When I look back at my life it is more than a little bit disturbing that most of my understanding of life, humor, art, love, sex, and death all have their origins in Woody’s movies.
It is perhaps the mental image I have of dancing off with the Grim Reaper that lends me the courage to draw doodles with me and God in them. There can be no other explanation for my hubris.
Maybe the secret to my happiness is that I am delusional enough to think I going somewhere.
Or maybe the more optimistic truth is that I am aware I am on a wheel and I don’t care.
I would think beautiful people can be decent human beings.
But it has to be harder.
Although….honestly it is a hardship I wouldn’t have minded enduring at least once.
I don’t think checker players would hit their girlfriends in elevators. I don’t think people that play checkers would take performance enhancing drugs. It is difficult to imagine checkers participants refusing to shake hands or getting bent out of shape about celebrations after a key hopping move.
I don’t think our world is a mess because of the sports we are fanatical about. But I do believe our sports are a reflection of what a mess we are.
I wish we did more things for fun and fewer things to defeat and embarrass other people.
I was born in Texas. My Pa lives in Texas. Honestly I love Texans.
Perhaps it is my nature of not thinking very highly of myself that makes me gaze in amazement at Texans. I LOVE (and envy) the ability of Texans to believe that they are better at EVERYTHING than EVERYBODY ELSE!
It is just amazing to me when people are able to think so highly of themselves. It absolutely astounds me. I know it makes most of the country mad, but I just flat out envy it.
I actually got the idea for this one in Northern Michigan.
I find it entirely ironic that the most profound moments in my life were when absolutely nothing happened.
Giggle.
The key is embracing it. It SO much less tiring than running from it.
Maybe the cool thing about finding out about yourself late in life is that you lack the legs of a young person. I can’t tell if I am brave or too old to run.
Of course this cartoon is outdated as no one still sells newspapers.
But holy cow….if they did the suicide rate of the vender’s would be through the roof. It is not enough to live in Trump’s America and be drowning in bad news these people have to distribute it.
Good lord in heaven! Now that I think about it I am not sure anyone that works at the New York Times should be allowed to have a belt or shoestrings on their shoes.
This has become far more work of late.
When I respected the judgment of the people of the United States, and believed in our sense of purpose it was easy. Of late I need to force this optimism. I squint my eyes and try to reason for optimism on a horizon that is just as likely to be tragic, cruel, and inhumane.
Instinct and natural naiveté has been subjugated by an unwelcome sense of reality.
Perhaps one of the things that I find most fascinating about us as human beings is the impact of small things on our long term mental health.
Not getting picked in 1966 still hurts……….