Tag Archives: photo Paffooney

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.

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

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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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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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Making a Meme

Trying to do social media marketing for my book tends to be a lot of sharing of memes.  (Is that pronounced “Meeems” or “Meemees”?)  I borrow stuff from others and post it based on my values, my politics, and my notions of what is wisdom.  But the stuff that’s out there is wild and woolly, strange and fool-y.   Quotes from authors and figures I respect are not actually things they said.  Some of the memes are positively hateful and negative.  I believe in gentle humor… things that make you laugh because they reveal unexpected truth.  I don’t like insulting and degrading things.  I could call Rush Limbaugh or Ted Cruz names.  They make that very easy.  But I don’t find that junk funny.  So, I decided to try making what I think is a good meme.

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There it is.  I made that.  Share it, or throw up about it, I have no control over that.  I have no clue what makes something like that go viral or trend or whatever else they call it.

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Dr. Evil Invades Mickey’s Library!

Earlier I alluded to the plan of the super scary villain, Dr. Evil with the removable brain.  He was planning on invading Mickey’s library with malice aforethought… er, anger about all the books in there… or something.  Anyway, today he attacked.  He showed up with several of his evil minions.

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He brought some of the most evil minions I could afford on a teacher’s salary.  Ming the Merciless is his most evil adviser, a real whiz with the evil plans, even though I suspect he really doesn’t like looking at the Doctor’s exposed removable brain so much.

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So, once convinced, Dr. Evil put on his Dr. Normal-Guy mask.  It was a disguise he often used, and was successful while wearing it, because he could sneak past his enemies while they were laughing and rolling on the ground.  The laughter often started inexplicably after an enemy would ask what nationality a name like “Normal-Guy” really was.

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Besides fooling the foolish Action Hero guys, Dr. Evil relied on a secret weapon.  GRAMMAR NAZIS!!!  He would use them to relentlessly correct the spelling of the Action Hero guys until they cried like little babies.

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Will the Grammar Nazis prevail over the Action Heroes?  Would they take over Mickey’s wonderful library?  Would they notice how many times the villains misspelled the word “removable”?

Stay tuned next time… Same Bat Station!   Same Bat Channel!  For the next thrilling episode of Doctor Evil Attacks Mickey’s Library!!!!!

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The Action Team Defends Mickey’s Library

Today it was rumored that the sinister Dr. Evil planned on invading the Mickian Library to threaten the books… just because he could.  He’s been known to channel super villains like the evil Emperor Ming of Mongo.  (Nobody scarier than that because Playing Mantis toy company couldn’t license DC or Marvel either one)

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So, once we learned of the plot, we called on the Captain Action League to defend the library and rescue the books.

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Hopefully the plans of the evil doctor with the removable brain have been thwarted.

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A New Toy

Okay, I admit it, a grown man playing with dolls is somewhat worrisome.  But, hey!  I’m a retired school teacher that survived 23 years of seventh graders.  I’m entitled to be a bit mentally damaged. But I recently saw Guardians of the Galaxy, and I was so inspired that, when I saw this doll… er… action figure at Walmart for only ten dollars…  Okay, I know I don’t have any money.   I do remember what teacher pay is all about (self-satisfaction, enough money to keep you from qualifying for food stamps, and all the pencils and chalk you can fit in your pockets).  But ten dollars… and I have only bought a new toy one… er… two other times in 2014.  And, Rocket Raccoon!  Right?

new toy1

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From the D&D Table

We like miniature figures and homemade illustrations in our D&D campaign.  Let me show you a bit of the excessively obsessive results of this preference.

DSCN5191 DSCN5192 DSCN5195 DSCN5196 DSCN5197 D&D6169 001 D&D6163 001 D&D6167 001 D&D6168 001 D&D61611 001

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Toonerville, the Current City Overview

Mm-hmm,  Toonerville is a town I founded and built.  I know that sounds strange, but I can explain.  It used to be my HO model train layout.  It used to be, when I owned a house in Cotulla, Texas, I had room for a four by twelve sheet of plywood on which to lay track, wire it up, build scenery, and run my model trains (and two different versions of the Toonerville Trolley).

Toonerville is named after Fontaine Fox’s Toonerville Folks comic strip that appeared in newspapers from 1915 until the 1950’s.  A book of Fox’s collected Toonerville cartoons became my most prized possession during my college days, the second half of the 1970’s.  More than just a favorite book, it became my religion, my Bible, influencing not only my art style and my cartoon stories, but my very perception of small town life, the only life I knew from 1956 to 1975.

When we moved from South Texas to the Dallas area in 2004, my city of Toonerville had to be torn down, boxed up, and transported.  Sadly, it never got set up as an HO train layout again.  Now it is relegated to the tops of three bookcases.  In addition to train engines that mostly still run (though I am guessing, not basing that on experiment), it includes model houses and city buildings that I put together myself and painted, plaster buildings that I have painted, and other nick-knack-shelf buildings of approximately the right size that I have re-painted (including re-painted Christmas, Easter, and Halloween ornaments, plus one house-shaped candle that my sister-in-law gave me).  Oh, yes, you can plainly see the portions of my Pez dispenser collection that sit grumpily amid the streets of Toonerville.

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What Mickey’s Magical Tome says about Horror and Fear

I never could watch only the start of the monster movie, the late-night Saturday creature feature.  Once begun, I had to see it to the very end.  I had to know the evil was ended and the horror was defeated.If I did not find out, then nightmares ensued.  The night I watched John Carpenter’s original Halloween, I had to get up in the night and check the closet fifteen times.  I almost didn’t survive number thirteen, nearly dying from dread, and the light stayed on for the rest of the night.  I need to see that which scares me in the light of reason and hope.  I need to face my fears and overcome them with mental and spiritual power.  No story is ever wholly unreal, and no enemy stalks me forever without end.

(You probably can’t read it, but my magical tome contains a list of magic words, words that mean “magic”, incantations against the fear of the dark.)

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