Yosemite Sam sure is a wild-west shoot-em-up pistol baron, brewed in America, shot-glassed by the Canadian mind. Yosemite exists nowhere in the real. His ecology is light illumination and technicolor. Whatever zoom splat boings in a cartoon, stays in a cartoon, right?


The cartoonist’s pencil lassoes our minds together. Woody Woodpecker started out as a real woodpecker. Someone’s imagination chewed the image of a woodpecker easy as bubble-gum and blew human hand and leg bubbles with a stuttering laugh track to float him into trees. That’s pretty unusual pretty spectacular. I think I’ll keep watching; so will lots of others. We’ll have the same choreographed experience. I think I’ll go ahead and get forgetful about the woodpecker part though.


What happens when Woody Woodpecker is made of whirly maple seeds and hemlock cones? Great horneytoads! What’s the big idea? Where’s the kool-aid glow of the projector the television the computer screen? Yes, where exactly is the glow? Where does it come from? How is it made? This maple seed comes from a tree over there. It exists in its entirety. It made itself. It exists without my imagination. It is real. I start to remember the woodpecker, who flits and knock-knocks from tree to tree. What do I really know about him?