Hydrocephalic Care Bear

I maybe alone on this, even though I am praying I am not, but for some reason or another I wanted a Care Bear when I was a little kid. In the early/mid eighties these stuffed bears were quite the fad and girls as well as boys of my age had to have one. I think the same held true for Pound Puppies, Teddy Ruxpin and My Buddy, because I remember at least putting a few of these things on my Christmas wish list. Maybe there was a gender identity crisis among kids my age because a Pound Puppy and Battle Damage He-Man were neck and neck for best gift. Regardless, I wanted a Care Bear and I had no shame in asking for one. I take that back, begging for one.

Now I wasn’t a fruity kid or anything. I played in the mud, was the king of four square, liked bugs and sharks, was pretty sure I was Luke Skywalker for a while and had every GI Joe figure known to man but I also followed the fads. When Jam shorts were in style I wore them. When Yo-Yo’s emerged from the shadows of the fifties in the fifth grade I learned how to “walk the dog”. When Rebok Pumps were a must, my poor Dad shelled out $100 so I could inflate my sneaker tongue. And when a cartoon about Bears shooting care symbols off their stomachs meant every kid, no matter what gender, had to have a stuffed bear I was no exception.

I don’t believe I really wanted a Care Bear. I think it was more the idea of blending in. I worked pretty hard at being another face in the crowd and the last thing I wanted was unneeded attention. Not having a brother or a sister telling me I was an idiot all the time left me very sensitive to the ridicule of my peers. If there was ever name calling I usually left feeling confused saying, “I don’t understand how they can’t see that I am fucking awesome. My mom and dad always say that.” But I digress, if having a dippy bear would assimilate me than so be it. I added it to the ’85 Christmas wish list.

So Christmas finally came. Just like any other kid of my age it was a day that capped the year. If the two super powers of the Cold War decided to nuke each other it damn well better be in January because Christmas was not to messed with. That year I felt I was owed a few things. It was great to have a 7 year old sense of entitlement. But that year also came with a curve ball. The much anticipated 5am walk to the den to see the presents under the tree was quickly defused . Yes, the presents were there, the tree was still plugged in and the smell of scotch tape still hung in the air but there was a peculiar being sitting in front of the tree. I stared at it and with more time passing it became apparent that this was what it was. I got a homemade Care Bear.

It just so happened that the year Care bears made their debut to the toy market my aunt took up stitching for a hobby. I am positive that when the wish list was shared she took full advantage of the opportunity and volunteered to make it. For some reason my mom’s side of the family really like to make their own things. Now making your own chair, dress, desk, or canoe is cool but you can not get away with making the most popular toy in America from scratch. I know I sound caddy but let me describe it for you. Keep in mind I was a little dick of a kid. I’m better now that I’m 30.

Fist of all, he (it was a boy) was stuffed with styrofoam balls much like a bean bag chair. When hugged it made a noise that let you know your bear is surely dead. It was also clear that my aunt did very little research on the Care Bears because on the chest of my bear was not a heart or a four leaf clover or a cloud or even a rainbow. It was a truck. My bear had the “Care Bear Stare” of a truck. I don’t know what that would do in a care bear emergency. Maybe tow the cloud car? My God, I think I remember too much about these gay things….

I believe the best/worst feature on my Amish Care Bear was the proportioned head to body ratio. He had a head four times the size of his torso. Looking back on it I guess he would be a hydrocephalic bear but even then, it was a hard pill to swallow just knowing that if any one of my friends saw this my quest to be invisible would be over. Instead of being the nameless face in the crowd I would be an outcast. Just me and big-head truck bear. Oh the woes of an eight year old primadana.

The whole morning I was constantly distracted by my hydrocephalic homemade bear. The joys of new stuff was great but my eye was always drawn back to him. Later that night I retired to my bedroom without the protection of a Care Bear truck stare. Now that I am telling this story, I do feel like I was a little dick of a kid.

A week or so later I was back at school sharing stories of my new loot with my school chums. It seemed that everyone did pretty well but i had to tip the scale and proudly exclaim that not only did I get He-Man, GI Joe, an Ewok Village but I also got a Care Bear. Of course I got the unwanted attention of being the lucky kid with the most crap. It’s what mattered back then. So I wore that crown for a while. A while meaning until Friday. The teacher told us to bring in one thing for show and tell on Friday that we got for Christmas. I think you know where this is going.

I contemplated which toy I should bring in so I could still keep my meaningless position as the shittiest kid in school. I was stuck between the He Man on Battle Cat or my G.I. Joe tank with the bridge crossing thing on top. But I was oblivious to the fact that my Mom caught wind of Fridays events. As an active parent in my school she was what you called a “homeroom mom” and she had other plans for what I was going to show and tell about. When she asked me to show off my aunt’s impressionistic creation of a modern day Care Bear I quickly objected. This resulted in an order to take Truck Bear to school and that was final.

The morning of Friday I shuffled off to the school bus with book bag on back and retard bear in arm but before I got there I made the switch. I took out the books and paper bag lunch and tried to stuff the bear in the bag. No shit, the head was too big. After some frustrating stuffs I got him in and off I went. No one would be the wiser and I had a trusty Go-Bot in my pocket to show. It’s good to be humble when everyone already knows you’re the shit.

I wish I could remember how the rest of the day went but all I really remember was the show and tell event. If I had something extravagant to show off I would have been excited but I figured just a Go-Bot was nothing to raise your arm up so high that you would need to support it by your other arm behind the head. You know what I’m talking about. I sat through fifteen Care Bears, a few G.I. Joe’s and some Cabbage Patch dolls. So soon enough I went up to give a brief description of my robo-motorcycle but there was a look of confusion on my teachers face. I knew there was a problem about the time I got to “what I got for Christmas was…”. My Mom had informed the teacher ahead of time that I had a homemade bear that I was supposed to show the class. Ms. Simms (the teacher) asked, “Where’s your Care Bear, Billy?”. Sold out by the woman who gave me life.

I have had many embarrassing events in my life. When I was 16 I picked up my homecoming date and stepped in dog poop, only to track it into her parents house. I was running to class in college and tripped with my hands tucked in my book bag straps. My God, I spent an entire day mistaken for a retarded person at the Special Olympics. But that show and tell was my earliest memory of embarrassment. The long walk from the front of the classroom to my book bag is still as clear as yesterday. When I pried that huge head from my bag there was a gasp in the room and my efforts to be out of the lime light was ruined. Had I been quicker on my feet back then I would have told the class he was in fact a real Care bear. His name was Truck-Dar and was the evil sibling that didn’t live in the clouds with the rest of the bears but down in the fog….where he ate the bears that accidentally fell….. and he was a mechanic which explains his truck on his stomach….. and he was very smart….because his head is so big.

Well, I guess that would have made it worse. No, I stood up at the front of the class while Ms. Simms gave my monologue about how my aunt made this with her own hands. I looked around the class while the guys in the back held their heads down laughing and the girls curled there lips in disgust. And that’s when I began to feel bad for my Hydrocephalic Care Bear. Even at my weakest moment I thought, this was made for me. I began to drift from the fact I could be labeled as the kid with the freak bear and started taking pride in the fact that this was for me and me alone. I think that is pretty remarkable for an 8 year old only child.

I sat down at my desk and kept the bear with me the whole day. I no longer felt ashamed and found myself defending it to any snickers or jokes. That night the bear took guard on my bead to ward off any night terrors. He may be a deformed Care Bear but damn it, he was my deformed Care Bear.

Thanks Aunt Eileen. He was the best bear a guy could have. And he didn’t let the thing in my closet get me either.

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A Tribute To Richard Condie

I have been meaning to do this one for quite some time. After my tribute to the artist Stephen Gammell, there has been so many hits on it I figured I should branch out to other artists I really like. So today I will be tipping the hat for Richard Condie, an artist who not only had a unique animation style but really captured the art of humanity. Growing up I would catch these cartoons from time to time and the absurdity of the characters kept my attention but it wasn’t until recently did I get the sociological lessons not only the characters played but the plot and setting too. They are smart, funny and at times bizarre but never dull.

Condie, a resident Canadian graduated from the University of Manitoba with a Bachelor of Arts degree and worked as an accomplished sociologist, musician and performer for a number of years. It wasn’t until 1971 when he was “fooling around” did he find his artistic outlet in the form of animation. Soon he made the short, Oh Sure thanks to a grant from the Canadian Counsel and it was later purchased by the National Film Board Of Canada. I’d say that was an ego boost to have your first film picked up.

I’m going to share some of my favorite shorts that Condie created. You have to keep an open mind because they are a little far out but that’s the magic. I’m so tired of the message of the story being handed to you. It always means more to me when it is hidden behind sentence fragments, strange voiced sound effects and characters that had to be created through drugs. Here’s the first one which is a later creation Richard did in 1991. The Apprentice:

I’m going to honest with you, I have no clue what that was about. But I do know I like it and that is all that matters. How often do you get to watch a cartoon and see a dragon burp up a dude’s head? Not often my friends and that is where the magic comes to life.

Condie’s creative animations also found a spot advertising for the Canadian Customs and Exercise Department warning travelers not to smuggle opera singing bird/gerbils. Now if the US government would get on board with ads like this I promise that the amount of smuggling, embezzlement, and international law bending would come to a halt. At least I would stop.

This one is my absolute favorite and the most memorable. It’s a great message about the absurdity of nuclear war, loving your spouse and sawing your cat. I love this to know extent and is the main reason I wanted to share Richard’s work with anyone who may have missed it. Here it is, The Big Snit:

“Always shaking your eyes!”

Since 1971, Richard Condie really has put Canada on the map for animation. His awards and accolades over the years have been in the hundreds and he has even been nominated for an Oscar and a Genie as well as many international film fest awards. There is no doubt he is one of the greats and once again, Canada has provided America with true comedy.

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The Nothing

I think I am going to post some really random shit today. Maybe a little top 5 action like Allison rocked out on her recent blog. Or perhaps just some streaming thoughts about life. You guys know me. I’m a thinker and some days I just get carried away. It still blows my mind people read this. I can tell you for sure that no one listens to it. Many of my friends tell me that I ramble but lucky for me, they just let me go on. If I was stifled I am sure my head would explode straight off my shoulders from the amount of b.s. that had to get out. So here I go.

I hate coconut with a passion because in 1986 I ate an entire box of Girl Scout Samoa cookies. I was so sick the thought of coconut, cookies with a hole and the color purple from the box, makes me want to yarf on my lap.

If I accidentally bump my ankles together my knees give out. It happened in the mall may years ago. To this day I am aware of my stride in a public place.

When I was in Budapest, I won 100 Deutschmarks for eating a plate of scrambled eggs and a glass of tequila. The 100 Deutschmarks lasted one week. The nausea from that challenge is still with me, 7 years later.

Sharks have 8 times the memory of a cat. I find that surprising because I had a cat, and it only took one time for him to develop a fear of empty beer boxes.

I played little league for a few years. It was sad because I had a fear of baseballs.

I can’t eat alone at a restaurant. I get the over whelming feeling people feel sorry for me. I hate that.

Chewing gum makes my stomach growl. Still don’t know what is up with that.

The fattest dog in the world lives in my neighborhood. I thought the lady was walking a potbellied pig, but it turned out to be a short haired black dog. Here’s a picture. Sorry about the quality but it was hard to take and drive.

I have never watched a Word war II documentary without shedding a tear. Not one.

When I die, I hope Heaven is like this.

I was in a game of “punch bug” in the 8th grade. You know, you punch someone when you see a Volkswagon Beetle? I still punch myself in the arm every time I see one.

Speaking of random shit. While I was writing this, some dude’s car caught on fire in the parking lot!

Thanks for the entertainment, Mang!

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Nirvana Coffee

Everybody has their spot. You know, the place where they go to be alone with their thoughts. Mine is at Nirvana Coffee. I have gotten a few emails asking me what inspires a lot of this streaming abstract and randomness that I post here on VeggieMacabre. Well, I’ll be honest with you, it’s the fact I tuck myself in a corner and stare off into space. So in essence, it all is derived from my head as I look at this. I hope that doesn’t scare those who asked but it is the truth. By the way, you can ask on the comment section. I won’t be mad at ya!

The people here are so wonderful. I get here after my morning swim at 5:00 and the sweet lady always gives me coffee on the house. I’ve become the morning regular and I hope that is not a sad thing. Sometimes the baker will swing by my table and drop off a cookie for me to try out. He likes to run them by me first before he puts them out for sale. I have to admit I’m not the critic he probably needs because unless there is coconut in them I will always pump his ego with a compliment followed by an exclamation mark. Seriously, free coffee and cookies? Is there anything better?

So this is what I look at to begin my day. Do you notice the facade of productivity I have created? To passer byers I look like I am on the cusp of greatness as I diligently type away but really I am snooping around your blogs, leaving my two cents on your comment section and writing about bees and Airwolf. If only they knew.

I do have busy days and more days than not I have to do the grown up stuff. I do cherish the times like this morning when I can watch the sun rise as I drink coffee, laugh reading about your lives, and have moments of inspiration from deep thoughts. But my deep thoughts aren’t crazy ones. I know I am not because crazy people don’t know they are. Now if only the corduroy bear would stop talking to me.

Oh, one more thing. It’s Laurie Kendrick’s birthday! Make sure you swing by and tell her Happy B-Day! She is just aces in my book.

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Wisdom Of My Father

I consider my Dad to be the most intelligent man I have ever met. He is unshakable under pressure, quiet in demeanor, genuine with every word he speaks and carries himself with such a command of presence you can not help but feel awe inspired just to be near him. When he shakes your hand he looks you in the eye but really you feel as if he is looking at your soul. His strength is matched only by his compassion for others and his integrity is commutual to few, most being historical figures of inspiration. I do not fear death near as much as I fear disappointing him but even if, he forgives as easy as he acknowledges the wrong.

He has, over the years, left me some bits of wisdom that were either passed on to him, derived from his own experiences in life or from hard lessons I have learned through out the course of my childhood. So now I will share a few with you so you can see how fortunate I am to have the father I do.

“Never wrestle with a pig. You both get dirty and the pig likes it.”

The main point of this saying is basically don’t fall into the trap of arguing with someone who is argumentative. There are people who just don’t feel comfortable unless there is drama, tension or just negativity surrounding them. It’s better to just walk away because to engage them at all means they win.

Case in point: I was in the fifth grade and there was a girl, Danielle Forgotherlastname, and she was just relentless in her jeers and jokes at my expense. Looking back on it now I am sure this was a fifth grade girl’s way of expressing a crush but that was missed by me. On a particular day I put Dad’s choice words of wisdom on hold and fired back at Danielle. I can’t really remember what it was that I said but it elicited tears. When questioned by my teacher why I would say such a mean thing, I apologized and told her, “I didn’t mean to wrestle with a pig.” Well, the lesson was missed by Mrs. Samson and the Principal. At least my folks knew what I meant.

“Once a rock leaves your hand, you have no control over it”

This one seems pretty straight forward to most but it was a hard one for me to learn. I don’t know why but whenever I mean to hit something by means of throwing the percentage is never as good as if I mean to “scare” someone by means of throwing a rock. I guess that has always been my luck. I have no skills when it comes to warning shots. It is either a bulls-eye or a ridiculous miss.

Case in point: It doesn’t make sense now but many years ago I was engaged in a rock war with a few friends. It was over some distance so the danger of getting your bell rung by a rock was low. However, if the opposing team was hiding behind a Mercedes Benz a collateral hit was eminent. So after a few minutes of skirmish I threw the shot heard around the neighborhood. I knew the second it left my hand where it was headed so while it was still on trajectory I turned and ran back to the house. I didn’t see it hit but within a few minutes the phone rang at home confirming that it was a direct one. Soon my Dad sat me down and told me that they had to pay for a new rear window and this would cost me a week confined to the yard. A small price to pay for what I thought at the time cost 15 million dollars. He left me with those immortal words of wisdom and we hugged it out.

A few years later the statement was revised from “rock” to “anything” after I was suspended for throwing an apple in the cafeteria, knocking down the clock on the wall. I had to. It was a triple dog dare.

“Spend your life, don’t save it”

I think this is a lesson my father learned later in life. After the death of his two parents that was within a year apart, he he adopted a new out look on life. He has always put his career on the forefront. Not really because he wanted to but because he felt he had to. He told me this and it was the first time I saw him as fallible. I guess when death happens that close it is hard not to reflect on your own mortality. This saying is my least favorite. It rings true but every time he says it I am resentful. He still is more of a man, less of a God to me.

Case in point: I have only seen Dad drunk a few times. As of late he has taken a huge interest in collecting wines and a couple Christmas’s ago I saw him after a wine party. He was wearing a Santa hat that was slumped forward. With his eyes squinted and a slight grin he softly said, “they gave me a hat”. It was priceless.

“History is not a fact, it is an interpretation”

I have to admit that this was a hard one for me to understand. His point was that things come to pass in life and the end result maybe a fact but why it happened is different through others opinions. It is a statement that taught me tolerance, patience, the ability to be opened minded and when to keep my mouth shut.

Case in point: I used to argue politics for fun. Then I realized no matter who went against my opinion there was little, if anything, they could say that would sway my opinion. I went through life believing I was smarter than anyone who didn’t see the way I did and (gasp) I began to become an asshole. That is until I argued with my Dad. He disarmed my stubborn opinion by patience, understanding and a brief explanation of why, in his mind, we are where we are today. I left with a feeling of enlightenment but still held true to my opinion. He wasn’t out to change my mind but to explain his interpretation. And he did it without a need to have a winner and a loser.

These are only four of the many wise sayings my father has. I believe they have had an impact on my life because he uses them less and less. I know he is waiting for the day I have children of my own so he can, one more time, impart his endless wisdom but he knows that if he doesn’t get to, I will. I count my blessings to have him as a Dad. He is my confidant, my teacher, and my best friend. And I love him so.

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