Yes, I am a wizard. That is a complicated thing to say. It is complicated because a wizard has to be a wise man, and wisdom has to begin with the idea that you know practically nothing about anything… but you can find out. So one version of me has to be my wizard D&D character, the wizard Eli Tragedy. This is because I know practically nothing about anything… but I am willing to not be stupid and look stuff up before I tell you anything and pretend it is a wise thing to say.
I have been thinking about who I am because I want to re-do my About the Author page. And that leads to the difficulty of explaining who Mickey actually is. You see, I am actually lots of different people in my head. Mickey is the cartoonist, the humorist, the clown. He is not the every-day me. He is the goofy and foofy and lovey-to-drawie part of me. And yes, I know some of those are not real words. Mickey is like that. He speaks Mickian Goof Speak. I have no control over that part of him. I am not certain where this Mickey-part of my soul originated, but it may be the result of too much TV when I was a kid.
And of course there is the Teacher-Me, Reluctant Rabbit, the person who stood in front of groups of twelve-thirteen-and-fourteen-year-olds for three decades and tap-danced, told stories, stood on my head, and begged them to internalize at least a lesson or two of what I tried to teach them.
And the wizard part of me was just barely wise enough to realize that a teacher can open doors, but you can’t shove a kid through. They have to take the critical learning step themselves. They have to want to learn something. But even though they actually do the learning themselves, they will come back to me in later years saying, “Oh, thank you, you taught me so much!” when really all I did was be a guide on the side and stayed out of their way.
And, of course, there is the Cowboy Me. I live in Texas. I was a Belmond Bronco in high school, but I became a Cotulla Cowboy for 24 years of my teaching career. I ended up as a Naaman Forest Ranger. I have worn the hat a lot in my life, being as much of a straight shooter as the Shakiest Gun In The West can be, always trying to shoot the six-guns out of the bad guy’s hands rather than shoot people.
So how do I explain a thing like that? Probably the way I just did it (ironically). I should use Paffoonies I have created over time and waffle about stupid stuff that might make people laugh when they realize how self-contradictory it is. And I should say it like I mean it… because I probably do.
Sometimes all you want to do is doodle-bop!… To draw in pen and ink and post your derfiest doofenwacky doodles so you can just make your way through another danged day.
The Need for Easy Pants
I have never been an advocate of hard-to-wear pants. Pants are suppose to be an aid to civilization, allowing a man to hide away the sensitive and sorta ugly bits that make him more like the animals, and in certain situations, unable to access the rational data-base in his little bean-like head. My own need for comfortable pants is further complicated by an enlarged prostate that presses on the spine, as well as two lower vertebrae eroded by years of arthritis. Pants have to be tight enough to hold me together, yet not so tight they cut off the blood flow and kill my lower half. It would be danged inconvenient to have to walk around without any legs, or any butt, or any naughty bits. If I wore Urkel pants, I might even lose my heart and my stomach, things I’m almost certain I would miss. And I wouldn’t be able to do the Urkel dance, either.
Of course, there are times when the whole issue of easy pants can become a real concern. I am trying to make my way through the labyrinth of problems of the retired on a budget. So I tend to favor cheap pants. I buy most of my pants from Goodwill Inc. They are mostly used pants… or previously loved pants… or previously worn-out pants. The pants I am wearing at the moment have developed holes in the region of the crotch… not a good place for unwanted air-conditioning. And the pants I bought to replace them have buttons in place of a zipper in the fly. I didn’t realize the potential for spontaneous bathroom dancing that the combination of buttons and arthritic fingers could cause. My best pair of blue jeans are the kind of denim known UN-affectionately as “high-water pants”. This, of course, leads to inconveniently aerated ankles.
The final verdict is in about easy-pants issues. To avoid all pants-related issues you have to give up wearing pants. And I do still have issues with becoming a nudist as well. So the struggle to obtain and wear easy pants is a never-ending battle that we simply cannot afford to give up on.
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Filed under angry rant, autobiography, commentary, feeling sorry for myself, foolishness, goofy thoughts, humor
Tagged as easy pants, goofiness, humor, Jimmy Neutron, paffooney, Steve Urkel, wearing pants