Tag Archives: goofiness

The Rules for Collecting

20141207_150302  Oh, no… My secret is out.  I am a doll collector.  (Wait, wasn’t I supposed to claim they are “action figures” so that I can get away with being a man who, at the age of nearly 60, still plays with dolls?”)  I got started down this dark path back in 1965 when my parents bought me a G.I. Joe sailor for my ninth birthday.  It was the beginning of an addiction that has dogged me even down to this very day.

There are some things that just aren’t easy to admit to, like being gay, or being a socialist, or being a werewolf.  Well, I am not gay and I am not a socialist, so don’t worry about that.  Those are not really terrible things to be when it comes right down to it.  I have friends that are gay, friends that are socialists, and friends that are… um…  well, enough about those things.  I am writing about the terrible scourge of doll collecting.  In order to control such a rare and debilitating disease, I had to come up with a set of rules that would keep me from becoming a penniless hobo living in a cardboard refrigerator box in an alley with thousands of Barbie dolls.  So let me explain the sacred rules that have kept me at least partially sane for almost fifty years.

Rule #1;  Thou shalt only collect and obsess over twelve-inch dolls and action figures.  That allows for literally thousands of choices to pursue, and rules out the many size variations like the three-inch G.I. Joe’s and the three-inch Star Wars figures and all the Mego eight-inch superheroes who were everywhere in the Seventies and Eighties, but now are rare and expensive.

Rule #2; Thou shalt not collect and obsess over dolls and figures that cost more than twenty dollars.  This is the poverty prevention rule that keeps an obsession from breaking the bank and wreaking havoc throughout the rest of my life.  I have only broken this rule on rare occasions for hard to acquire dolls or figures, and most of those were actually presents paid for by somebody else.  I can blame the exceptions mostly on people who know about my weakness and exploit it for their own personal reasons… hopefully because they just like to make me happy.

Rule #3;  Thou must seeketh the lost and forlorn doll and redeem it from destruction.  Whenever I can, I look for dolls at Goodwill stores and yard sales.  I have bought a ton of naked and sometimes broken Action Man, Barbie, Max Steel, Ken, and G.I. Joe dolls.  I then try to find or make clothes for them.  My daughter went through her Barbie period in a most destructive manner.  She didn’t merely discard dolls and Disney princesses, she beheaded, dismembered, disrobed, and chewed them.  I have rescued and repaired many of them, but only after securing her promise that she doesn’t want to play with them or eat them any longer.  I should note, though, that I no longer acquire dolls in this way, now that she is middle school aged and wouldn’t be caught dead with a doll.

Rule #4;   Thou shalt not let your daughter be the the only one who has fun pulling them apart, but you will put them back together again in ways that make them into something new.

So, these are the sacred rules of collecting which shall not be violated in the pursuit of this weird religion, the bringing together of a multitude of dolls.

That is my “Enterprise Collection” above.  Specifically the “Original Series Enterprise Collection”.  Look more closely.

20141207_150408   Spock is holding a Vulcan harp-thingy (whose name I won’t quote here because I don’t want to seem too much like a Trekkie… and besides, I forgot what it is called and am too lazy to look it up again… What can I say?  I’m old.)  Kirk is wearing a Wrath of Khan movie uniform.

This green Barbie doll is a Goodwill rescue turned into a green Orion dancing girl with paint, sequins, material from a quilting project, and a hot glue gun.  20141207_150449

20141207_150510  Uhura was the hardest member of the team to track down and acquire.  After Kaybee Toys went out of business, I had to turn to the internet to get hold of this beauty.  I also had to pay $24.

You may also have noticed that Sulu is missing from my Original Series set.  Well, I’m still working on that one.  But I do owe a debt to J.J. Abrams for making a new movie version of Star Trek and inspiring a new set of twelve inch dolls.

20141207_150710

And let me not forget Rule #5, the most important rule…  Thou shalt play with the dolls you collect.

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Goofy Me

The more I looked at the silly simpering grin on my old foolish face, the more I realized it needed a few things added.  So I added a few of my dream babies.  You know, those characters I have created in cartoons and novels who may have started with my own three kids, or kids I grew up with, or kids I taught over the years, but ended up with a large injection of my own mental DNA in their final, fictional selves.  So here is a self portrait that I privately refer to by the title “Goofy Me”.

Self Portraixxxt  Man, is that ever goofy!

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Self Portrait and Mildly Broken Heart

DSCN5418  Hermoine, Vintage Ricky, and Vintage Skipper are inspecting my heart monitor in this silly Paffooney  Photo.  I have been wearing the thing since Monday to hopefully detect an irregular heart-beat problem.  It’s kinda like when you hear a knocking noise in the engine, but when you take it in to the car dealer, you can’t get it to make that sound even once.  Two trips to the doctor and two EKG’s have not been enough to fix the knocking in my engine, and so I am still on a heart-attack/stroke watch.  Four times in the last two nights I have felt the racing heartbeat and painful tugging sensation in my chest that could spell the instant end.  But I am not worried.  I now have the opportunity to lay in my bed all day and play with my toys… err… admire my collection.  I apologize for Ricky not putting on proper clothes for this post, but they haven’t made clothes for a doll like him since the early seventies.  They are a little hard to come by.  And they always sold Barbie dolls in bathing suits when he was new to the world.  So he goes about mostly naked and I have to apologize for him whenever we are in polite company.

“So, Mickey,” you are probably saying to yourself, “it’s a heart problem, not a brain problem, right?”

Well, if my hyperactive butterfly of a heart sends a clot the wrong direction, it could be a stroke, a brain-curdling, word-mincing, vegetable-making sort of brain problem.  If it’s all the same to God, I’d much rather have a heart attack, thank you.

I am really, honestly not worried though.  My career is ended.  I can no longer get up in front of a classroom, a basically captive audience, and inflict upon them a never-ending spiel of word-wit and vocabulary-bloating that made kids laugh and love my class (based on the fact that even though they thought they were avoiding learning to write and read and speak in my English Class, we were actually practicing those things bell to bell).  Though I miss it so terribly it probably isn’t helping my current condition, I really have done my job and taken my best shot at winning the ongoing War Against Ignorance.  I actually make more money now on my full retirement pension than I was making month to month as a teacher.  (Mostly due to deductions for health problems and absences from work).  I have the chance to draw some and paint some and write a lot now.  I can do more story-telling of the written-down variety, and not waste my tall tales in the very absorbent air of the classroom.  I get to joke about my condition more, and hide my rotted out hulk of a body behind a computer screen so no one has to cringe while looking at my fuzzy, spotty old form.  I can use words to be beautiful in the reader’s mind’s eye once more.  Oh, and I made the mistake of promising to show you a self portrait.  So, try to keep your lunch down, because here it is;

Self Portrait

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The Rest of my Classroom Gallery

Here’s what’s left in my camera from school white boards and lessons.

Photo0107 Photo0110 Photo0112 Photo0118 Photo0123 Photo0126 Photo0127 Photo0133 Photo0137 Photo0139 Photo0144 Photo0146 Photo0149 Photo0142There you have it, the results of 31 years of doodling on the chalkboard (which became the dry erase board).  And yes, I did tell them the cartoon fairy drew all the pictures.  Especially when they were in my class for the second or third year when they asked, “Who does all the pictures on the board?”  And yes, I started doing this back in dinosaur days in white chalk on a green blackboard, followed by colored chalk, which later became a gray marker-board for washable marker, and finally became dry erase white board.  And I really bought my own chalk and markers too.  Teachers do that, you know.

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Cartoon Board-Work

I admit it.  I was a goofy teacher.  Kids never knew for sure whether I was serious, joking, or halfway in-between.  I worked for hours sometimes preparing the chalkboard, or later, white board, for the days lesson, putting key points and reminders up in cartoon form.  I used characters, symbols, jokes, pokes, and silliness to get the idea across.  Principals and others who evaluated my teaching always wondered why my classroom sounded so raucous and wild from outside the door with kids laughing, music playing, and sometimes desks being shuffled and shoved around the room.  The perfect-classroom-is-a-quiet-classroom crowd always hated my teaching style.  But the ones who came in and participated, got involved in paying attention and watching the kids interact with the content loved it.  I am not bragging.  My lesson plans were a mess filled with booby traps, explosions waiting to happen, un-intended consequences (also called teachable moments), and brainstorms that threatened at any moment to electrocute somebody with lightning.  Teaching is a dangerous business.  But the point is, there is an art to teaching that brings out the artist in you.  I offer the following evidence;

Photo0004 Photo0010 Photo0013 Photo0014 Photo0016 Photo0018 Photo0025 Photo0033

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Sentimental Movies

majestic1_1024x768  Wow!  Such a movie!  It is a movie about the movies.  A historical fiction about movie history.  It tells a bittersweet fable of the 1950’s, when the Un-American Activities Committee was conducting its witch-hunts in Hollywood.  And it’s about a postwar town that is still suffering from heavy losses among their young men.  And about a case of amnesia and mistaken identity.  It is hard to explain, so go watch the dang movie!

majestic  I borrowed this image of the movie’s movie theater from a blogger, prasenjitchaudhuri.wordpress.com, whose review will probably make more sense than mine does.  But that theater marquee is the one icon from the movie that I first fell in love with.

As I said, this is a movie about the movies and a love of the movies.  It weaves in through the story of 50’s communist witch hunts a tale about a somewhat spineless young man who bumps his head, loses his memory, and is adopted by a whole town as a missing war hero come back from the dead.  It hits every Frank Capra and Jimmy Stewart cliche in the books.  Just like It’s a Wonderful Life it makes me laugh so hard I have a wheezing fit, followed a couple of scenes later by something that makes me want to cry so hard that I will drown out all the weeping females in the audience with half-stifled basso sobs.  Any movie that I walk out of embarrassed that my face is tear-streaked, is a movie that made me feel so profoundly good about life and love and laughter, that I want to see it again and again.  There are so many movie-references in the film that I need to watch it two or three times just for that.  For gosh sakes, the idol head from Raiders of the Lost Ark makes a cameo appearance in the movie within the movie, Sand Pirates of the Sahara.

download  So, basically, I watched this movie for the first time on DVD at home in bed, still recovering from scary new heart condition #2, and had a chance to laugh and cry and enjoy this movie without any fear of being laughed at for how I responded to it.  And, so what did I do about it?  Why naturally, I got on WordPress and exposed my secret shame to you.  That makes about as much sense as everybody in that little town grabbing an amnesiac out of the river and making him into their beloved son.  What a great movie!  Wow!majestic5.jpg-r_760_x-f_jpg-q_x-20020507_022955

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The Inner Clown

HarkerSometimes it is entirely necessary to acknowledge the fool and the helpless, hopeless clown that lives inside us all. Okay, I hear what you are thinking.  Not you.  There is no clown inside of you… only me.  That is one of a myriad of mistakes that makes me acknowledge that I am far short of perfection.  I am not a know-it-all.  I am a know-it-sometimes who too often tries to bluster his way through like he isn’t completely unsure of himself and terrified that other people will see what he truly is and laugh him out of business.  I am a pratfall, butt-of-the-joke, snicker-at-snidely sort of buffoon who never gets it right and deserves every guffaw thrown at him.  Clowns are often all blue, squishy, and sad on the inside.  That is often the only thing that makes us funny.  Do you know what brought on this wave of self pity?  Of course you do.  No man ever went through a day of stumble-muffs and misquotes, goof-ups and stubbed toes like I did without feeling at least a little bit that way.  Oh?  Not you, again?  I hear you.  It must be nice to never make mistakes.   clllown  I have my car registered with the wrong registration sticker.  When I tried to get the State inspection done, I found out my car is now supposed to be the old van my wife destroyed in a car accident last spring.  My bank’s bill-pay service has twice sent money to the electric company which somehow lost the electronic check.  I can’t even handle idiot-proof details any more.  My son who was home on leave went back to the Marine Corps early this morning.  I took him to the airport and had to bring all his deodorant spray, shampoo, and toothpaste back home with me because soap on an airplane equals terrorist.  Apparently that should’ve all gone into the bags we checked, because that stuff only explodes in the carry-on bags, never the baggage compartment.  I am called out for my many writing mistakes, even the ones I made on purpose trying to be funny, and my self-editor let me down on several occasions in the past week.  So I am depressed.  At life I am, at best, a .125 hitter, barely making more than one hit in every ten at-bats.  I am a rodeo clown trying to play in a basketball game, and the bulls are all Michael Jordan.  (How’s that for a mangled metaphor?)  Francois  But it isn’t all the blues that I am singing.  Good things have happened too.  Life continues in my unlikely body afflicted with six incurable diseases, and I am a cancer survivor since 1983.  The golf-ball sized growth the surgeon removed from the back of my head last week was benign, no sign of cancer.  My son was home on leave.  Every day is it’s own miracle.  And I have gotten some writing done.  So what if every editor and every reader doesn’t fall in love with every single word?   The story goes on for at least another day.

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Midterm Elections

Politics is, unfortunately, a game with rigged rules that you and I need to win, but have only a snowball’s chance in H-E-double-hockey-sticks of winning.  Why do we need to win?  And why can’t we?  It is a matter of how government serves us and who it really belongs to.  It is supposed to work democratically, enacting the will of the majority for the general welfare.  It is supposed to belong to the American people who vote to make it so.  Unfortunately, the Dark Side of the Force has waxed powerful and Darth Dick Cheney and his apprentice Darth Elefans (possibly the Sith Lord name of Ted Cruz) have taken power.  The government has become a fascist oligarchy with Sith Lords and corporations enslaving the masses, crushing the middle class, and stripping us of every benefit our tax dollars are supposed to be paying   for.

I know that sounds like I am a liberal, and many of my Republican-leaning friends in both Texas and Iowa cringe at the sound of it.  To them “liberal” means bad and “conservative” means good.  They have all stopped reading this before it reaches this sentence.  But to me, liberal simply means that I care.  I want to see government help people even if that means that I have to make personal sacrifices to do it.  Conservative seems to mean more and more that such a person is only interested in protecting themselves, their profits and their prejudices.

What, you may ask, am I basing this judgement on?  I look at what happened in this week’s election.  Republicans won a majority in the Senate and retained their majority in the House.  The Republican winners have expressed the belief that the Affordable Care Act, so-called Obamacare, needs to be repealed.  That basically means that because the Insurance industry, pharmaceuticals, and medical equipment manufacturers make higher profits doing things the old way, they want to take away the insurance that so many people now have that they didn’t have before.  In other words, profit is far more important to them than people’s health.  These victors have also expressed the belief that global warming and climate change are a hoax, or simply untrue.  This means that they reject the scientific evidence that confirms its existence.  Science must be wrong because they don’t accept that the recorded facts are true.  In other words, they find it more profitable to be stupid and block any attempts to regulate or slow down the highly profitable gas and oil industry.  These winners have also stated that the debt and deficit that this country is burdened with (an artifact of a previous Republican administration) needs to be lessened by taking away food stamps, medicare, medicaid, and other social benefits, programs paid for by our hard-earned tax dollars and meant to benefit those among us who fall on hard times or have a need many times created by the wealthy upper class who paid billions of dollars to buy elections and have no need of these services themselves.  If we were to return to President Eisenhower’s ninety per cent tax rate on the wealthy, the Koch Brothers and the Walton Family of Wal-Mart heirs could easily reduce the deficit themselves.

We deserve to benefit from the government we paid for.  The majority of all taxes have been paid by the middle class and the poor since the Reagan Administration.  The wealthy have gotten tax breaks and moved their money off shore or out of the country for too many years.  They can now legally (thanks to the Supreme Court which is tilted to the conservative side) buy elections with unreported dark money that corrupts not only Republicans, but Democrats as well.  We are left with no one to represent our interests.  We are at the mercy of heartless, Dark-Side masters.  Whatever can we do?

It is a time for heroes.  Senator Al (Han Solo) Franken retained his seat in Minnesota, winning more strongly than he did the last time.  There are progressives alive and well and joining the Rebel Alliance in Minnesota.  Princess Senator Elizabeth Warren speaks out with authority from Massachusetts (Alderaan) in defense of women’s rights, our right to affordable education, and fairness in politics.  And our best hope lies in Senator Bernie (Luke) Sky-Sanders, the Independent Jedi from Vermont.  He wields a light-saber tongue that lashes out at the Koch Brothers and their election monkey-madness with dark money.  He fights for income equality and the middle class.  He may yet bring balance to the Force.

political insanity

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Walter Mitty

DSCN5331I am still recovering from a heart-attack scare, and as a part of my regimen of rest and fluids, I watched the DVD of The Secret Life of Walter Mitty starring and directed by Ben Stiller.  It is a brilliant piece of film art in my opinion.  The basic story is about a day-dreaming ne’er-do-well who is so much like I once was that it is practically an unauthorized biography.  Mitty daydreams and pines over a co-worker that he is afraid to introduce himself to.  He works at Life Magazine at a time when the printed periodical was going out of business.  His job is on the line.  Then, he loses a photograph from a famous photographer when he has never made such an error before.  To correct his mistake, he goes on a world-hopping quest to find the photographer, visiting Greenland, jumping into the ocean from a helicopter, fighting a shark, escaping from an erupting volcano in Iceland, climbing a mountain in the Himalayas, and finally, getting fired for not finding it, though he does find it, and proves he is more competent and brave and daring and heroic than even his daydreams told him that he was.  At the end he even gets the girl.  It made me cry to realize how much my life was like that.  It has been a comedy of errors compounded by the criticism and negativity of the world around me.  I fought hard to be a competent teacher.  I had to become an advocate for kids.  I fought for the good of the students against principals, parents, the State of Texas, three school administrations, politicians, and sometimes even the students themselves.  I rose to new heights during my darkest hours.  I made a difference.  A lot of kids came back to tell me I was their favorite teacher, that they learned things and remembered things from my class more than any of their other classes.  I know some of them were lying for sentimental reasons, but not all of them were.  So I was, in the end, a success.  I had my Walter Mitty moments.

So what is the point of all of this, and of the picture of my messy studio which is also my bedroom and sickroom?  If I had died from the heart attack rather than finding out it wasn’t really a heart attack, I would still be successful in the course of my life and career.  Three beautiful and intelligent children with my genetic stamp… more than 2,500 students educated and served… thirty-one years of faithful teachering… like Walter Mitty, I have been worth so much more than I have ever been given credit for.  And yet… and yet… I am not finished.  I am only now coming into my real magical powers over words and ideas.  I am only now reaching out and saying what treasures are truly in my heart for all to take away and enrich themselves with.  Some of it is in the books I have written.  Some of it is in the blog I am here making available to you.  I am not bragging.  I am old and in pain and very near the end… but I still have love to give… and laughter… and life.  Please, help yourself to it while you may.  I am not done yet.

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The Uses of Background

In fiction, a good background or setting can be home to more than one character.  In art, too, you can use the same background in more than one picture.

Billy and Gyro12 Brent n bball  Okay, so maybe it is really cheating, but cheating can be fun too.

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