A Conspiracy of Doody-Heads

Dumb Luck

I enjoy talking about, reading about, promoting, and debunking conspiracy theories of all sorts.  It reaches a point that any time the topic comes up… Elvis faking his own death, the Roswell crash, lizard-men from the center of the hollow Earth… you know, all that good stuff… my kids roll their eyes and attempt to change the subject before I can get on a roll.  Okay, I get that.  Other people like to see history as a static, unchangeable thing set in stone.  It makes them comfortable to believe the same things others believe about what is ultimately true.  It makes them uncomfortable to think about how what they know might not be grounded in fact, especially if it is not grounded in fact because someone they have always trusted intentionally misrepresented or altered the facts.

I have always laughed about Elvis being sighted eating chili in a Wendy’s somewhere in Michigan.  It is a joke that people are ever swayed by the spurious journalism of National Enquirer and such trashy fluff.  And yet, there are questions out there that haven’t been fully resolved.  People are right to wonder and demand investigation, even into silly things.  There are anomalies that real investigative journalists have uncovered surrounding Elvis’ apparent demise.  For instance, why does the autopsy DNA not match the tissue sample from the liver biopsy performed on Elvis in 1975?  Why does all the evidence put forward by researchers only indicate that his 1977 death was faked, and nothing debunkers uncover actually disproves that?  This controversy has entertainment value, and people will constantly make jokes about it and continue to clamor for more proof.  Myself, as a conspiracy aficionado,  I believe there is good reason to believe he did fake his death, and may still be alive.  However, I also think that if he was driven to such extremes that he had to fake his own death, we should give him the peace he seeks and leave him alone.  Jokes about Elvis’ love children with space aliens are much funnier when you don’t have to worry that Elvis will overhear and be offended.

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Alien lizard men from the center of the Earth are another matter.  Have you never heard that the Queen of England, the Clintons, and other important world leaders are actually shape-shifting reptoid aliens intent on taking over planet Earth to feed on its human population?  If you haven’t, it is not because David Icke hasn’t been working hard to promote the idea and introduce it to you.  This former soccer player and broadcaster makes a mint on his conspiracy-theory lectures and programs.  He is very much the same kind of huckster and con man that once sold snake-oil cure-alls across this country.  I have found this particular conspiracy theory easy to debunk.  It does have entertainment value and makes for some very interesting humor.  But it also puts lot of money in the pockets of people who are intentionally misleading others into thinking this absurdist science fiction is somehow based on facts.  And it makes people distrust world leaders for all the wrong reasons.  We should vote Ted Cruz out of office for his despicable policies, not because he is a lizard man from the center of the Earth.

So, why do I associate myself at all with conspiracy theories?  Well, why do some comedians like Stephen Colbert whose politics are obviously liberal associate themselves with conservative politicians and focus so much on that side of the political debate?  It is a source of great humor, and it actually adds meaningfully to the over-all debate.  Conspiracies do exist.  We have been lied to about important things like the death of JFK, the events of 9-11, and possibly, the Roswell crash.  The truth matters to me.  It matters almost as much as the ability to make fun Elvis sightings and lizard people like Texas Senator Ted Cruz (pictured above in his natural form).

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Filed under conspiracy theory, humor, Paffooney, telling lies

My Dreams Have Wings

Wings of Imagination

My Dreams Have Wings (a poem)

Sometimes when I fall asleep,

I don’t drift down to slumber,

I grow great red wings,

And I take to the air,

To soar…

To escape…

To live…

Or simply fly away.

Adolphe-William Bouguereau Paintings 50 (1)

Adolphe William Bouguereau

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Stupid Is Lovable

Stupid Boy

One does not have to be smart in order to be lovable.   In fact, I think, based on my years as a teacher and reputed smart person, being smart is actually a handicap to being loved by others.  Some of the sweetest, most lovable students I ever met were the the special-education students who were mentally handicapped.   I worked with them at times as a substitute teacher in 2006 and 2007.  I also encountered them routinely doing hallway duty at Naaman Forest High School.  They always said hello.  They always smiled.  Though they rarely knew my name.  Some of them went out of their way to shake hands with me and ask me how my day was.  I discovered along the way that teachers who worked with them on a daily basis tended to be nicer, more welcoming and friendly than other teachers.  That simple enthusiasm and likability is obviously contagious.

I promise, doing the things that happy but somewhat stupid people do works when you have to deal with others on a daily basis.  I know because I tried it.  It took me several years to work past the foolish teacher-notion that you have be the boss and you have to be mean to get students to learn.  You start trying to iron out bad behaviors by calling them out and shouting them down, which only leads to threats that have to be carried out, students sitting in misery in the principal’s office, parents calling with concerns or trying to boss and bully you, and more trips to the store for antacids and headache pills.

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What actually works better is meeting the students at the door with a stupid grin on my face before class ever starts.  “Good morning,” I say.  “You are looking smarter than usual today.  You must be ready to learn the most important lessons anyone ever learned.”

“Are we doing something in class today?” they always say.

“Of course we are,” I answer with my stupid grin, “wonderful things!”

When the lessons start and the class clown puts wasted sticky-notes on his eyelids and ears and tongue, I don’t get mad and tell him to straighten up or else.  I tell him, “Something is different about the way you look today.  Did you try a new hair gel or something?”  When the others break up in giggles, I tell him, “Whatever it is, it makes you look good.  You should wear it that way for every lesson you do.”

Sometimes you have to stop a serious consideration of themes in the Kurt Vonnegut short story from the Literature Book to take a serious wiggle-break.  Students need to stand up and shake apart whatever stiff dead-parts they may have grown from sitting too long in one spot.  Most of them shake their behinds.  You know, the part they use for thinking most of the time.

You do these stupid things, and the students begin to love your class.  They begin to love what they are reading.  It is a simple, stupid thing… but so very necessary.

Of course you can’t cure all the dead-brains, jerks, and snarks this way.  Some will never buy in.  But it works with most.  Kids will behave well for you if you love the stupid parts they all have in them.  They will love you because you let them be stupid without serious consequences.

Now, I know there are many… some of them principals and teacher-evaluators who will be offended by me talking about kids being stupid.  Some will mistakenly think I am insulting them.  But I am not.  I often need to make a distinction between the kind of stupid I am talking about here and the angry, hurtful kind that I prefer to call ignorance.  That kind of stupid is the kind that makes Donald Trump, a person who actually knows better, call Mexican immigrants rapists.  It is a different thing to do something stupid because you are unintentionally wrong about something, or impaired somehow (like me when my blood sugar is low), or valuing silly over accurate.  Stupidity often can’t be helped.  but when you demonize Muslims because you want to make political points with people who are angry and fearful and honestly don’t know anything about Muslims they haven’t heard from ignorant people, then ignorance means ignoring what you probably know is true anyway to do something that intentionally chooses not to make use of whatever useful intelligence you have.

So forgive me for writing a stupid essay about stupid being lovable.  I can’t help it.  I am just stupid sometimes.

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Filed under humor, Paffooney, strange and wonderful ideas about life, teaching

The Superb Owl

NFL Annual Owner's Meeting 2015

Explaining to my wife why I had to watch the Super Bowl, even though my favorite team was humiliated in the last round… I tried to text her about the game.  The auto-correct kept insisting I was planning to watch the Superb Owl on the big-screen TV.

Well, it was kind of a Superb Owl.  I went in hating the Panthers for their treatment of my team.  I have also always been a Broncos fan.  I actually played for the Broncos in high school.  I played outside linebacker for the Belmond Broncos in Belmond, Iowa.

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Carolina was supposed to win because Cam Newton had been so dominant through the entire 2016 season.

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A lot of people I know hate Cam Newton because of the dancing and celebrating.  They seem to think he is inappropriately arrogant and somehow bad because of it.  But I don’t agree.  I kind of like him.  He has that easy Magic Johnson sparkle in his eyes.  Talent and ability roll off him and infect his whole team with confidence and swagger.  I actually like the thing he started with giving touchdown footballs away to kids in the crowd.  I think he’s a gifted athlete and a good role  model.  But, of course, I do not have that innate redneck ability to find fault in people of color.

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Of course, this was probably Peyton Manning’s final game.  It was nice for him to win a final Superb Owl to finish off such a monumental career.  He is suffering from numerous injuries and eroding skills.  He had to win the game with his brain instead of his arm.  He is also under a cloud of suspicion about using human growth hormone to come back from injury.  I am also not offended by athletes that want to take advantage of pharmacological science to prolong and enhance their careers.  If it is actually cheating and not just something we are presumptuously trying to protect them from, then I don’t think the players themselves are primarily responsible.  The clubs, the owners, and the media drive that problem and are enablers.

Despite all the ruffled owl feathers, the game was a classic good game.  And the team that most deserved to win is the one that took home the Superb Owl trophy.  Denver has a magnificent defense, and they were able to keep Newton and the Panthers from doing all the remarkable things they are capable of doing.  I wish Arizona’s defense had played that well.  The MVP Von Miller personally helped the Denver defense score a fumble-recovery touchdown that probably decided the game.  He also stripped the ball from Newton late in the game to take away Carolina’s last shot at a come-from-behind victory.  The Broncos earned that victory.  Peyton didn’t actually win it, so much as he preserved it by not messing up so badly the Panthers could recover.  It was not a showboat game like the Cardinals played against the Steelers in 2009.  It was a good defensive game.

And I am not one of those people who want to make fun of Cam Newton for being upset at the loss.  He has a right to disappointment, especially considering how drastic his personal change in fortunes really was in this game.  My team was where he is now two weeks ago.  So, this was an ugly, messy, hard-fought game, and I am really glad I got the wife to let me watch it with her on the big-screen TV she bought at Christmas time… Superb Owl 50!

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Filed under feeling sorry for myself, football fan, humor, sports

Binge-Watching

Being confined to home and bed by illness and my car getting in an accident without me in it, I didn’t have many other choices this weekend than to try binge-watching a TV show.  I had been meaning to check out the ABC show Quantico since I first saw ads for it this last summer.  But I didn’t get around to it until now.  So, I watched eleven episodes this weekend and am now basically caught up to the present.   And also, basically, hooked for life.

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I started this, of course, by telling myself that if the show was no good, I would know that after the first episode, and I wouldn’t have to continue.  But I had already learned the hard way that the uncritical critic in me can get caught up in really bad TV shows and learn to enjoy them.  My son in the Marines gifted me with a subscription to Netflix on the promise that I would watch the show he was addicted to on Netflix called Supernatural.

Honestly, I had to suffer through four or five episodes of monster-of-the-week with that show before I got seriously hooked.  It was a klunky-dumb show with a macho-dumb-guy main character, until it began weaving stories together into a main story arc and then dipping into the well of self-referential humor.  You could see them getting better and better with each episode, and by now I have watched ten seasons worth of episodes… and the thing is somehow still running.  I have to write a future post about that show too.

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But this post is about a show that I actually watched eleven episodes of in two day’s time.  Quantico is an FBI mystery series where they are running two parallel plots at the same time, the training of the main characters before the big attack, and the manhunt for the main character played by beautiful Priyanka Chopra after the big attack.  It is a fascinating exercise in story-telling where no character on the screen is one hundred percent guilt-free, and the story seems to focus on a different perpetrator each episode.  After eleven episodes and the deaths of two characters, I still don’t know who is guilty.  At one point I even thought the main character herself was guilty and pulling the wool over our eyes the whole time.  It has the pull and intensity of a really good Sherlock Holmes’ story with twists and turns and double-backs galore.  I may have to re-watch all eleven episodes to get it straight.

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And it just keeps me going with a need to know more about each and every one of these intricate and well-developed characters.  I am astonished that a plot-driven entertainment like this is capable of developing different over-all themes in each of the episodes.  And I am thoroughly impressed by the level of intelligent creativity exhibited by program creators on a consistent basis.  It is almost too smart to be popular with the viewing public.  It is the same thing my son encountered with the Supernatural TV show.  There isn’t anywhere to turn to find people who have watched it and understood it well enough to discuss it with me.  Most of the people I know don’t want to actually discuss themes and ideas from TV shows with me anyway… but especially not brain-intensive shows.

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So feel free to tell me in the comments how awful you think the show is and why I am so terribly terminally wrong about it.  Or not.  I am an uncritical TV critic and you can’t spoil something like this for me no matter how many syllables are in the bad words you use.

 

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Filed under humor, TV as literature, TV review

Ugly Bug Cars

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My poor little pony has a broken leg… er… wheel.  I was told by insurance to get a rental car to drive while it is getting fixed… or maybe shot in the head, because that’s what they do with ponies that have broken legs.   They don’t want me driving it with a wobble-wheel that may fall off at any moment.  Of course, if the insurance is paying for it, they expect you to go as cheaply as possible.  That’s how I ended up driving this little white roller skate that somebody inflated with a bicycle pump.  Truly, I could’ve designed a sturdier and better-looking car using the old Ritz cracker boxes I build castles from, and some chocolate donuts on sticks for wheels.  The thing does NOT have a Rolls-Royce engine.  When  it starts, the engine makes a winding-up noise like, “brrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRAHP!” that after three minutes finally gives a little kick and shifts into second gear.  The squirrel that runs in the exercise wheel that makes the engine go is surely both spastic and epileptic.  It has seizures going around corners.  I do not imagine myself driving anywhere in it faster than 35 miles per hour.  In Dallas suburban traffic it is going to get me honked at a lot.  Not just your ordinary “Go-faster-stupid!” honks, but real, LOUD honks of impending doom piling up behind me.

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Here you see it grinning its toothless fat grandpa-grin at me from the parking lot at Braums’ Ice Cream, the first place it successfully took me after getting it from Enterprise Rental Co.  It was obviously quite happy with itself.  My kids observed, while looking at it for the first time, that it has a smiley face on it that reminds you of a Japanese manga chibi character with little license-plate-gray Hitler mustache.  Let me see if I can enhance the effect so you can more clearly see what they meant;

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I truly believe that I am going to have fun making fun of this goofy little car.

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Filed under autobiography, humor, pessimism, photo paffoonies, Uncategorized

The Joys of Texas Roadways

Yesterday I was in a car accident that I wasn’t even a participant in.  Wait, is that the right way to say it?  I was in a car wreck when I wasn’t in my car.  No, that doesn’t sound right either.  Driving skills in Texas were definitely on display yesterday as I lay ill in my bed and a passing Texas motorist unintentionally held a mini demolition derby with my car on the street.

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As you can see from the un-funny picture Paffooney above, it was mainly the left hind leg of the old pony that took the hit.  The other car hit the rear driver’s side wheel with enough force to flatten the tire, wreck the rim, and bend the end of the axle so that, with an emergency spare in place, I could still pick up my kids from school, though it was with a definite wibble-wobble added to the experience.  It was an inconvenient accident for me.  But it was worse for the other guy.  His car bounced off mine and skidded down the street about 200 feet.  It came to rest against the curb with a front wheel so bent that the steering wheel could no longer move it.  It sat at a weird angle to the rest of the car.

The young guy driving was rather shaken up.  He had trouble calling for the police to come and make an accident report because his hands were still shaking, yet he felt guilty enough that he wouldn’t let me make the call.  I tried to be as calm and helpful as possible.  I found out he was also originally from Iowa.  He also moved to Texas for work after college.  He could easily have been me thirty years ago.  He said that he had just dropped a friend off in the neighborhood, and the friend had left a drink cup from 7-Eleven on the dash.  When the cup fell, he made the mistake of trying to catch it, and drove directly into my car.

The timing of the accident was miserable.  I was already feeling ill before it happened, and it caused me to have to stand outside to give and send information to his insurance, my insurance, the police officer, and AAA Automotive Assistance to make my car drive-able  enough to get my kids from school during the Friday afternoon rush.  The repairs are going to be extensive because of a bent axle.  But I survived it.  And it gave me something to post for today.  So let me end with a reprise of my cartoon homage to Texas city driving.

The Car Chase of Life

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Filed under autobiography, feeling sorry for myself, humor, Paffooney

Building Cardboard Castles

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The current state of my cardboard castle is pictured above.  I probably need to remind you that I am making this thing with my own hands.  It is made from old Ritz Cracker boxes with a layer of cutout skin printed from the computer.  It is put together with glue, tape, and a little bit of ingenuity… oh, and a lot of “insert tab A into slot B”.  It is shaping up into a very Elizabethan style of castle.  I originally started it to create props for use with the family Dungeons and Dragons game.  But it grows into a project existing for its own sake, a piece of artwork that is made just like so many others I have done before, in many small steps, one piece at a time.

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Here we are stepping back in time to what it looked like before, with fewer elements created.  You can see that the essentials are already added in here… the tavern and the outhouse… can’t live without either of those.

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It does, indeed, make a worthy addition and contribution to the ongoing D&D campaign currently journeying through the eastern cities of Aundair in the realm of Eberron.  We are seeking the stolen dragon eggs, and have recently conquered the castle of the Duke of Evernight, freeing it from its terrible curse.

But I do truly believe that the key to this art project, in fact, the theme of this whole post, is that big, impressive things are built our of one small step following another over time.  You build brick walls with a bricklayer placing one brick at a time.

Novels, too, are accomplished this way… one small step after another.  As are both the marriage and the raising of children in the life of a family.  Nothing worth building goes up in a flash… unless it’s built by the Flash… but he is only a character from a comic book and not real.  So, I continue to build.  One day soon, I shall have battlements capable of warding off goblins and orcs.  And for today, I have added another brick to the walls of my blog.

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Spending Money

Rainbow peacock

I went with the WordPress premium because even though I don’t have enough money to spend on medicine that is supposed to keep me alive (in theory), I need to be able to post new artwork to my blog.  Picture-people like me need purple-paisley posting privileges because we live for color, form, pattern, and composition.  I reached the three gigabyte limit  on pictures with my free blog site, so I had to, like a starving drug addict, spend precious resources on feeding my habit.  So expect me to play with the new toy in the coming month.  I have some experimenting to do.

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The Ghost Dog

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Before I begin this very confusing and confusticating tale, I need to start by stating clearly that I do not believe in ghosts.  I am firmly convinced that there is a rational scientific explanation for everything, and those things we may be tempted to see as a spirit living on after death of the body are really only misperceptions of other things… and wishful thinking.

In spite of all that, we have a ghost dog living in our house.

I know that contradicts everything I just said, but human beings are like that.  Practically everything about this life is shot full of contradictions and impossibilities.  So, let me lay out those contradictions as I encountered them.

This house we live in now was built in the 1970’s.  It was lived in by a middle-class white family.  A woman showed up here ten years ago wanting to look at the house because she grew up in it, and it had been sold when her parents died.  So this house is not young enough to be free of potential spirits of those who lived before.  But no tragic deaths, the kind that the lore says cause ghosts to walk, happened in this house.  Except for the possibility of a family pet hit by a car in this neighborhood.

The first time I saw it was when I got out of the bathtub one evening in early January.  As I opened the door to the bathroom, still not having my glasses on, I saw a dog sitting in the upstairs hallway, panting with its tongue hanging out.  Now, we do have a dog, but our dog, Jade, is a small yellow-and-white dog.  The dog I glimpsed out of the corner of my near-sighted, astigmatic eye with no corrective lens in front of it was a rather large chocolate brown dog.  I jumped a bit and looked directly at it.  It was no longer there with a speed that gave the lie to the notion that it was a real dog.  It had to be a trick of the eye and the goofy old brain.  Our mind is wired in a way that makes sense out of every visual stimulus-blob  in the best way that it can.  I must have misinterpreted some shadow or blob of color in a way that my brain instantly converted into a chocolate-brown Labrador-retriever sort of dog… with a goofy, open-mouthed dog-smile.

So, I didn’t really think anything more about it.  I investigate ghost stories and conspiracy theories all the time as a part of the kind of surrealist writing I like to do.  I always find those wedges of doubt that smugly allow me to dismiss the Don Knotts’ Mr. Chicken response.

Then, I saw it again.  I have to get up in the night to go to the bathroom at least three times every night.  About a week ago, I was making one of these necessary nocturnal treks when I happened to look down the staircase in passing.  I saw the tail end of a big chocolate-colored dog trotting past on the way towards the garage.  My heart leaped.  And then I reminded myself we have a dog and she lives on a very different schedule than we do.  I went to the bathroom, and then went down the stairs to investigate.  The family room door was shut and blocked with a clothes-hamper.  We have been trying to keep the dog out of the family room because she has a bad habit of trying to pee on the family room carpet in the middle of the night to mark her territory.  There are certain discolored spots on the rug that we have worked very hard to keep dry.  And I found our dog asleep on the foot of my son’s bed where she always sleeps.  Whatever I saw wasn’t her.  But again, I didn’t have my glasses on.  I began mulling over the possibility of this post at that point.

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Last night made this post a necessity.  While returning from my nocturnal pee-break after midnight, I distinctly heard a dog whimpering, coming from the landing of the stairs.  I stepped into the landing, and I still heard it.  If it was not a dream sound or a misinterpretation of my own stomach growling, then I was hearing an invisible dog whimpering.  It didn’t last for more than a minute.  Again, the dog herself was nowhere near the place.

Should I be scared?  Of course not.  Ghosts don’t exist, do they?  And even if this one does exist somehow, it was a beloved family pet, more likely to protect us than hurt us.  So I was able to get back to sleep easily.  But this post became absolutely necessary.  If you read in the newspapers that a family in Carrollton, Texas was eaten by wolves in the middle of the night some night… tell somebody about my unfounded suspicions.

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