Category Archives: cartoons

On yellow

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Perhaps there is no color odder than yellow. Okay, fuchsia, but I don’t know what that looks like. Sponge Bob, need I say more? Bananas, mustard, the middle light in the stop light for which no one stops, yield signs, taxi cabs, high-lighters, school buses, lemons, some butterflies, butter, baby chicks, corn, sponges, the sun. What I like are yellow cars that are of a yellow that is so strange that one must wonder what kind of good deal that person was offered so that they would buy that odd-looking car. I imagine that yellow is used to get our attention, and one will hardly miss a bright yellow Corvette as it roars by. People will often wear yellow raincoats–so they might be seen with greater ease? There are some naturally occurring yellows, lemons, for example, or apples, which seem healthy and normal and not at all strange. A yellow rose can be a thing of beauty and not the least bit odd. Dandelions are yellow, and they were always a sign that perhaps winter might be over for a few months and that the parka might be stowed away until maybe October. I do not own (nor should anyone) a pair of yellow jeans, bell bottoms or otherwise. Wasn’t the smiley-face logo yellow? (From the category, “Things I wish I’d never seen in the first place.”) According to the Beatles (a small ’60’s rock band from Liverpool–strange names and funny hair), traveling on a yellow submarine was really where it was at. I was never offered a ride, although my cousin Kent has a yellow Sunbird, probably one of his more forgettable automobiles. Of course, never eat yellow snow, a nice bit of advice and a catchy aphorism for those who live in snowy climates–Texans need not worry about this particular reference. Gumby was a freaky blue-green color and I have no idea why he made it into this note other than the fact that he is just odd in general.Some dish soaps are yellow, but blue or maybe green might be more appealing. I’m sure a marketing director somewhere has data on why yellow dish soap sells at all. Why “Yield” signs are yellow is an existential mystery that no one will ever resolve. No baseball teams, excluding the Oakland A’s, have contemporary uniforms that are purely yellow, although I think that the Pirates, and maybe the Padres, at some point in their history has had a mustard color road uniform–enough said on that subject. Baseballs are still white although faux-baseball, softball, is now played, occasionally, with a fluorescent yellow ball that looks quite unnatural and not at all like a grapefruit. Some pills are yellow so that you might distinguish them from the blue ones, or the pink ones, or the white ones, or the brown ones. There are one or two soda pops that are yellow, but I’ll pass on saying anything else about yellow liquids. Grapefruit are rather yellow, but I really like the pink variety better, sweeter, less bitter. Are canaries really yellow or is that a stereotype? Would you ever be caught dead in yellow shoes? Only if I was wearing yellow pants with the matching yellow suit coat. Yellow ties, on the other hand, offer some interesting possibilities. Why are the yolks of eggs yellow? My favorite color of pencil is a greenish blue, not yellow, although 99% of all #2 pencils seem to be yellow. A couple of more yellow things: stickies, legal pads, sunflowers, PacMan, daffodils, pollen, Tweety Pie, Big Bird, the Yellow pages, the leaves on some trees in the fall.

On a green lizard

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We brought the plants home a couple of days ago from the neighbor’s house where they spend the summer. Apparently we also brought home a small green lizard which had made its home in the branches of a small ficus we have. After three days in our kitchen, he decided he was too thirsty or too hungry, so he made a break for it. The natural human condition is, of course, “kill it!,” but me, being the simple-minded granola eating tree-hugger that I am, I decided to try my hand a green lizard wrangling. Now wrangling a two ounce green creature that looks like he sells insurance is not as easy as it looks. My first weapon of choice was a large plastic cup, but he laughed at that and asked if I was going to “ice-tea him to death.” He stopped laughing when I brandished a broom. First, he pulled out his wallet and offered me fifty bucks to forget the whole thing and let him go back to his tree. “No dice,” I said, “You’ll be after my pop tarts in no time.” So he took out his cell phone to call 9-1-1 because as I came at him with the broom, he felt his life was in danger. I had him cornered by the stove, and he suggested that we make two cafe lattes and discuss things, especially extinction level events, such as presidential elections or getting whacked with a broom. I declined. He made a break for the cabinet holding the microwave, but my wife got between him and cover, so he reversed course, and headed for the other plants. I think he played hockey at some point in his life because he checked me into the wall, and I was momentarily stunned. In the meantime, I had opened the back door, and he caught a glimpse of light, freedom, escape, the promised land, virgin territory. He headed for open country, and I was hot on his trail, but then he decided to hide behind the plants and I lost him. After lifting all the plants, I spotted him behind some big green leafy thing, and the chase was on again. He almost broke to the left and headed into the living-room, but I dropped the broom and he headed for the door again. I thought his English accent was hilarious as he screamed about giving me a discount on my car insurance if I’d switch to another company. I said, “No!” and brought my broom to bear. He scampered toward the light and jumped over the threshold. He was free, and I slammed the screen door shut after him. He is now in a resettlement and witness protection program in our back yard, and I have warned the neighbors that he wants to sell them car insurance. So now I will get my “non-lethal green lizard wrangling badge” which is part of the Order of the Old Green Geezers. We do a lot with recycling and composting. Other than the shouting and screaming, it went perfectly well. No animals were harmed in the writing of this essay.

On a green lizard

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We brought the plants home a couple of days ago from the neighbor’s house where they spend the summer. Apparently we also brought home a small green lizard which had made its home in the branches of a small ficus we have. After three days in our kitchen, he decided he was too thirsty or too hungry, so he made a break for it. The natural human condition is, of course, “kill it!,” but me, being the simple-minded granola eating tree-hugger that I am, I decided to try my hand a green lizard wrangling. Now wrangling a two ounce green creature that looks like he sells insurance is not as easy as it looks. My first weapon of choice was a large plastic cup, but he laughed at that and asked if I was going to “ice-tea him to death.” He stopped laughing when I brandished a broom. First, he pulled out his wallet and offered me fifty bucks to forget the whole thing and let him go back to his tree. “No dice,” I said, “You’ll be after my pop tarts in no time.” So he took out his cell phone to call 9-1-1 because as I came at him with the broom, he felt his life was in danger. I had him cornered by the stove, and he suggested that we make two cafe lattes and discuss things, especially extinction level events, such as presidential elections or getting whacked with a broom. I declined. He made a break for the cabinet holding the microwave, but my wife got between him and cover, so he reversed course, and headed for the other plants. I think he played hockey at some point in his life because he checked me into the wall, and I was momentarily stunned. In the meantime, I had opened the back door, and he caught a glimpse of light, freedom, escape, the promised land, virgin territory. He headed for open country, and I was hot on his trail, but then he decided to hide behind the plants and I lost him. After lifting all the plants, I spotted him behind some big green leafy thing, and the chase was on again. He almost broke to the left and headed into the living-room, but I dropped the broom and he headed for the door again. I thought his English accent was hilarious as he screamed about giving me a discount on my car insurance if I’d switch to another company. I said, “No!” and brought my broom to bear. He scampered toward the light and jumped over the threshold. He was free, and I slammed the screen door shut after him. He is now in a resettlement and witness protection program in our back yard, and I have warned the neighbors that he wants to sell them car insurance. So now I will get my “non-lethal green lizard wrangling badge” which is part of the Order of the Old Green Geezers. We do a lot with recycling and composting. Other than the shouting and screaming, it went perfectly well. No animals were harmed in the writing of this essay.

On Oscar

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What did Billy Crystal say last night? “Tonight we are going to watch a bunch of millionaires give each other little golden statues.” I have watched the Oscars for a couple of decades, and they really are no more transcendent now than they were in 1929 when the Screen Actors Guild started handing out the faceless statuettes. They just add another level of mysticism, elitism and glamor to an already very selective and exclusive club to which no mortal has access. Like a bunch of crazed voyeurs, we tune in each year to stare at the beautiful people come together to out-stage even each other. Their pathetic attempts at saying “thank you” border on the banal and boring. Basically, the Oscars are here to tell us all that we are just normal human beings and have no chance of ever attaining the fame and stature of the stars who will possibly win a little golden statuette. Oscar is a talisman of exclusivity. The people who receive the award have worked hard, but they also have had their share of good luck. And how many, exactly, have sold their souls to the Devil to get that little golden guy? Far from jealous, I would say that having a normal life is a pretty special thing. I can walk into any Starbucks in any airport in the world and not have to worry about being recognized, about having to be nice to fans, about having every inch of my life under a microscope. While I am out in public, my stress levels are very low. I can go to the grocery store, get my junk and get out. I’m not so sure that giving out autographs, getting lots of photos taken, and having my life scrutinized at every turn would be that interesting. In a sense, any of those famous people is just a regular person as well. Notting Hill (1999) is an unglorified look into the public/private pain of an actress (Julia Roberts) who is looking for love, but her all too public face makes that impossible. The stress of living a public life cannot be at all very fun. Having a face that half the planet will recognize has to be a pain in the neck. Oh, I wouldn’t mind the money, at least at first, and I’m sure the fame is great for the ego, at least at first, but in the long run, the press, the paparazzi, the news channels must be both tedious and boring. You cannot gain a pound or grow old, you cannot have a movie that goes bad, you cannot play characters that your fans might hate, you cannot fail to live up to their expectations. So let them pass out their little statues. The movies may or may not be good. Some of my favorite films were never nominated for anything, and, as far as I’m concerned, many of the big names might never have been made at all.

On monsters (III)

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My first essay on monsters was an attempt at describing monsters, but it said nothing about where monsters come from, and I don’t mean from under the bed or from the depths of a pond or from a dark closet. I think that any given society creates its own monsters out of the irrational fears that it harbors. In the fifties there were radioactive blobs trying to kill overly hormonal teenagers that were fleeing creepy scarred old guys. The Cold War was only too kind to share is manias, fears and irrational assassination plots with the rest of the world in the form of giant ants, fire-breathing dinosaurs and scaly green lizard men. Our contemporary society is so messed up with paranoia, conspiracy theories, and crop circles that monsters even got their own movie. They had become so commonplace that they had become comedy and not tragedy. But our obsession for monsters from outer-space, the depths of the ocean or the depths of our minds continues to grow. It’s hard to know if monsters are a sign of mental health or lack thereof. Slasher monsters don’t interest me because they grow out of a fear of random violence and general paranoia, which is just sadistic and uninteresting. Other monsters tend to be the outgrowth of our own hubris and pride, such as Frankenstein’s monster. Werewolves and vampires are just the result of pent up and repressed sexuality–nothing new there. When we start looking for ghosts and spirits, however, things start to get a little out of whack. Guilt seems to be the greenhouse for monsters, where they first take shape, take their first steps before bursting out into the nightmare world of your own dreams. Monsters don’t have to be ugly, but they do have to be menacing. Monsters are monsters because they want to hurt you, take away your stuff, scare you. Monsters hide in dark corners, in black alleys and empty cars. They are in the basement or up in the attic. They lurk well after midnight and make scuffling noises before they go dead silent. Monsters have no pity, are invincible and fast, do not worry about ethics, are unafraid, don’t care if they hurt you. Some of us handle the monsters better than others. I found that as a child, the monsters were everywhere and out to get me, but as an adult I am pretty good at keeping Grendel’s mother at bay. Nor do I harbor ghosts, spirits, sprites or genies. So if you hear a little scuffling in the dark corner of your closet, ask yourself this: what am I really afraid of and why is my conscience bothering me? Well, what’s the worst thing you ever did? Now, check for monsters.