When I was young, my favorite character from the
Winnie the Pooh cartoons was Eeyore. I don’t know why, couldn't speculate.
My mother was concerned. She didn’t think it was
healthy to favor a sad, pessimistic donkey. Attempts
to win me over to Pooh or Tigger failed.
Further worry resulted from my delight in the
seemingly invisible, perpetually lethargic Mr.
Snuffleupagus on Sesame Street. Dave Chapelle has a bit about him being a heroin junkie, he has a point. Over the course of
many months, I sucked all the paint off of my
Fisher-Price Snuffleupagus figure in an odd display of
affection. I guess. I can’t recall the exact
When I came to Austin for college, imagine my surprise
at finding the annual Eeyore’s Birthday Party celebration.
People, many in Halloween-esque costumes, gather in a
neighborhood park to hang out, eat turkey drumsticks,
and generally be weird in that Austin way. While I do
not care for the hippy drum circles and rhythm-less
spin dancing, I like the spirit of the thing.
As I write this, my Eeyore squeezy toy is perched on
the top of my monitor, looking soulful.