Ahhhhhh -- as my hair grays and departs from my head, as my skin sags and my feet callous, as my brain loses connections and time becomes more and more abstract -- I have nowhere to turn but the television of my youth(?). And therein my hair darkens and grows thicker, my skin tauts and my feet are gentle to the touch. I am alive with new ideas and the future is to be embraced. My love affair with comics reaches into the testicular droppings of my youth. I return to them again and again (so much like Walt, and F. Scott, and the poetry of Russell Edson and Stephen Dobynns), hording them, bagging them, organizing them, making spread sheets. I am the fanboy sitting in the basement of his parent's house drinking beer and watching C-List porn and wondering why the girls won't talk to me. What the hell happened anyway? But I digress. Comics. Television. Youth. Therein all is good. Therein I become a god.
I now I gird my loins to plunge face first into an afternoon with my father-in-law, his Filipino wife, and her extended and extended family. They all speak Tagalog fast and breathy while pointing at myself and my family. Are they sizing us up to cook in the box spring? Are they in awe of our majesty? Do they want to breed with us to see what the offspring can accomplish. It unnerves me to the quick. There is a high propensity for things to go sideways. Thank goodness my father-in-law is an alcoholic and booze flows freely. Give me enough scotch and I will de-pants and start screaming about cock fights and shoes. These are the days that we look back upon with a bemused grin (assuming we make it out alive). These are the days that we compare with the television of our youth (?) in order for all the pieces to fall into place.
I grip the arm of my 10-year-old son for balance. He hates it when I do that. Happy July 6th.