You know how creepy penguins in cartoons can be, right? The Penguins of Madagascar are like a Mission-Impossible Team gone horribly wrong and transformed into penguins. The penguin in Wallace and Gromit’s The Wrong Trousers disguised himself as a chicken to perform acts of pure evil. Cartoonists all know that penguins are inherently creepy and evil.
I recently learned a hard lesson about penguins. You know the joke, “What’s black and white and red all over? A penguin with a sunburn.” I told that joke one too many times. Who knew the Dallas metroplex had so many loose penguins lurking around? They are literally everywhere. One of them overheard me. And apparently they have vowed a sacred penguin vow that no penguin joke goes unpunished.
As I walked the dog this morning, I spotted creepy penguin eyes, about three pairs, looking at me from behind the bank of the creek bed in the park. When I went to retrieve the empty recycle bins from the driveway, there they were again, looking at me over the top of the neighbor’s privacy fence.
“Penguins see the world in black and white,” said one of the Penguins.
“Except for purple ones,” added the purple one.
“Penguins can talk?” I tried unsuccessfully to ask.
“Penguins only talk in proverbs,” said one of the penguins.
“But the purple one gives the counterpoint,” said the purple one.
“The wisdom of penguins is always cold and harsh,” said one of the penguins.
“Except on days like this when it’s hot,” said the purple one.
“You should always listen to penguins,” said one of the penguins.
“Of course, people will think you are crazy if you do,” said the purple one.
“People who talk to penguins are headed for a nervous breakdown,” said one of the penguins.
“Unless you are a cartoonist. Then it is probably normal behavior,” said the purple one.
“Is this all real?” I tried unsuccessfully to ask.
“Everyone knows that penguins are real,” said one of the penguins.
“But there are no purple penguins in nature,” said the purple one.
So, I sat down to write this post about penguins and their proverbs with a very disturbing thought in my little cartoonist’s head… Why am I really writing about penguins today? I really have nothing profound to say about penguin proverbs. Especially profound penguin proverbs with a counterpoint by a purple penguin. Maybe it is all merely a load of goofy silliness and a waste of my time.
“Writing about penguins is never a waste of time,” said one of the penguins.
“And if you believe that, I have some choice real estate in the Okefenokee Swamp I need to talk to you about,” added the purple one.
I have often described the typical middle school with the name “The Monkey House” due to the resemblance in the behavior of sixth graders to little monkeys like squirrel monkeys, capuchins, and rhesus monkeys, and the behavior of seventh graders to chattering chimpanzees, and the behavior of eighth graders to poop-throwing gorillas. All of these simian varieties in nature do not wear any clothes. So, it follows that in nature, middle school students would naturally be at least metaphorically naked. They do swing with their tails out of their seats at any excuse, chatter about personal things without realizing others might be listening, and fling metaphorical poop at everyone… literal poop in certain regrettable situations. But every human species of middle-school monkeys in the Monkey House could benefit from being as naked in school as actual monkeys are in the jungle. In this post, I will try to cover how that works in an imaginary all-nude school for each of as many monkey species as I can.
The Nude Nerds in the Science Class Lab, Milton Steinbum and Nancy Jane Smithers.
I am starting with the nude nerds because, had I been put in an all-nude experimental middle school myself, I would have been a member of this middle-school monkey species. I would have been like Milton, always carrying nearly every book from my locker so I would have something to hold in front of me, hiding my little weiner as well as I could. Nerds know a lot more about everything than the other monkeys. And as a result, they are more aware of everything. Especially aware of how genitals react to the sight of nude bodies of either or both sexes. They are subject to death by embarrassment loSnarkng after the other monkeys have become desensitized.
The shrinking violets, mostly of the female persuasion, would benefit a lot from being nudists in a school full of naked people. Shrinking violets are kids who would turn invisible if they could. But as the nudist experience goes on, they would soon discover you blend in more by just being comfortably naked than you would by folding yourself into basketball shapes and trying to get smaller. The last shrinking violets to remove their hands from in front of their private places would be laughed at the hardest by the first shrinking violets to realize they are less seen as a part of the crowd than they are as part of the strange little people tying themselves in knots to become invisible.
Snarks are equally distributed between the male and female varieties. They have mostly grown into their snarkiness, not being snarks as the littlest monkeys, but blossoming with total snarkification as they grow into the chimpanzee and then gorilla stages. A snark becomes snarky in the presence of the bullies or the criminals. It begins as a survival method, saying something witty but mean to redirect the bully or criminal’s attention to nude nerds, shrinking violets, Boy Scouts, or the plain normals when the bully or criminal turns their attention to them. Sometimes they turn from snark into bully, but only if they are not clever enough to achieve the title of Class Clown. A Class Clown is a snark who is actually funny and even makes the teacher laugh. That’s why they sometimes become standup comedians later in life. A naked snark must sharpen comedic skills in an all-nude school. Naked you lose the opportunity to joke about bulges in boy’s pants, peed-your-pants jokes, poop jokes, and funny-clothing jokes. Plus, your personal privacy is no longer in need of defense. Everyone can see if you are circumcised or have hair down there.
You can’t tell a snark until he or she talks. Then they’re easy to recognize.
Plain normals should be the majority of the students in any school, but the truth is, none of them are actually even remotely normal. They all have their own weird quirks, talents, phobias, and terrible secrets. But this category serves to prevent having to break things down into as many categories as you have students. Cheerleaders are either a group or an affliction. Girls who suffer from cheerleaderpepitis are easily turned into snarks, puppy mothers, or even bullies and criminals. Too much energy, sex appeal, and ambition are dangerous things to put in the hands (and bodies) of people who are not that far advanced from becoming fully potty-trained. Being fully nude brings noses down out of the air a little bit. Jocks are still jocks at a nudist school since the thing that names them is a vital form of protection in sports. Brainless bums, ugos, angels, and future supermodels could be a part of any group I have named so far. So, the thing that helps them all in a nudist middle school is the fact that nudity as a school uniform makes them all equal in one very visible way.
Boy Scouts, once known as future Republicans, and still known to be the first to volunteer, hall monitoring, teachers’ helpers, and honor students, are the group least affected by a change to an all-nude dress code. Theirs is a behavioral distinction. They are the students who crave first place in everything. And, of course, girls make excellent Boy Scouts, being cleaner than actual boys. You can’t just call them Girl Scouts because that is a uniform, not a behavior. Boy Scouts are also more adaptable than the other students and will be the first ones to embrace nudity on the first day of school.
Female athletes are a part of the jocks subgroup even though they don’t… you know.
The last monkeys I will discuss here are potentially gorillas in all ways that matter. The bullies and criminals inhabit the same corners of every school, and rare is the criminal who hasn’t been a bully first. They are either much bigger and stronger than the other kids or much smarter. Their morals are mostly skewed by things outside the school. So the main benefit of having them in school naked is that they can’t hide knives, guns, drugs, or other evil contraband on their own person. Nothing stops a bully from verbally intimidating others or using fists. But bruises on victims are more visible and it is harder for a naked kid to look dangerous when they are limited to their birthday suits.
As I pointed out previously, there are other definable types of monkeys in the monkey house, but how being in an experimental all-nude middle school would benefit and affect them is basically covered now as far as I can figure out. I am a rather old and stupid orangutan myself, now that I am retired from teaching for a decade. And I am now senile enough to write about stuff like doing middle-school education naked. So, there’s that.
When you are a writer, you look for conflict constantly. It is a fact of the writing life that stories need conflict to drive them forward, whether they are non-fiction reports, biographies, or histories, or they are fiction stories full of made-up people and made-up events. But we are in a time in history where the conflict in real life is hitting everywhere. No place, in reality, is safe.
Using straw men in arguments comes with the caution that some who have straw for brains can actually solve problems.
What do I mean about there being no real-life safety?
Well, barring a technological magic bullet and a complete revolution in the way corrupt capitalists do politics, the Earth will probably become a lifeless hot rock more like the surface of the planet Venus than any kind of Edenic utopia. If the Republicans take back power next month, kiss goodbye the human race in any form but zoo animals in alien zoos on other worlds.
And Nancy Pelosi’s husband was attacked in the head with a hammer because of Don Cheetoh Trumpaloney’s Neanderthal political practices. Men in camo and bullet-proof vests watch polling places to presumably threaten non-white, non-Trumpy voters. Republicans are probably out-voting Democrats, thus sealing our fate. Republicans choose profits for themselves over life on Earth.
An early Christmas greeting because I am very optimistic for a pessimist, as well as chronically early.
I, of course, am no more safe than anybody else. In some ways, as a writer of fiction, I am less safe than the rest of you. My imagination gives me near prescience about the bad things that can happen to me. And I write fiction about love and forgiveness and a sense of community good in solving the chaotic conflicts of life, All you have to do is get naked, figuratively and in reality both, in order to combat the dangerous world around you. But, of course, it means you have no sort of armor at all to protect you from the wounds of life’s many predators.
This last week, I faced a predator like that, in the form of a marketing service wanting to make my book Catch a Falling Star available at a library conference in New Orleans. Of course, only for the slight fee of $850.00. Now, it goes without saying, I could really use exposure like this to help sell my books. But the price is far more than I would ever recoup from royalties. And the salesman tried to hurry my decision. He offered to talk to his manager about giving me three payment installments, a used-car-dealer tactic. And he urged me to sign up before he would give me a chance to google his company, his emails, and his Better-Business-Bureau rating. He had no mercy for the fact that his efforts to keep me talking caused me to have a coughing fit. I ended the ordeal by hanging up on him. I did not answer when he called me back.
The world is ending. I am living in a house that threatens to fall upon my head at any moment. And two book-marketing schemers have now contacted me, one to scam me out of my publishing rights, and another trying to get a lot of my money for very little real value.
How will this story end? I have yet to learn how the conflict will be resolved. But I know it will not be safe.
Yes, he’s at it again. Silly old Mickey in his birthday suit is writing metaphorically about nudity, nakedness, and naturism. The gross old coot has to do something to survive the Texas heat.
You are probably thinking, and rightly so, that since the crazy old bird was a school teacher for 31 years, and a school student for 18 years before that to become one, he’d be a bit more circumspect about his teacher-honor than to be going around promoting public nudity on his silly little blog again. And you’d be right. This society we now live in doesn’t seem like it is going to approve public nudity generally anytime soon. Most places around the USA make it illegal to go outside your house in nothing but the skin you were born in. You can be arrested for public indecency. Especially if you are ugly when you are naked.
You know it didn’t used to be that way. The ancient Greeks were wild about public nudity. It was the rule for competing in the Olympics and doing business in the agora in the downtown of every Greek metropolis. In fact, the schools that ancient-Greek Mickey would have taught in required the students to be naked for half the day at the very least as they attended school. Of course, those laws only applied to boys. Nobody really wanted to see a naked girl back then. Unless she was made of marble and depicted Aphrodite. They were wild about her naked carcass.
But Mickey learned that being a teacher in the 20th and 21st Century schools of Texas was all about being metaphorically naked.
It’s true. College speech teachers would tell you that, to overcome stage fright on the first day of class, you needed to imagine your students were naked to put yourself at ease, feeling superior because you were dressed and they were not.
But Mickey looked out at those classes of 25 to 30 students, unwashed, feral, and completely hormone-fueled, and realized they really were naked… metaphorically. Even with what passed for clothing on their sweaty little monster bodies, you could still see every naked fault, attitude, indiscretion, and sometimes beauty about them, even when packed in layers with a snowsuit on top. But it never snowed in South Texas back then anyway. They were as good as naked all the time. You could literally see which ones were evil, which were shrinking violets, which were hungry predators, and which ones were imagining the teacher naked to swing the advantage over to themselves.
And teaching entire classrooms full of naked twelve-to-seventeen-year-olds, you learned to understand what their needs really were. You could see their naked shame at not being able to read as well as the smart girls in class. You could see which ones were bullied in school and probably belittled even at home. And you learned to love them… even the bad ones… in a non-inappropriate way. Teacher love. Because they were naked. Metaphorically. At least, that’s what stupid Mickey thought.
And being metaphorically naked means many things at once. In their unarmored form, naked people are vulnerable. They are also not hiding anything under disguises or costumes that make you think they are something they are not. That leather jacket on that metaphorically naked little boy doesn’t hide the fact that he’s insecure about his male peers thinking he is only acting tough because he’s trying to hide the fact that he may be gay. Or that naked little girl in the tight blue jeans and shirt two sizes too small is afraid that she will never find love amongst the male orangutans and gorillas she is most fascinated by.
And naked angels in European art in the Middle Ages symbolized metaphorically, purity and innocence. And some of the naked angels in Mickey’s classes were also metaphorically innocent, no matter how many times they may have goofed up and lost a bit of their innocence.
And they are especially metaphorically naked when they write in their journals, something Mickey made them do at least three days out of five every week. Mickey told them he would read them when he graded them, that they only had to get the two hundred words written in each entry to get an easy 100 percent. And Mickey emphasized that he would read them and not tell anybody else about what they wrote unless they volunteered to have the best stuff read out loud. And, boy howdy! When they told Mickey what they wanted him to know about their naked little lives, it was often stuff that could embarrass Marine Corps drill sergeants, longshoremen, and undercover vice cops. Extremely naked information… metaphorically.
And so, stupid Mickey thought that, just maybe… being metaphorically naked might be good for you. Cathartic and cleansing. And freeing in a way that can only be appreciated by someone who has long been repressed and imprisoned by lingering trauma and fear like Mickey secretly knew something about. Yes, the difference between being metaphorically and literally naked was not very great at all.
And you know what that meant a stupid Mickey was going to think.
It is not an easy thing to explain. Artists don’t see things using only their eyes. The brain intrudes in the process. For instance, you are welcome to interpret the picture above any way you like. But the way I see it will be nothing like what you thought this picture is about. You probably see two very different girls here. There is actually only one. I know because, as the artist who drew both parts of this picture, I actually know where the ideas came from. There is only one girl in the picture. Dilsey Murphy, in front and wearing her Carl Eller Minnesota Vikings’ jersey, is based about 33% on the older of my two sisters. On the outside she is pragmatic, no-nonsense, and focused on living a family life that is as normal as possible. But the inner Dilsey is the African leopard-princess. She dreams of going on Tarzan adventures in the movie-jungles of the mind with a handsome male hero. She is fierce, loyal, and completely independent, not even needing the hero she adventures with. In fact, she often saves him.
This picture is about the idyllic parts of my childhood. The mother figure is doing a ritual dance. She is in tune with the music of daily life. She is closely attuned also to her responsibilities of stewardship in her society. Both children are nude. I cropped this picture so that it is not rude and showing Smiling Boy’s penis. But both children are bathed in nature and sunshine, not just because I am pro-nudism personally, but because clothing covers up innocence and joy.
This one is easier to interpret. I was an ESL teacher. I had students who spoke Spanish as their first language and students who learned to speak Mandarin Chinese as their first language. It makes for a classroom that becomes a cultural mixing bowl. You have to learn how to deal with people who are very different than you,, but are benefitting from learning English together.
Every picture the artist draws or paints has its own weirdness embedded inside it. The way the artist sees it is probably never the same as how the viewer thinks about it. And that is as it should be. But as a viewer of art, it is hoped that you will at least try to think about what the artist means to say..
A 1951 Schwinn Spitfire like mine in 1963 when the world was golden.
My bicycle was red. It was red and looked just like the ones that Captain Kangaroo had in his commercials that we watched on a black-and-white TV every day before we walked or rode our bicycle to school, across town a whole long seven blocks away. After school I could ride it out a whole mile and a half to Jack’s farm with Bobby and Richard and Mark the preacher’s kid to go skinny dipping in the cold creek in Jack’s South pasture. Jack was younger than any of us except Bobby. And it was a golden age.
Spiderman comic books and Avengers comic books cost twelve cents to own, but they were forbidden. And as much as we sneaked them and passed them around until they fell apart, usually in Bobby’s hands, we never knew that Dr. Wertham had gone to Congress to make our parents believe that comic books would make us gay and violent. He was a psychiatrist who wrote a book, so even if you didn’t believe him, you had to worry about such things.
I believed in Santa Claus until 1967. And after I found out, I only despaired a tiny little bit, because I began to understand you have to grow up. And adults can lie to you, even if they don’t do it to be mean. And the world is a hard place. And the golden age ended in November of 1963 when JFK was assassinated.
In June of 1968 I rode my bicycle out to the Bingham Park woods, Once there, I took off all my clothes and put them in the bicycle basket, and then I rode up and down the walking paths through the trees with nothing between me and God but my skin. I had a serious think about how life should be. All the while I was terrified that someone might see me. I was naked and vulnerable. A mere two years before that I had been sexually assaulted and was terrified of older boys, especially when I was naked and vulnerable. But I was a fan of the St. Louis Cardinals and Bob Gibson. They were repeated World Series winners. And they beat the Yankees in the series in 1964. And more important than that, cardinals were the little red songbirds who never flew away when the winter came. You don’t give up in the face of hardship. You face the trouble. No matter how deep the snow may pile up.
And in 1969, the first man to walk on the moon showed that a Star Trek world was in reach of mankind. Star Trek was on every afternoon after school. I watched a lot of those episodes at Verner’s house on his family’s black-and-white TV. The Klingons were always bested or beaten because the crew of the Enterprise outsmarted them. You can solve the problems of the universe with science. I know this because of all the times Mr. Spock proved it to me not just by telling me so, but by showing me how you do it. And what you can achieve is greatly enhanced if you work together like Spock and Kirk and Bones… and sometimes Scotty always did.
So, what is the way it should be? What did Mickey decide while naked in the forest like a Dakota Sioux shaman on a spirit-quest?
JFK’s 104th birthday was on May 29th. Dr. Wertham has been dead for 40 years. Bob Gibson was 85 when he passed away in October of last year. Captain Kirk turned 90 in March of this year.
The Golden age is long gone. There is no single set of rules that can clearly establish how it should be now. But I like those ideas of how it should be that I established for myself while naked on a Schwinn Spitfire in a forest long ago.
One might easily believe Radasha is me, but he’s only born of my imagination.
It is a sad song playing in the imaginary forest where my mind lives.
My wife doesn’t love me. She keeps me around to pay for stuff. But she rarely talks to me anymore and she never is nice to me. True, she’s not as mean as she was. But still rather mean.
I dedicated my life to education. I learned to teach students critical thinking skills. I taught students who did not speak English as well as they spoke Spanish, Vietnamese, or Mandarin Chinese to read and write in English. But schools are woefully underfunded now, especially if they are city public schools and teacher shortages exist because States like Texas don’t respect them as people, don’t pay them well, or assign them to jobs that can’t actually be done by one lone, dedicated teacher. And I am not well enough to help out with my teaching skills any longer.
Donald Trump may win back the Presidency again. I suffered under his administration, not benefitting from his massive tax cut, but rather, having to pay more than a thousand dollars extra each year since he raised my tax on my pension by over a hundred dollars a month and made me pay that extra hundred for every month in 2017. Trump is proof that the government only aids the greedy, rich bastards who buy what they want for laws that benefit only them, never the poor or the middle class.
I enjoy being a nudist outdoors in the sunshine and fresh air, but can no longer practice it because I am on medication that makes me susceptible to sunlight, like some kind of vampire.
Radasha, the faun, plays his recorder in the green wood that exists only in my stupid head. It is made up of many beautiful melodies packed with somber tones and tragic, trailing riffs. the music of the afternoon of a tired old faun.
I love clowns. I always have. When I was five I wanted to be a clown. Red Skelton is my personal hero and role model, the reason I became a teacher, to use my clown skills for good rather than evil. But sinister folks who think they are joking are seriously jeopardizing all of that.
In 1988 I did watch and enjoy the movie Killer Klowns from Outer Space. It was funny. And I liked Stephen King’s “It” as a horror movie. It was definitely scary. But 2016 has become the year of the creepy clown. Why would any idiot want to dress up in an expensive horror-clown mask and clown suit to wave at somebody’s security camera at two in the morning? And, Mr. Idiot, did you at least try to figure out if the homeowner was a gun owner in an open carry State? One of the recent clowns to be arrested turned out to be a teenage boy… you know, the ultimate planner and thinker-ahead-er.
I would like to propose that we prosecute a case or two of creepy clowns in the woods at night with a mandatory “How to Love a Clown” class. After all, clowns are a worthy thing. How many clowns over how many years have handed out candy to kids and brought a smile to small faces during a Fourth of July parade? How many circus clowns like the Great Emmett Kelly made us laugh with a pantomime routine? How many Shrine Circus clowns helped entertain us and raise money to fight childhood disease and cancer? Bob Keeshan who was Clarabell the Clown on Howdy Doody helped raise me and make me the person I am now as Captain Kangaroo. The real creepy clown crime is that they are taking the image of a clown, which is a very good thing and turning it into something bleak and horrifying. My purpose for this post is to remind you of the good things about the people under the face paint. I want you to remember a few of these.
Yes, I survived all the Bible-belt monster hunters who came after me for writing my first naked middle school post. And I am no wiser for the experience. I mean to tell you why I would really like to do my whole teaching career over again in a middle school where mandatory nudity is the dress code. And if that makes me insane and somehow dangerous, remember, this is a humor blog, and we like to laugh at mentally warped individuals like me and their strange behavior.
Iris is an imaginary top student at Mintyville Experimental Middle School. History is her top subject, and she wants to be a lawyer or a political leader.
Although this essay’s argument is totally facetious and farcical, that doesn’t mean it lacks truth. Some things would obviously be easier for teachers if the school opted for a totally nude dress code. For instance, no gang colors could be worn in school. And Bloods, Crips, Ambros, Latin Kings, and future Skinheads would all be bare with their tattoos covered by the appropriate flesh-colored Band-Aids. Cell phones could be concealed in pockets only by students who had undergone painful plastic surgery to create kangaroo pouches in their thighs, and even then, they would be readily visible whenever the students stood up from desks. There would be no jealousy over expensive fashions for the rich kids or embarrassment for the poor kids with ratty clothes from Goodwill and smelly underwear that never gets washed in anything but quarter-hungry washeterias. School uniforms would be free unless you counted the expense of the original birthday suit. Textile coverings required by the outside world would remain in lockers all day along with all social media devices used for creating depression in others and suicidal thoughts in yourself. And AR-15s and pistols and other weapons would have to be left in parents’ cars for after-school Texas-style social interactions. All of these consternations and nightmares would no longer be things the teacher had to worry about.
Teachers would not have to worry about how they dress either. First, teachers would not necessarily be required to be nude. If you had an unmarried male teacher in a classroom by himself with lots of naked young ladies in all his classes, that could lead to things we hear too much about in the news already when the schools are full of textile-wearing people. If the teachers are dressed in the usual frumpy-dumpy suits and dresses from Walmart, they will not be the object of hormonal fantasies from students, as there are so many other naked targets to be fascinated by. And if the faculty decides that the only way to be fair to the students is to be nude in school too, perhaps that is an area where two teachers for every class is an optimal idea, one male and one female in every class to serve as a check on each other. Hence, both sexes have the appropriate adult role model. One English teacher and one Science/Math teacher to provide the learning guidance necessary for a truly intellectual, discovery-method curriculum where they would learn problem-solving in depth. Students would become accustomed to seeing their friends, enemies, and teachers nude and it wouldn’t take long for everyone to be desensitized to the sexual aspects of everybody being naked. Of course, there would have to be detailed “no-touching” rules enforced constantly by teachers, administrators, and fellow students. It is an opportunity to master behaviors that students don’t really get detailed instruction in during their real lives, either at home or in school.
So, what’s that red sash thingy that Sasha has in the library? Miss Shortwheeler suggested it’s the twirling ribbon she will use for the halftime performance in Tuesday’s basketball game.
In real-world middle schools where everybody wears clothes and conceals the truth and gets lots of practice at lies and prevarications, students are metaphorically naked all the time. They reveal inappropriate details about their lives at inappropriate times daily. And if the teacher tries to ignore it, they will reveal it much louder and with more inappropriate words.
Nude students, on the other hand, are more open to sharing intimate ideas and feelings in more positive discussions where everyone is equally vulnerable, and can be trained to be equally sensitive to the feelings and needs of others. It is the appropriate place to learn things like proper consent, permission, respect, safe spaces, personal spaces, and appropriate sharing of things that might’ve been too personal to consider discussing in a world hidden beneath clothing. Naked people are more vulnerable and therefore more aware of the world around them and their relationships to everyone and everything. So, I am actually saying literally naked kids are easier to teach than kids who are only metaphorically naked.
Again, naked schools are not a thing in the real world of public education. This essay is only foolish speculation and idea mangling. But I really do think that a nude school is worth studying experimentally. When you come to my house after midnight again spurred onward by the religious fervor of the Westboro Baptists, remember, I will be the one laughing loudly as I flee full speed for my very life.
Xanthophobia (from Greek xanthos, “yellow”) is fear of the color yellow. In China the color yellow was feared, specifically receiving the yellow scarf, which was an imperial order to commit suicide.
Yes, “xanthophobia” is a word I have never used in my life before now. I have no doubt that I will never need that word again in my life. You, dear reader, will probably never need that word either. But the derfy space-ranger part of my brain thinks it is neat that I was able to correctly answer a trivia question about the meaning of “xanthophobia”simply because my background as an artist who has shopped for exotic oil colors in artist supply stores helped me to recognize that the “xantho” part of the word meant yellow.
Are there other totally useless words that my space-ranger brain thinks are cool to know? Of course there are! How can you ask such a silly question?
Ouzel may refer to:
Common blackbird or ouzel, a species of thrush, all-black in the male
Lord Howe thrush or ouzel, an extinct subspecies of the island thrush
River Ouzel, a river in England, a tributary of the Great Ousel
So, what is the actual use of knowing so many words that you can never functionally use? Besides as a topic of a goofy post like this?
They become like the pebbles and rocks at the bottom of the briskly rushing stream of my mind. They are not moving with the water, but they are affecting the ripples and splashes on the surface above them. They cause eddies and backwashes and undercurrents in the complex flow of my space-ranger brain. They make life more interesting on the surface.
And besides, knowing useless words can make me sound smarter than the fool with a derfy space-ranger brain that I truly am.
Catch a Falling Star 
Seeing Through an Artist’s Eyes
It is not an easy thing to explain. Artists don’t see things using only their eyes. The brain intrudes in the process. For instance, you are welcome to interpret the picture above any way you like. But the way I see it will be nothing like what you thought this picture is about. You probably see two very different girls here. There is actually only one. I know because, as the artist who drew both parts of this picture, I actually know where the ideas came from. There is only one girl in the picture. Dilsey Murphy, in front and wearing her Carl Eller Minnesota Vikings’ jersey, is based about 33% on the older of my two sisters. On the outside she is pragmatic, no-nonsense, and focused on living a family life that is as normal as possible. But the inner Dilsey is the African leopard-princess. She dreams of going on Tarzan adventures in the movie-jungles of the mind with a handsome male hero. She is fierce, loyal, and completely independent, not even needing the hero she adventures with. In fact, she often saves him.
This picture is about the idyllic parts of my childhood. The mother figure is doing a ritual dance. She is in tune with the music of daily life. She is closely attuned also to her responsibilities of stewardship in her society. Both children are nude. I cropped this picture so that it is not rude and showing Smiling Boy’s penis. But both children are bathed in nature and sunshine, not just because I am pro-nudism personally, but because clothing covers up innocence and joy.
This one is easier to interpret. I was an ESL teacher. I had students who spoke Spanish as their first language and students who learned to speak Mandarin Chinese as their first language. It makes for a classroom that becomes a cultural mixing bowl. You have to learn how to deal with people who are very different than you,, but are benefitting from learning English together.
Every picture the artist draws or paints has its own weirdness embedded inside it. The way the artist sees it is probably never the same as how the viewer thinks about it. And that is as it should be. But as a viewer of art, it is hoped that you will at least try to think about what the artist means to say..
Leave a comment
Filed under artwork, colored pencil, coloring, commentary, Paffooney
Tagged as Saturday Art Day