Tag Archives: paffooney

The History of Government as I See It

Raygun RonnyIn the beginning, God made men naked and helpless.  He made women naked and in charge.  And then he tossed an apple to the women and said, “let there be evil and monsters and such.”  So, naked people began to huddle together in caves to get out of the storm.  They began to kill and eat other animals that didn’t eat them.  They began to wear the fur of whatever they killed and ate.  And then because Cain had a you-like-him-better-than-me fit, they began to kill (and hopefully not eat) each other.

So, the need for government came about as a matter of survival.  Cavemen put their thick heads together and decided that some guys were bigger and tougher and got more girls than the rest.  And some guys knew how to use their heads for something more than a place to keep their animal-skin hats.  So, when all the heads were put together, the smartest ones realized that if they made weapons for the big guys to kill other guys with more efficiently, then the big guys could protect all of “us” and kill all of “them” and we would all be safer and live better lives.  Of course, the big strong guys wanted to keep all the better girls and all the stuff they took from others, and they expected everyone they protected to give them more stuff.  Thus, taxes were born.  And when you had to count stuff and plan stuff and figure stuff out (like managing taxes and keeping track of who you need to hit because they haven’t paid) that task went to the scrawny guys with the big heads.  And so, Kings were born.  And queens were mostly the kings’ sisters, because, after all, the big guys still got all the best girls.  And as time went on, we had kings and their big guys and all the other “common” people.  But you couldn’t just kill (and hopefully not eat) all the “common” people, because they were useful too.  You could put them to work so they could pay more taxes and make more stuff for you and it made your life better if you had a lot of them working for you.  But some old king named Louie discovered you had to make the “common” people a little bit happy too because they outnumber you by a lot.  Unfortunately for Louie, he didn’t discover this until they cut his head off… some argument about eating cake or something.  So, some other smart guys with big heads got together and decided to make a new government.  It was really still the old government.  They just had the brilliant idea of re-naming everything and lying to the people.  Now, instead of kings and their big guys who got all the good girls, you had “elected representatives” who were actually the kings of old.  They just figured out how to lie to people and make them believe they worked for the “common man”.  And the big guys were re-named the “Military Industrial Complex”, or maybe it’s the Illuminati.  I’m not sure.  And then there’s a Pope, and possibly some alien beings from Roswell, and… okay, maybe I need to save the rest for the Tinfoil Hat Club when we meet every Wednesday evening and plot how we are going to “wake up, sheeple” and take over the world.  (Dues are fifty cents.  We are meeting again on Sunday because we think the world ends next Tuesday… or something.)

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The Nutter’s Nest

Eurasian_Nuthatch_(Sitta_europaea)_by_nest_hole wikimediaThese little birds of gray and white and often some other pastel color are synonymous with crazy people.  Why?  Because while the rest of the world orients itself upright from gravity, these little nutters are always hopping along the tree bark upside down, or at a truly odd angle from the rest of the world.

Red-Breasted-Nuthatch-NestThere is something eerily off about an upside-down bird.  And you should listen to the bird calls on the Audubon website; https://www.audubon.org/bird-family/nuthatches   Don’t they sound like absolutely demented little buggers (bugger in the sense that they pick bugs out of bark and then eat them)?  And where do they keep their nests?  In those holes?  Yes!

1st-nh-eggsWhat a truly daft little bird!  And why is daft little Mickey obsessing today about nuthatches and where they keep their eggs?  Because the nutsy noodler needs a new idea every day to make a completely daft and dewy-eyed post about something that could possibly only matter to Mickeys.  So where does Mickey get his ideas to screw into concentric circles of purple paisley prose?  Does he make a list of ideas and schedule his posts?  Does he keep notes?

Of course not!  That would make too much sense.  No, he putters around the house all day, retired and ill, but with his brain constantly on fire.  And he keeps all the pots of memory, trivia, silliness, and factoids boiling as they perch upon the grill in the kitchen of his mind.  Something is constantly cooking.

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Take, for instance, the matter of moose bowling.  Where does an ultra-goofy idea like that come from?  Well, that was in the memory pot.  Having been a teacher for kiddos that don’t handle English very well, I have a number of mangled-language stories to share.  One time I had a drawing of a Bullwinkle-like cartoon on the board (which I generally refer to as a Moosewinkle).  A Vietnamese child was asking me about the Moosewinkle, wanting me to explain what that was all about.  I said something about him being a really good guy, someone I would like to go bowling with some time.  So, the boy asks me, “Mr. B, how is that you throw a moose to knock down the bowling pins?”  He understood about bowling, but not about how you could have a moose as a friend.  And this from a culture that thinks Doremon is perfectly normal and okay to live with.

So it can be said that Mickey picks random memories out of the air and twists them into pretzels to get an idea for a post.  Or maybe it is not totally out of the air.  I don’t know how many times Mickey has seized on an idea from Facebook, posted by friends of all kinds… former students, fellow teachers, other writers, racist cracker friends from Iowa and Texas, and a distinct lack of normal people.  They post all kinds of weird stuff… not pictures of food and kids and kids eating food like normal people.  And Mickey’s brain is always on fire and boiling up the pots.  He makes connections to random things and ends up with a post about nuthatches.  What a Nutter!

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Remembering Puppy Love

Annette in DLandn

Yes, I admit it, I had some serious crushes when I was but a boy.  Mickey (himself) always said that he hated girls.  He said that repeatedly until he was fourteen and that lie could be twisted into some kind of “you-must-be-gay” sort of insult.  Couldn’t have that, could we?  Especially since my only experience of sex was violent and with another boy.  But how could I ever admit the truth about the girls I loved?  It was all too silly for words.

All pictures of Annette that I didn't draw are from her Facebook page, borrowed (or stolen) with love.

All pictures of Annette that I didn’t draw are from her Facebook page, borrowed (or stolen) with love.

Annette Funicello was someone I only saw in Disney movies.  And she was quite a bit older than I was.  She was born in 1942, and when I was a lovesick puppy of twelve, she was already an old woman of 26 years.  I am thinking about her again now, and she has already preceded me in death.  I was able to reconnect to her through her Facebook page here;  Annette Funicello.  But there was never a chance to meet and pursue her in real life.  So, naturally, she is the one I told my friends about as the woman I loved when I was twelve and wise in the ways of the opposite sex.

I did not draw this.  It is from Facebook.

I did not draw this. It is from Facebook.

 

But the real, secret truth is… ta, ta, ta, taaaah!  I really loved another.  She was in my class.  She was, as my friends and I all agreed, the most beautiful girl ever born into our little community of Rowan, Iowa.  She was a farm girl named Alicia Stewart (this, of course, is a lie.  I fictionalized the name because we are actually friends on Facebook and she might actually read this post.  It doesn’t bother me if she reads this and figures it out, but I want to provide her with deniability so no one else has to know.  She has a beautiful family complete with grandkids, and I would never embarrass her in front of them.)  To me, she looked like Annette Funicello.  I never admitted my deep and abiding puppy-love crush on her to anyone.  I loved her never-the-less… and probably still do.

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There was that night when I was eleven, and snow was falling heavily after choir practice at the Methodist Church.  The walk home was extra difficult.  It was becoming a minor blizzard and I was plastered with snow from walking into the teeth of the wind.  When I got as far as the Library on Main Street, Mrs. Stewart and Mrs. Kellogg called me into the Library to warm up.  They called Mom and Dad to come get me because I really had no business trying to walk home in a snowstorm like that.  Alicia was there.

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HOLLYWOOD, FL - SEPTEMBER 14:  Annette Funicello (R) kisses Mickey Mouse 14 September 1993 after she received a star on the famous Hollywood Walk of Fame in California. The U.S. actress and singer is best known as a famous mouseketeer on the popular 1960's television show, "The Mickey Mouse Club" as well as the beach movies she made with Frankie Avalon.  (Photo credit should read VINCE BUCCI/AFP/Getty Images)

HOLLYWOOD, FL – SEPTEMBER 14: Annette Funicello (R) kisses Mickey Mouse 14 September 1993 after she received a star on the famous Hollywood Walk of Fame in California. The U.S. actress and singer is best known as a famous mouseketeer on the popular 1960’s television show, “The Mickey Mouse Club” as well as the beach movies she made with Frankie Avalon. (Photo credit should read VINCE BUCCI/AFP/Getty Images)

I had my Russian cap with the ear-flaps on and everything pulled down to protect me from the snow, including the front board which was like the bill of the cap, but could be snapped up out of the way.  Snow was caked even on that little front flap. My eyes were mostly covered by that frozen and snow-encrusted front flap.

I said, “Gee, I think it might be snowing outside.”

Everyone laughed.  Alicia lifted up the front flap and looked me right in the eyes.”Michael, you are so funny!” she said.

I wasn’t really that funny with my stupid little understatement.  But her smile was priceless.  And I keep it in my heart to this very day.  It was the greatest gift any girl ever gave me during my sorry little childhood.

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The Beg-Eye

20150918_111904“I want that chip… yes, that chip… that Pringle’s chip!”

“Are you talking to me again, dog?”

“Yes.  I need that chip.  If I eat that I will be a people again.”

“But I am eating this chip.  I like Pringle’s.  And I need energy if I am going to finish editing my novel Snow Babies.  Let me finish eating my chips.

“Look at my eyes.  Can’t you see I NEED that chip?  It is the most important thing in life that you give me that chip.”

“No, I will not look at your eyes.  I know about your Beg-Eye super power.  All dogs have it, and little dogs have it in spades.”

“Seriously, just look into my eyes!”

“Oh!  Uh, I shouldn’t have looked into your eyes just now.”

“Smack!  Crunch!  Chew-chew-gobble!  Um, yes, you should have.  Always look at my eyes when you have food in your hands!”

“Well, maybe I need to start writing now.  I am putting the food back in the pantry.”

“Awww!  Shucksies!”

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“Look into my eyes!” says Jade the talking dog.  “You want to buy this book when it’s published, don’t you?  Yes, I think you do.”

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Playing Checkers With Old Guys

Skater girlAmongst those who play checkers frequently and well, there is an unwritten rule.  He who moves first wins.  No matter how well you play, the other guy knows all the moves too.  You can’t help but follow the same two or three patterns for the flow of the game if you are determined never to lose when you don’t have to.  So, if you play checkers with old gassers who have glasses and bald spots on their heads, liver spots on their arms, and Buddha bellies, then there are no surprises.  You can play checkers like the clock ticks, moving relentlessly and without thinking.  It allows you to discuss the world, solve the European immigration crisis in the cruelest possible way, watch the grandkids rolling skating in the neighbor’s driveway, complain about frequent bouts of cramps and flatulence, and just generally enjoy life in a way that is as Norman Rockwell as all hell… without actually having to think about it.

Today is a day like that for me.  Diabetes ravaged me yesterday, my blood sugar playing a fierce game of Chinese world-champion ping pong between high and low… all day long.  My brain is full of sand today and I cannot think.  I can write, but the only thing that comes out is sludge as boring as watching old guys play checkers.  But I have a young family and duties that will not give me a break.  Number two son is playing flag football for his charter school, and we have to get him to a game in Grand Prairie, Texas today, over an hour away through the metroplex in good traffic.

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Flag football, of course, is not real football.  But this is Texas.  Anything even remotely related to football is super serious business in a cowboy-centric world.  You have to get out there and cheer.  You have show team spirit. You have shout bad words at the other team when they invariably intercept your son’s pass and run it back for a touchdown.  And I don’t have the energy today for the drive, let alone the actual football.  All things considered, I’d really rather be playing checkers with old guys.

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Word Munchers and other Bedevils

In the Cryptofont Zoo of bizarre and exotic creatures of word, I, as a wordsmith, have become quite a keeper.  My lovely Zoo is the rival of any in the world… er, U.S… er, well, it’s different.  Let me give you a tour and see what you think.

First on our tour are the strange and wonderful animals in the Popeye-isms section.  You know, the bizarre creatures of word first spawned by E.C. Segar in his strip known as Thimble Theater, better known by the later name of Popeye the Sailor.  I regularly use many of these little animals in my writing, making the spell checker hate me and making the readers pause with a private “isn’t this wrong?” sort of thing.  I am often disgustipated with the words and I should have antiskipated the whole spell-checker thing.  If you just keep hitting the add to the dictionamary button, soon the whole thing is discomboobulated and ready to just give me the ol’ twisker punch!  It takes an ol’ salt like Poopdeck Pappy and a whole can of Spinach to sort this sichymawation out.

Thimble Theater by E. C. Segar

Thimble Theater
by E. C. Segar

Now next on our tour, fear this thing over here, this Suessian Sphere, where we keep the rhyme animals more.  I use these critters too, in place of bad glue, and to gloss over all that’s a bore. 

There are also the Thingamadoodles like oodles of poodles that come from the Forest of Suessian Lore.  I never will know why the Whangdoodles tootle and spurt the bright snootles while they snore.   The thing that’s head-achy and a little mind-breaky about the Doctor’s good chore, is the way it is rhyming and syllable-climbing while you write it right out through the door!

Once I bounce just an ounce of the rhyming nonsense out of my head, I can tell you about word munchers and other evil critters.  One evil word muncher got the word “thing” in the previous sentence and made it come out “thong” until I caught the spelling error; (My spell checker still has not forgiven me my Popeye-isms, so I have to check it myself).  It is rare that a word muncher is ever useful.  I collect many of them in my writing on a daily basis, but mostly they just take up space (like the “mostyl” I just captured in this sentence!).  Oh, yes, the most common variety of word muncher seems to me to be the “dna” or “adn” or “nad” that always blossoms its evil petals out where ever I need a conjunction.

The family dog (not dgo) from the other day... but in full color ( not cloor)

The family dog (not dgo) from the other day… but in full color ( not cloor)

Bedevils are evil stray thoughts that pepper everything you write with distractions.  Bedevils, by their very nature, and I assure you they are natural, will… what was that I was talking about?  Oh, they have evil in their very name.  Emerson said that a “foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds”, but I think that Bedevils are more like a real hobgoblin that plagues the minds of those whose heads are too full, and not of straw, like in this Wizard-of-Oz allusion.

4th Dimension

Okay, I have taken you as far through this little word zoo as my mind can handle.  If you really read it and now are plagued with nightmares about it, I apologize for what I just did to your own writing.  You will never be free of these wee beasties again, will you?

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Filed under humor, Paffooney, word games

River Dippers in the Iowa River

superchick_novel

When I was eleven, I was invited to a birthday party for one of the farm kids who lived just south of the little farm town of Rowan, Iowa.  It was tradition.  In our little town, with only ten kids in our fifth grade class, everybody had a birthday party once in our elementary years where all the kids in our class were invited.  I had mine at age eight, in second grade.  Rusty Dettbarn was about the last one to throw this traditional classmate bash. He was a bit different than the rest of us.  He was a wood rat.  His family farmhouse was down in the woodsy hollow along one of the creeks that fed into the Iowa River.   He didn’t come into town often, and really only hung out with the gang for 4-H softball games, meetings, and Fun Night.  He preferred to ride his motor scooter, hunt with his pellet gun, or go trapping along the Iowa River.  Mickey Smith was his closest friend, another wood rat who lived in the country and rarely associated with town kids like me and my best friend David Murphy.  Well, he got around to this party finally, but it turned out it was going to be done his way.

When my mother dropped me off with my gift all wrapped and wearing good school clothes that I was under orders not to get dirty, I noticed right away that something was uncomfortably wrong.  The girls were all in the yard by the picnic table with the party decorations.  They talked to each other like conspirators, looked at me, looking me up and down, and giggled.  My ears began to burn, and I had no idea why.  I did notice that no other boy, including the birthday boy, was in sight.  I took my gift in the house to the gift table.  Rusty’s mother was there with a big grin on her face.

“Rusty and the boys are down at the creek swimming,” she said helpfully.  “You are supposed to go on down there.”

“But I didn’t bring a swim suit.  I didn’t know…”

“Oh, but you don’t need one.  Go along.  You’ll see.”

Boy, did I see.  It was the way Rusty and his pals always swam.  Buck naked.  I got down to the creek and they were happily splashing away, about six of them, naked as the day that they were born.  I stood on the muddy bank in my good school clothes and just stared.  Two of my friends, David and Bobby Zeffer were there.  Neither of them had yet worked up the courage to join the swimming.  I was relieved not to be the only one.

“Jeez, Mike,” said David, “Are you gonna swim too?”

“Err…  I think I might be catching a cold.”  It was a warm June afternoon with bright sun shining.  “Are you gonna swim?”

“It looks like fun,” said David, eyes like a basset hound.

“Yeah,” said Bobby.  “I think I’m gonna try it.”

river dipper

I could see what was about to happen.  My two partners in shyness were going to give in.  I would be the last one still dressed and standing on the bank like a stiff.  What was I gonna do?  I would have to get naked too.

“It can’t be too cold, can it?” asked Bobby, pulling off his shirt.

“What about leeches?” asked David.  “Are there leeches?”

Mickey Smith overheard.  “Aw, you just put salt on them and they drop right off!  I got one yesterday on my butt, but I ain’t seen any today.”  He was floating on a tire inner tube, relaxing in the sun and looking like the Sultan of the Swim.  David shuddered.

Bobby was down to his undershorts before I started to haltingly pull my shirt out from being tucked into my pants.  David had his shirt off.

“Come on,” urged Rusty.  “You guys aren’t chicken are you?  I triple dare you to jump right in!”

Triple dares were a dare too much for Bobby.  Jaybird naked he leaped into a deep bend in the creek.  He popped up like a fishing bobber. “Eeuw, that’s c…c…cold!”

David had his shoes and socks off when I was lucky enough to look up to the top of the hill.  The girls were lined up, six heads looking over the top of the hill at us.  All were smiling.  Alicia, the girl whose good opinion of me mattered most in all the world was there among them.  I tapped David’s shoulder and pointed.  He grinned broadly as he scrambled back into his shirt.  “It’s too cold today, isn’t it!” he said, relieved.

Later that year when school started up again and we were the big sixth graders on campus, one of the girls came up to me and said, “Alicia was really disappointed this summer when she didn’t get to see you swim.”

“Aw, gee!  That’s too bad,” I said, grinning and blushing simultaneously.

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Talking Dog

My family dog, Jade, stalks the kitchen and pounces on any dropped crumb or left-behind scraps from the kitchen table.  She even raids the pantry when she thinks she can get away with it.  And why does she do this?  I seriously believe that she thinks all she has to do is eat enough “people” food and she will turn into a people.

family dog2

So, last night, it happened.  I was eating leftovers for a bedtime snack.  Believe me, there aren’t many leftovers in a house with two teenage children living in it.  I found some cheddar cheese chunks and a few stale potato chips.  You know, the perfect snack for a diabetic whose blood sugar sometimes crashes in the middle of the night with a balanced snack of protein and carbohydrates.  I stretch the definitions constantly.  And Jade, the family dog, was watching intently with really large puppy eyes… every… single… bite… I… took.  And when I got down to potato chip crumbs, about all number two son and the Princess had left me, I couldn’t help but let some slip through my fingers.  Guess whose tongue washed the floor all around my feet.  And, apparently, after chewing a hole in a bag of bread last week, the potato-chip crumbs put her over the magic number of people food calories.

family dog

“So, Dad, when are you going to teach me how to drive?”

I did a double-take.  “I can’t teach you how to drive.  You’re a dog.  They don’t give any licenses to dogs other than dog licenses.  Besides, you are only 4 years old!”

“You are going to teach Henry how to drive after his 16th birthday.  And I’m 28 in dog years.”

“I am not letting the family dog drive my car.  The insurance company wouldn’t like it.”

“But how am I going to go to the store and buy my own kibble?”

“You don’t have any money.  You are a dog.  How will you pay for the dog food?”

“Well, I could use Mom’s credit cards, right?  That’s free money, isn’t it?”

“I already had to sell my soul to the Devil to keep up with Mom’s credit cards.  Or was that Bank of America?  I forget which evil corporation now completely owns my soul.”

“Well, I could get job.”

“What can you do?  You don’t even have a pre-school education.  Who will hire you for anything?”

“I’ll work cheap.”

“Every bag of dog food costs twice what you can make an hour at minimum wage.  That means you have to work two hours to afford one bag.  And what are your work skills?”

“I’m good at sleeping.  I’m cute and cuddly.  And I’m very good at pooping in the park.”

“There are no mattress-tester jobs that I know of.  You don’t even want to know what kind of job that second thing would get you into.  And if you are a people, no more pooping in the park.”

“No more pooping in the park?  Those walks on the leash every day are what I live for.”

“And you will have to wear clothes from now on.  We can’t have you going around everywhere naked, can we?”

“Dogs are meant by God to be naked all the time.  Wearing people clothes is embarrassing.”

“Still…”

“Okay!  Okay!  I get it!  My life as a dog is pretty sweet the way it is.  But now that I am at least a part-time people… can you teach me how to open the refrigerator and work the can opener?”

I put my palm to my forehead.  There’s not going to be much left to eat in the house from now on.

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The Unquiet Teacher Brain

Miss Morgan oneYesterday, as I was reviewing a movie that is almost as old as I am (in December, 1961 I was 5), I couldn’t help but think like a teacher.  If I were going to teach this movie as a piece of literature (and movies ARE literature!  Don’t argue with me!!!), I would start with an anticipation guide… or I could call it a lesson focus.  I would tell the students a little bit about why this movie is important to me.  I would give the background information about how Walt Disney wanted to make a musical picture like The Wizard of Oz, and even bought the rights to Oz books by Frank L. Baum to make it happen.  It was supposed to be a starring vehicle for his popular Mickey Mouse Club Mouseketeers, and ended up starring Annette Funicello (and I would never mention anything about my childhood desire to see Annette naked because information like that mixed with giggle-happy teens and hormones is an explosive mix and would get me fired).  I would also start a discussion of heroes and villains and what sort of patterns we might anticipate as the story went down that well-traveled path of the hero (I might mention some of Joseph Campbell’s work on myths because it is almost relevant enough to fit in the lesson… and it would not get me fired).  But, suddenly, I realize as the teacher-brain machinery is churning on this idea… I am no longer a teacher.  I am retired.  I am not even well enough to go be a substitute teacher for a day or two.  And besides, Texas principals all frown on showing movies in class when you could be doing worksheets to prepare for State STAAR Tests.  And Disney sues teachers for using their copyrighted materials in the classroom because, well… evil fascist corporate empire ruled by a mouse, right?  So I am bummed.

Cool School Blue

When do you stop thinking like a teacher so much that it hurts?  Probably never.  I got even with Fate just a little bit by writing the novel Magical Miss Morgan, in which I gave some of my old lesson plans to the fictional version of me as a teacher (the version of me that is not a cartoon rabbit as a teacher).  I had Miss Morgan teach a class of sixth graders about J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit, and tried to incorporate some of my goofier teaching ideas into the story as evidence that Miss M is, in fact, a very good teacher (hard to fake if you are not a good enough teacher to at least recognize what good classroom practices look like).  And I had enough fun pretending to be a female teacher with goofy imaginary students like Mike and Blueberry in the Paffooney above, enough fun to create what I think is my best work of fiction so far.  I submitted it to the Chanticleer Book Reviews YA novel-writing contest.  I have to wait like 30 years to find out if I failed to win anything… but that’s okay.  Doing it quelled the unbridled teacher spirit in me that keeps threatening to kick down the stall gate and run away from the safety of the brain barn in the middle of a tornado… or something equally horsey but dangerous.  So, I guess I am okay for the moment.  But what do I do next when the teacher brain in me fires up and goes into overdrive yet again?

Self Portrait vxv

Ah well, I will think of something.

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Babes in Toyland

annetteI believe I may have mentioned before what an important part of my creative life my Grandma Beyer’s old 1960’s RCA Victor color TV was because of its ability to render the weekly Disney TV show in color.  One of the most significant things we were moved to drive all the way to Mason City to see on a Sunday afternoon in the 1960’s was the wonderful Annette Funicello vehicle, Babes in Toyland.   It was a musical remake of the 1903 Victor Herbert Operetta starring Annette (at a time before puberty made me secretly obsessed with seeing her naked) and Tommy Sands as the main fairy tale protagonists.

babes-in-toyland

Disney had originally planned in 1955 to make this as another of their animated features, but he later combined it with his desire to make a Wizard of Oz-like live-action film, a colorful sound-stage musical.

The music was Victor Herbert’s, as was the basic story, but it was all done the Disney way with rewritten lyrics and even an adapted film score.

It featured Ray Bolger (the Scarecrow from Wizard of Oz) as the villain (a first for him).  He played the evil Barnaby, the Crooked Man, who wanted to keep Mary Contrary and Tom Piper (Annette and Tommy Sands) from getting married and living happily ever after.babesintoylandvillainsmeeting

The bumbling henchmen Gonzorgo and Roderigo are played by a comedy duo who were also featured in Disney’s Zorro TV show from the 50’s.  Their slapstick antics made the film for me as a gradeschool child who deeply appreciated Three-Stooges-style comedy.  I particularly liked the way they turned on the villain and helped the heroes in the end.  I thought that was the way stories of good and evil always had to end… saved by the clowns.

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The cute kids in the story were also a part of the magical appeal.  The story, after all, is told basically for them.  So this movie had a lot to do with why I felt the need to become a children’s writer and write YA fantasy novels.  The music didn’t hurt the appeal either.  The Toymaker, Ed Wynn, was a character that probably turned me into a rabid toy-collector and someone you really don’t want to argue with over old toys at yard sales.

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But probably the most important way this particular bit of Disneyana has influenced my life came through the march of the tin soldiers and the stop-motion battle of the toys at the end of the movie.  That has informed almost the whole of my art goals.  It has that certain je-ne-sais-quoi of childhood imagination that I am obsessed with reproducing.

You can probably see the fixation yourself if you take a look at this last Paffooney.

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