria’s free-and-reduced lunch program. Some of them have never heard a single positive thing from the adults at home, enduring only endless criticism, insults, and sometimes fists. Some of them fall in love with you. Some due to hormones. Some due to the fact that you treat them like a real human being. Some because they just stupidly assume that everyone dances to the same tunes they hear in their own personal head.

Some of them automatically hate you because they know that if you hear their own secret music in their own self-loathing heads, you will never accept it. They hate you because you are a teacher and teachers always hate them. Some of them, deep down, are as loathsome as they think they are.

But, if you find the right music, you can get any of them, even all of them, to dance. It might be hard to find. It might be a nearly impossible task to learn to play that music once you find it. But it can be done.

And if you get them to dance to your music, to dance along with you, I can’t think of anything more rewarding, anything more life-fulfilling. Have you ever tried it for yourself? If you are not a teacher, how about with your own children or the children related to you? Everybody should learn to dance this dance I am talking about in metaphors. At least once in your life. It is addictive. You will want to dance more. So the next time the music starts and you get the chance… I hope you’ll dance!

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Filed under commentary, education, kids, metaphor, Paffooney, teaching

Tagged as being a teacher

December 2, 2021 · 10:02 pm

My Cousin Karen

When I took this picture from the western entrance to Uncle Harry’s farm, capturing a picture of the Lonely Windmill in the middle of the cornfield, the old house was replaced long ago, the barn torn down more recently, and somebody new, not relatives for the first time in almost a century, living on the farm place. And for the first time, the first member of our generation of our family, is now also gone.

Karen died of Covid this week.

Karen was a second cousin. Her father was my great uncle, my Grandma Aldrich’s littlest brother. I was the first born of all Grandpa and Grandma Aldrich’s grandchildren. I was two years younger than Karen. Her brother Bob was only a couple months younger than me, and in my class at school in Rowan, Iowa. My cousin Wanda, Uncle Don’s oldest daughter was a year younger than me and Bob. Then came my sister Nancy and cousin Beth, Uncle Larry’s oldest daughter, a year younger than Wanda. A year younger than Nancy and Beth was Diane, Uncle Don’s second daughter. (the tyke on the trike.) Uncle Larry’s twins, Janice and Jeanette, and my little sister Mary were two years younger than Nancy and Beth. The babies of the four families were Mark (Uncle Larry’s son,) David (My little brother,) Tom (Karen’s baby brother,) and Sandy (Uncle Don’s youngest, the littlest of all of us.) You get the idea. In the picture of the tribe of feral munchkins hoping for either a smile from Dorothy, or an autographed broom from the Wicked Witch of the West, Karen is the tallest one in the back of the group. The group, of course, met for family gatherings on every holiday, birthday party, card party, and scheduled family reunion through the 60’s and 70’s.

Karen was the first of us to learn how to read. I remember the Thanksgiving when she proved it by reading aloud Grandma Aldrich’s copy of The Little Red Hen to those of us old enough to know how to talk and theoretically listen. She seemed to be a lot like the character of the Little Red Hen to me, taking charge of the baking and assigning those of us who wanted to eat the cookies the jobs we were destined to refuse to do. Or do wrong until Karen growled at us and forced us to do things at least twice.

Karen was good at lecturing. I still remember when I tried to commit the crime of telling my cousins that Santa Claus wasn’t real. First she set me straight. Then she told Aunt Wilma on me, getting me into trouble so bad I nearly got spanked. I had to apologize to crying girl cousins and sisters. How could I have believed such terrible things told to me in school by second-graders?

My first memory of the love of her life, Harlan, was when he caught the bully that gave me and anybody smaller than me the hardest of times in middle school, and pushed him around and threatened him until he stopped bullying the other kids, at least whenever Harlan and his football-player-sized friends could possibly see him. They were the perfect pair. The Boss and the Boss with muscles. (And you know which one is Karen without me saying it, don’t you?)

I don’t get to attend the funeral. I am stuck several States away. But I am going to miss her. She’s caused more than a few tears this week. And now that she’s gone, I’m the oldest cousin still living. So, I am probably the next one the Reaper will give that final handshake and escort. There are downsides to getting older.

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December 2, 2021 · 2:39 pm

Fairy Tales and Dragons (with pointillism)

Going through my old drawing portfolio, I found my children’s book project from my undergrad college years. I have no idea now looking at the illustrations what the story was even about. I lost the actual story, and I never made a cover for it. But here is a look at old hopes and dreams and a way of seeing the world that begins; Once Upon a Time…

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I have no earthly idea what the heck this story is even about, but I do like the pen and ink work, and probably couldn’t repeat it if I had to.

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Filed under artwork, cartoony Paffooney, fairies, goofiness, humor, Uncategorized

Tagged as cartoons, goofiness, humor, old art, paffooney, pen and ink, pointillism

December 1, 2021 · 2:59 pm

An Idiot’s Guide to Art Day

No, I am not calling you an idiot, dear reader. I am the one providing the guidance material.

This idiot is not actually me… This is Doofy Fuddbugg. He is not overburdened with book-learning, but he can fix practically anything around the house or in the car. He can also tell a story pretty well that makes you laugh.

So, if I were to try to explain art day in an Idiot’s Guide aimed at explaining the essence of it to Doofy Fuddbugg, one idiot trying to educate another, I would explain that I am lazy on Saturdays. All I want to do is post pictures and not have to write a lot of heavily-thought-out words and ideas in the usual droning idiot’s essay of 500 words or more. So, I go through my WordPress picture file and find interesting pictures to post without having to draw or paint anything new.

I confess that I do not merely select pictures at random. I try to get pictures I haven’t used in a good while. This double portrait of Gretel Graymalkin, and what she looks like naked in the moonlight, hasn’t been used in a post since last year. And there is a bit of rhyme and reason to it too. Gretel is an idiot.

And this is a picture that any idiot can tell is a real picture of fairies in the park discussing the building of a new fairy circle after it finally started raining heavily again in Texas after almost a decade of drought. Of course, it has to be an idiot to tell that. Most people would recognize this as a pen-and-colored-pencil drawing photo-shopped over a photograph. Even the mushrooms are not real. I have it on good authority from fairy-kind that they are actually pixies in disguise.

And then there is this rare bird I drew a couple of years back. He is a surrealistic peacock who thought of auditioning for NBC before he learned they don’t still do those “Now in Living Color…” ads anymore. He’s surrealistic in that he could not possibly be real, unless he were really just a bowling pin and lady’s fan put together by a deranged painter with a mental disorder that makes him do decoratively dippy drawings on things you really shouldn’t be drawing upon in the middle of a bowling tournament.

And who can forget this idiot, an avatar of me as a purple Mickey in the style of the late great Don Martin of Mad Magazine fame? He’s the whole reason you get foolish lazy-Saturday posts like this at all, There has got to be a cure for that somewhere in the multiverse.

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Filed under artwork, cartoony Paffooney, humor, imagination, Paffooney

Tagged as Saturday Art Day

November 30, 2021 · 2:21 pm