Back when we had the family room addition put on in 2000 (because the kids refused to stop growing), I took advantage of the whole side of the house being exposed, with the easy access, to have air conditioning in. 

Yes, from 1992 to 2000, we had no AC in the house. The house was built somewhere between 1910 and 1919 and had its original radiator heat but that was it. So we had a space pack put in. Basically, a unit outside and another section inside with tubes running up through the house. The place that put it in was run by an incompetent moron (didn’t find this out until later) but he did charge less and then he inevitably went out of business. I had any further repairs (if needed) done by companies who charged more but at least they knew what they were doing. All in all, an excellent arrangement, but we definitely had to put in AC. Up until then, we had to survive with one window unit in what was then the family room (just inside the front door), with a shower curtain separating that room from the rest of the house. That was not an energy efficient situation. Mind you, the main floor was also half the size it is currently. We put another window unit up in Theresa’s room (that was also Matthew’s room when he showed up). 

It was manageable but yeah, we jumped at the chance to put in the new system. There have been occasional issues over the years but only one big purchase– a new exterior unit outside (a Lennox), which is allegedly a solid brand. The company we usually resort to for AC and plumbing issues has had to make some fixes in the past but I’ve learned a few tricks over the years. Aside from the normal, common sense stuff like changing the filter, and covering the top during the winter, there’s the cleaning of the exterior unit. The company offers a yearly maintenance service but evidently the cleaning is extra. Honestly, I expect a $125 maintenance charge to cover CLEANING THE UNIT. Bastards. 

Basically, there’s a dusty gunk that builds up over the delicate, metal mesh grid on the unit. All this is protected by slatted metal grates around the machine. All bolted on by special bolts. They charge another $150 to take those off and clean the mesh. 

However, if you take your garden hose, with thumb added pressurization, you can spray –at an appropriate angle — into and through the grate, shearing all the gunk off the mesh without disturbing it. Takes about 10, 15 minutes but it results in a clean unit. 

How’s your unit? Is your unit clean? Do people appreciate the look and cleanliness of your unit?

You should try and give your unit a good cleaning once a year minimum. Preferably now, in early spring. I just did it in fact, taking advantage of the sunny, 60 degree weather. This way, any water I did get in there will dry off and if by some chance we get up in the 80’s soon, I’ll be ready. And yeah, with our weather, you never know. Just a few days ago. It got up to 78. Crazy. 

Got my filters, got my unit clean, ready for action. 

Bring on the spring/summer heat, bitches. 

From autumn of 1967 to spring of 1973, I attended Gasteyer elementary school. Kindergarten through the middle of fifth grade. Barely remember the outside of the school except for the playground with some dangerous slides and that the school was red/brown brick. I don’t really remember any teachers or things that went on inside the school except one event. 

Last student leaving the class room had to turn off the light. One time, that was me. For some reason, a staple had been inserted right underneath the light switch. Prankster? Dunno. I flicked the switch with my finger, the switch, jammed, would not go down, so my finger slid off the switch, made contact with one end of the protruding staple and ZAP. Mini explosion, sparks, smoke, melted switch plate, and me staring at the fried end of my fingertip like an idiot. There was like a hole burnt in the end of the finger. It must have hurt like hell. It was a bizarre occurrence and I have no idea if anyone was ever apprehended for sticking a staple in there. I’m sure I was taken to the nurse and sent home.

Which was right across the street, baby! 

Yep, I lived across the street from school, so I got to go home for lunch every day, rambling across 99th street– fairly quiet neighborhood road and home, where my grandmother or “Gama” as I used to call her, would have lunch ready for me. And to accompany the daily feast, I got to watch Bozo’s Circus at lunch time. 

Bozo, the world’s most famous clown! Oliver O’ Oliver! Sandy the tramp! The big top Band! Whoever the guest act was! Ringmaster Ned, (that’s he!), and a cast of thousands! It was all very exciting, being a youngster. Bozo’s circus was a dependable staple (ouch) of my daily routine. 

Bozo himself, a tall, gangly fella, with an all red suit (later blue), big wide red hair, giant blue shoes and a great laugh. He had a great comedy style– not too dissimilar from Bugs Bunny really. They both skirted the edges of humor that worked on two levels, kids and adults. Oliver O Oliver was a hayseed and the second banana, while Sandy was the little hobo clown who never said a word. They were usually all corralled and kept in check by Ringmaster Ned. The clowns did a few comedy sketched every day, cartoons were shown, and they’d have a different guest act each day. Acrobats, unicyclists, jugglers, dog acts, you name it. The most nerve wracking were the plate spinners. For a kid watching a plate spinner do their act, it was the child’s equivalent of trying to sell your house, you have only one possible buyer and you’re both operating on contingents. 

The sketches were usually fun and occasionally, you could tell the boys were laughing about something we weren’t supposed to know but the moms and dads in the audience were sure laughing. The stands were always packed with moms, dads and kids. It was the hottest ticket in all of Chicago. Screw present day Hamilton or season tickets for the Cubs. At one point, there was like a 12 year waiting list for tickets to Bozo’s Circus! And games! Magic arrows would search the audience (no…just a mom) to pick a boy and a girl to play the GRAND PRIZE GAME! You had to stand behind the line and throw a ping pong ball into a series of buckets lined up in front of you. Make a bucket, get a prize. Make all *six*, oh yes, a new Schwinn bike! 

After all the fun and excitement, Ringmaster Ned would blow his whistle, say good bye and announce that it was time for the Grand March! Then Bozo would do a high steppin’ dance as he led everyone out of the studio, twirling his baton. Then it was back to school for me. Good times.

Bob Bell played Bozo for many years and inspired and entertained thousands of kids. In fact, Dan Castallaneta, voice of Homer Simpson and a dozen other voices on the Simpsons, *based* Krusty the clown’s voice on Bob Bell’s Bozo voice. 

There were other clowns in the entourage over the years. Ray Rayner stopped playing Oliver to go on and do his daily morning show for me and thousands of other kids, playing with Chelviston the Duck, Cuddly Dudley at his house, playing cartoons, etc. that was my morning! There was also Cooky the clown, Whizzo, and others. Eventually Bell retired and there was a new Bozo for a new age. All things must come to an end, as did the Bozo show years later but those lunchtimes were a lot of fun. 

Bozo. 

The only Clown I ever liked. 

Although that’s to be expected with the World’s Most Famous. 

There are colorful activities and then there are colorful activities. If you’re referring to holding court after a few beers, yakking it up as a group during bad video night or bar hopping on a tropical vacation, yes, I have been a very solid and entertaining representative of those colorful activities. 

But if you’re referring to the more physically demanding or daring activities like skiing, skydiving, jet skiing and the like, no, I am not the poster boy for these things. Now, more than ever. I do regularly work out and go running when the weather’s nice but those are fairly normal activities, well within the scope of my abilities. But other things….

I’ve never been great at balance and have a weird thing about needing to always be grounded in some fashion. This explains why certain activities have been tried by me, failed utterly by me and finally condemned by me, often never to be attempted again. Don’t. Ask. Me.

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In the late ’70’s in high school, I tried skiing for the first time. Slipping on the boots of discomfort, I felt akin to Frankenstein, clomping around, feeling ready to fall over– and I wasn’t even on the skis yet. I spent all my time attached to the tow rope, sliding awkwardly down the bunny hill until I picked up the slightest bit of speed, which–I was certain –was seconds away from turning into warp speed, so I allowed gravity to help complete the sloppy fall I’d begun ten minutes earlier. And so it went, back and forth and I hated every minute of it. I didn’t have the coordination, temperament or patience for it. Ten years later, a couples Colorado skiing trip opportunity came up. Being in my late ’20’s, I couldn’t very well be the grumpy old man who never does anything or go anywhere (I was still saving that charming nuance) and Linda wanted to go as it was her friends, so what the hell. I think there were six of us total. Some flew there, some lived there and we all rented a cottage of some sort and were there for a long weekend. Times were had (I think). I’m not sure because of the balance, the contrasting memories. I’m not sure who else was even on the trip or if I spent much time with them socially. They’re a blur. That’s the part of the trip when I *wasn’t* thinking I was going to fly off a cliff on skis. So they don’t stand out. 

The country was truly beautiful. Trees, mountains, just exquisite. I remember that and leaping off a ski lift, managing to get up on the skis, facing a mindblowing mountain landscape, felt a fear of heights kick in, meandering a short distance on skis, speeding up TOO FAST, going down, getting up, rinse, repeat. You kind of have to keep “getting back on the horse” in this situation particularly, because you have to get down the mountain. And I did for a bit, but then I realized A) I’m missing some great scenery with all this slapstick and B) it’ll be faster if I walk down the mountain. 

I suppose we flew home after that. Lovely mountains. I’d love to go back some day and not ski there. We have now encapsulated the entirety of my skiing history, as I am a man of infrequent action.

Next time we dip into this area, it’ll be all about water sports because the thing IS. 

This is the other favorite U.K. Panel show. Jimmy Carr is the presenter, a very funny man with a ridiculous laugh, quizzing three celebrity duos as the teams. Usually, it only happens once a year, celebrating with questions about the previous year. But I was delighted to see this year they not only did “The Big Fat Quiz of 2019” but also did an additional one for the whole previous decade (the 2010’s). A few years ago, they also did a smaller weekly series (the Big Fat Quiz of Everything) but that was the odd group out. Usually it’s one show dedicated to the whole previous year. And it’s a hoot.

Depending on how familiar you are with varied British tv celebrities, you may recognize some of the personalities, such as Richard Ayoade from the IT Crowd or Noel Fielding from the Great British Baking Show. But there’s always a new selection of participants, like Russell Brand, Jonathan Ross, Bob Mortimer, and many more. The show itself, even without commercials is usually close to two hours edited down, so I imagine that it takes them at least twice that to film the extravaganza. It devolves nicely into a party atmosphere.

The atmosphere is very fun and laid back though and depending on the team, they’ll just as likely go for laughs as they will the correct answers, points be damned. The questions are broken down into sections featuring tv, sports, politics, etc. from all around the world, so it’s a bit of a crap shoot as to who knows how much about what. 

In the end, it’s basically a built in fun evening of laughs, and you’ve got least 20 entries on YouTube going back some 15 years, so enjoy!

Over in the United Kingdom, they love their game shows–I mean, “Panel Shows”. They’ve got loads of panel shows over there featuring celebrities who have fun matching wits with one another and there’s little emphasis on points. 

Via the YouTube app on my tv, I’ve checked out a few of these, and in some of them, the dry wit is in fact SO dry, that thank heaven water is provided on set, lest the participants choke on their comedic stylings. Others focus so heavily on British politics and inside stuff that the humor’s sometimes lost on us outsiders.

But once in a while, you find that sweet spot. The show that appeals to many, yet never has to dumb it down. Where, though dry wit is appreciated, *quick* wit wins the day. 

Would I Lie To You is one of my two favorite panel shows, which has seen 12 seasons so far. The set up is simple. There are two teams of three. One is always captained by David Mitchell (Peep Show, That Mitchell and Webb Look), with celebs on his left and right. The other team’s perennial captain is Lee Mack (Not Going Out), with his guest celebrity teammates. Rob Brydon is the host. The celebs take turns reading statements from cards they’re provided. The opposing team has to determine whether the statement is true or not, by asking the reader questions.

Now, the person reading the statement is either very familiar with the statement–however ridiculous it might seem, as it really happened to them and might try and sell it as if they’re uncertain or unfamiliar, to throw off the opposing team. OR… the statement is totally made up by the writers, and the celebrity has to quickly think on their feet to try and handle the barrage of questions coming their way, casually explaining away fiction as fact. 

Now, the comedy hits from a lot of directions, as people try to bluff, double bluff and sometimes triple bluff their way out of these holes they’ve been plunged into. I’ll give two examples with Lee Mack, who might be the fastest wit on the show, barely bypassing Mitchell.

One– there’s a feature where there’s an item to be shown along with reading the statement. In this case, a large ring of keys, that Mack said were his. He knew what all of them were for except one. So, of course he had to name what each and every key was for, plus the odd bits and tags attached. What followed was Mack operating on all cylinders to come up with the appropriate doors, gates and hatches for each key and bit, right down to an odd attachment labeled “P.B.U.”. All the while, the other celebs, particularly Mitchell, are luxuriating in watching him try to wriggle out of the latest predicament he’s found himself in. It was a lie and those were not his keys but to see him tread water is hilarious.

Two– reading the card, Mack states that he’s come up with an ingenious way of remembering the names of all the Teletubbies, and the rest of the gang settle in to hear his mental machinations. Once again, the explanation sounds like last second BS but then, the opposing team has to vote on whether he’s lying or telling the truth and if he’s fooled them, his team gets the point. If not, they do. 

It really is quite brilliant and simple at the same time.

There is also, “This is my…”, a feature where a stranger comes out and each member of a team has to explain who the person is. 

“This is Jim, he’s the man who broke my son’s arm”

“This is Jim, a clown who once comforted me after a fire”

“This is Jim, he once landed on my roof”

Only one of the stories and relationship is true, but the opposing team has to figure out who, of the three is telling the truth, and it’s never simple.

It really is entertaining as all hell and even though you probably won’t recognize any of the celebrities–it doesn’t matter. Each and every one of them either gets chucked in the deep end or have to put on a deceptive and confident performance –or both–to fool the opposition. 

My only regret is that they only do ten 30 minute shows a year but with 12 seasons, if you’re interested, you’ve got 120 eps waiting for you.

And that is the truth. Enjoy.

Had my appt. and 3 hour immunotherapy session in the chair. They had good security and a checkpoint at the door, where they asked people questions, made sure they were masked up and took their temperature. 

Talking to the Doc, he said they predict that we’re supposed to hit “the peak” this week or next. 

I said–but they don’t know that do they? 

He said no, they have no idea, they’re guessing. 

So it could be another month until the peak? I asked.  

Possibly, he said but he thinks it’ll happen sooner. 

What worries him is when people can *SAFELY* go back to their lives—-as opposed to when people will say “Oh, I’m sick of this!” and ACTUALLY just start going back to their lives, consequences for others be damned. Because yeah, we’re a big herd of epileptic cats that just can’t take this “horrible horrible torture”. 

Mind you, there’s nothing stopping you from going outside and talking a walk, or a bike or car ride. *Just don’t start mingling with people. 

I’m all for hitting the peak because it shows progression, as then it’ll start to drop and we can begin THAT span of time.

But yes, after we hit it, that just means a couple more months at least that we’ll have to stay holed up. This worries me. Because *nice weather or not*, if people hear “oh, we hit the peak!” and then decide they can start socializing around with everybody again, which will only start spreading it again.

I wish people would just get it in their heads that this reality will have to stay in place for a while. The SECOND any stay at home orders came down, people IMMEDIATELY started groaning, wanting to get back out, so it’ll just get worse as the weather gets better. Jesus Christ, we might miss some sunny days! 

If we just can’t manage to do the smart thing, sure, we’ll all end up getting it, what the hell. An extra, disposable, 100,000 people dying off because Joe Shmoe simply *must* get back to his favorite restaurant. And oh, Plain Jane just *has* to get out there with her girlfriends. 

It just pisses me off. When it gets warmer, the cases will lessen but the virus isn’t going away. Warm weather’s not a cure. And there will be a second wave this fall. Hopefully not as bad but with this thing, we have absolutely no real idea if that’s true. Could be worse. Don’t know. Dr. Fauci has said this virus is a moving target and that makes it more dangerous than SARS. 

If you get the thought in your head that “Oh, it’s no worse than the flu” well, remember, Brainiac, the flu also kills the elderly and immune compromised too and yeah this IS worse.

If you think it’s no big deal like the news anchor who defiantly went to her grandmother’s birthday party to be with her—last I heard, the grandmother caught it from her and is on a ventilator.

If you refuse to take precautions, like Britain’s PM, Boris Johnson, who insisted on shaking all the hands of all the foreign dignitaries, well, he tested positive and after a few days in bed, “still running the country”, he’s now been taken into intensive care. 

And if you somehow think this whole thing is a hoax or a conspiracy—well, yes. Yes it is. And we know where you live and agents are coming to get you with “devices”. So crawl into your bunker and stay there forever. After that, someone will tell you when it’s safe to come out.

*Thank God for the health care professionals that are the ones actually fighting this thing, putting themselves at risk, every day, while we moan about not being able to go out and play. If, when this thing is over, EACH and EVERY city, better goddamn well throw them a parade, or honor them in some way. Lord knows, we have no idea when we can ever hug them again. 

We don’t know everything about COVID-19 but we’re getting a better idea on how long the symptoms last, just from the thousands that have had it. A mild case sticks with you for around two weeks.

BAD cases that hit the elderly, the immunocompromised, or anyone really, they can last anywhere from three to six weeks. Imagine someone you loved being put in that position, feeling like there are bricks on their chest, not being able to breathe, finally being put on a ventilator. Imagine them going through this for 3 to an ungodly six weeks. Then, after that hell, they die.

All because it was really nice out, and you really just can’t stand being cooped up and you had to just get out there and screw around with your buddies in the park. Everyone in the group feels fine but two of you had it and now everyone does and you brought it home to the family, as did your friends. Then two weeks later, you all start showing symptoms. and for 20% of the group, it turns into a real shit show or a grave or both.

Sorry, Had to vent. A lot of people are incredibly stupid. 

Finally, a comparison. Decades ago, our grandfathers and great-grandfathers were called upon to storm the beach at Normandy and run into the jaws of death…

While we’re being called upon to do this…

We can handle that….right?

Life Under The Oppressive Thumb of COVID-19 is pretty much like life was before it, for me, anyway. Remember, I’m the guy who barely left the house for the last several years. 

But for everyone else, this is becoming quite the shift in people’s routines. Maybe that’s a good thing, and not just from a medical standpoint.

Sure, before this bug bit, brick and mortar establishments were on the decline, in favor of online sales. More and more and more people were retreating behind their keyboards every day to do their shopping, play their games and of course bully and bitch. Civilization was slowly disassembling into a scattered and isolated cyber-community. Human interaction was becoming less and less a thing. In another 50 years, it’s really hard to tell what form the human community would take, as we chose to slowly withdraw and get virtual. More and more people were choosing to hunker down, plug in and tune out.

But then comes COVID-19 and basically takes the choice out of our hands. Now, if you want to protect yourself, your loved ones and others, you make the responsible sacrifice and stay home. Some can’t for a variety of reasons, mostly medical and financial but those that do, can’t help but be a party to becoming reacquainted with human interaction. Medical house arrest means you’re spending a lot more time at home with family. When you finally take a break from your screen, they’re there. As this gets worse, it occurs to you that they could get sick. Or you could. Maybe the screen isn’t as important as it was. The screen will always be there. Mom and dad or grandma or grandpa… maybe not. A little fear bringing the family together. 

And when you go back to the screen because mom and dad and grandma and grandpa are driving you insane, you reach out to some people you haven’t contacted in a while, see how they’re doing. If you’re family is separated and isolated, then the screen becomes your ally again with a video conference here or there. 

In another (hopefully) six months when this thing winds down and we’re free to congregate again, to get OUT, I really wonder if we’ll see a new era of people getting together more, hugging more, celebrating more and less walking around like zombies on their phones. Families actually sitting around the dinner table, *talking* to each other. That’d be interesting. 

Or do we end up staying in our refuge and away from each other, even if the coast is clear, in case another bug emerges? Sticking with then long established protocols in an effort to cut any new bug off at its knees before it can get a foothold in the populace?

I guess it depends what the next six (?) months holds. We’ll see. 

It really wasn’t my intention to get this old this quick. I’d have put it off, really. Although I hate putting things off. I like to get it done, get it over with, etc. just waiting for something is tedious. It’s like when you have to go to a wedding. Sure, it’ll be nice to see people but A) you’ve got to get dressed up and B), you really have to devote the whole day to the proceedings so there’s waiting around. No, don’t get started on anything, we’ve got to get dressed up for the wedding! Whose turn is it in the shower? Where are my pants? Did you already get gas? Where’s the present? But I digress. I didn’t mean to start blathering about weddings. I got a new keyboard and I’m flying.

Anyway, this getting old nonsense…the *reason* why I’m saying I’ve gotten old is the f****** pill case. They say you’re only as old as you feel and that is true. Quite often I feel like I’m in my 30’s or 40’s, but there are days when I feel every day of being 57. The highway to 60. Thank goodness I won’t be doing this blog after this year, at least not day to day. I somehow get the feeling that I’ll be cranky the day I turn 60. Just a hunch. 

I feel that you’re not officially an adult until you’re 30 — that doesn’t mean you stop dong stupid things, but you’ve reached a point where you really can’t cite inexperience any longer and people no longer really consider you a child by any means. You’ve just entered a different zone. Once you leave that 0 to 30 zone, by and large, you’d best have your act together on several fronts. It’s for the best. The 30 to 60 zone, I feel is the time to shine, especially creatively. At one point, I had realized that my 40’s was easily the most creative decade ever, up to that point, at least. There was one year where, in addition to my regular work, I produced over 300 comic pages. I was very active putting a lot of comic product out there in between 2000 and 2012. Mind you, the vast up tick in activity that one year was due to a certain comic site that spurred a lot of collaborations and it’s no longer around. My 50’s have been just as creative though, which Mickey & Maj being produced (for kids) as well as The Swede (not for kids). Once again, I must steer back toward the f****** pill case.

My original point—I can’t stop on this keyboard—is that here I am, nearing the end of the 30 to 60 zone, and after *last year*, I’ve got maintenance stuff and crap to do and during that time, I’ve got to take various pills each day as a protective measure. Two dailies and one three times a week. That’s not bad but I’ve added a multivitamin and some extra Vitamin D to the mix. So again, compared to what some people take, that’s not bad but it is enough… that I need a pill organizer. The old man pill case with SMTWTFS emblazoned on the top with big letters. It’s a necessary—oh hold on a sec..

HEY YOU KIDS! GET OFF MY LAWN! AND SOCIAL DISTANCE OVER THERE! NYAARRHH!

Sorry, there are certain things you’re expected to do when you get to be a certain age. So, it’s really just kind of a bummer that I’ve had to descend to this level of needing a pill case. Although I *do* like organization and keeping things in order, so it’s not that bad, really. I was initially indignant but one adjusts. I’d prefer not taking any pills each day except maybe the multivitamin, for all the good it does. 

I’d love to be able to think that after the three years, when I’m done with the therapy, that I can power down and stop with the pills. After all, I’ve got the spanking new, shiny immune system, blah blah blah. Unfortunately, when the maintenance stops, I’ll be 60, and preparing for the 60 to 90 zone, starting off with the colonoscopy, the first since I was 50. Yee-haa.

The 60 to 90 zone is fraught with worry, danger, and feebleness. I DO try to plan ahead though and try and compensate. For instance, I never really worked out in my life until after I hit 40, after reading a disturbing report on losing muscle mass as you get older. So, over the last 15 years, I’ve done more diverse working out and weight lifting than ever before in my life. I felt sorry for the UPS guy who had to deliver all my weights. By the time he delivered the 40 lb. barbells, he even asked if I was stopping any time soon. Turns out that was it. Going higher was going to be really expensive.

So, to recap, always organize your pills and beware the importance of the age zones. 

Thank you. 

I remember I was getting comics in the early ’70’s from the grocery store, this was ’71, ’72, early ’73. It was usually the neighborhood Jewel store. It was catch as catch can in those days, with no convenient area comic store around. I think it was the late ’70’s before they started popping up around here and even then, it was a haul. No, I was completely dependent upon going with my grandparents to the grocery store and rummaging around the magazine section hoping for the best. As far as getting sequential issues, good luck. I don’t know how much the staff at the grocery store cared about the latest issues, or if the magazine guy came in to replenish, if he was diligent about putting out the next consecutive issue or not. Or for that matter, if I was able to *get* to the grocery store! There was every possibility that if I read a comic that was a part one, it was 50/50 that I’d finish that story. As it was, I’ve gone on at length about about Fantastic Four #112 being one of the first issues I’d gotten, and that was a continuation of a multi part story. Thankfully, it was fairly stand alone in it being a climactic battle. That other first issue, with Batman and Ras Al Ghul, luckily, was a treasury edition that had four stories collecting all the connected stories of the conflict. I wasn’t always so lucky though. 

Then, in ’73, we moved and it was maybe a year or two with no comics (!) because at the new apartment, I didn’t have a clue who might be selling them, since there weren’t any comic stores anywhere near me. This was ’75 I think and I finally happened upon a drug store that carried them. 

I’d left off of the Fantastic Four around issue 142 or so and when I came back, I started back up with 160. That was when I was first turned on to the Avengers and artist supreme, George Perez. I was picking up the JLA again, a lot of comics. Detective, X-men, Defenders, maybe around 20 comics a month! I was set up pretty well for a few years. 

Then I finally went next level in the late ’70’s, hitting an actual comic store with a couple buddies. But we had to take two or three buses to get there and it took an hour minimum each way. It was worth it though. It was my first comic store experience. The guy behind the counter was very much the comic book guy from the Simpsons but they had old back issues — and higher price tags. I think I yearned for some Neal Adams Avengers from right around the Kree-Skrull War. It was a cool place. Undoubtedly a hoarding disaster dump of a store that smelled of mold but to my young, eager eyes, it was awesome. The bus ride back was always quiet, as we were reading intently. So much so that it was an effort to pull ourselves out of the story to pay attention so we didn’t miss our stop! You did not want to miss your stop. 

I remember one bus ride back, I was utterly entranced reading the latest X-men issue because it was part of the Dark Phoenix saga, where they were fighting the Hellfire club, a super powered cadre of businessmen and nogoodniks. The issue ended with that iconic scene with Wolverine in the sewer. You saw his hand grip a pipe, him getting up, encrusted with sludge, and turning toward the camera saying “Now, it’s my turn”. YOW!!!!!!!

Back then, in *that* moment, that was the ultimate. That was the “Endgame” moment for this teenager. 

Time moved on and eventually, I had wheels and I found a regular comic store (Graham Crackers Naperville) during the ’80’s then a neighborhood store (Comics Galore) just a two minute drive from my house in Western Springs, which I patronized during the ’90’s and 2000’s. I got spoiled by the convenience. It went out of business in 2011.

*Being* so spoiled though, having such a close store, I no longer wanted to travel even 15 minutes away to a different store.

So, I got me an iPad and went digital in 2011 and never really looked back. 

Eventually even sold all my printed comics to clear out a fair amount of room in the basement. 

Gotta say, even though there’s a *lot* to be said for the tactile experience of actual printed comics and the fun of going into a comic store and looking around, the pad is simpler and quicker for *me*, anyway. When you can roll over in bed on a Wednesday morning, even at 4am — if you can’t sleep— and buy a brand new comic (or literally any one of thousands from the past 80 years) and read it right there…. and then roll over and go back to sleep….that’s convenience. Your mileage may vary. Many many MANY people like going to comic shops, the experience of stepping *into* the experience, which, for comic shops, includes a lot of other things as well, be it toys, gaming, you name it. You can’t get that or the experience from the pad.

These days, I don’t collect any one specific book regularly. Once in a while, if there’s a particular artist or writer doing something I like, I’ll grab an issue. When Lee Weeks does a couple fill in issues of art on Batman — I’m there. That type of thing. Or when the latest trade comes out of the most recent 5 issues of the Hulk, I’ve been picking that up at a collected discount, etc.

But all that is when things are normal. Things are NOT normal right now.

Currently, with our little crisis-virus, comic book shops are mostly shut down and causing massive financial hardship for shop owners like so many others. I don’t know how much if any help they’re going to get from Diamond distributors or the publishers, so until the shops are back and healthy again, I won’t bother with the digital releases and I’ll forego comics completely. There should be *some* solidarity amongst the community.

I’d urge anyone who can in some way, shape or form, help out their local comic store, please try and do it.

My earliest memory is — I believe — me drowning. Some deep, buried, vague memory. I can only assume I was a toddler. It certainly wasn’t me being born like some water baby, as that “new age” stuff was I think well after my mother’s time and even if it wasn’t, that’s not my mom’s thing. It was the early 1960’s and she smoked and drank while pregnant like everyone else did. My birth was in a hospital and I’m sure she was zonked out on whatever the hell the drug of the day was. But I digress!

Anyway, I assume I was a toddler that had fallen into someone’s pool. All I remember was sinking down, looking up dumbly, as a hand reached in, grabbed my foot, and pulled me out, no worse for wear. Again, this had to be mid ’60’s and if it was someone’s pool, I could only guess that we were in Florida at Darryl and Marylou’s place in Key Biscayne

We’d visiting there numerous times in the ’60’s and then their later places in Sarasota. But here’s the thing– from what I remember as I got older, these guys lived in style. It was a mixture of Madmen and the Rat Pack doing a week of shows at the Copa. Darryl was my mom’s cousin and a really great guy. He *lived*. I think he sold lawn mowers and ran a bar, but he had a lot of friends, a lot of gatherings by the pool, he enjoyed life and he managed to grab himself the perfect life mate match, a lovely lounge singer named Marylou. 

Marylou was one hot number and a popular singer in her familiar places in the sunshine state and even performed with celebrities. I don’t know a lot of details because my mom would never really tell me much about any of this stuff during my life and then would just drop a bombshell on me during casual conversation. A year ago, during a meal, someone had mentioned Marylou being a singer and my mom blurts out “Yeah, Nixon played piano with her once.” Sure enough, back in the ’60’s, Richard M. Nixon had a place in Florida and evidently being practiced on the piano, one night he accompanied Marylou during a performance.

This is just one of the interesting tidbits she would share out of the blue. My kids would stare at me with a “I can’t believe you never said anything!” and I’d just point at her. It’s all her.  I don’t tend to keep stuff in much. If there’s a story to be told, I intend to tell it.  If for no other reason than so it can be passed on. And my my kids can never say I didn’t share. It’s all gonna be out there on the blog kids! This is the year I cover it all! 

Anyway, this is the kinda casual ’60’s party atmosphere you’d have at Darryl and Marylou’s place. The kinda laid back atmosphere where people are Laughlin’, eatin’, smokin’, drinkin’, and a toddler could very easily waltz right over to the pool and fall in. *****And I would wager everything I have, that either Darryl or Marylou jogged over, stuck a hand in, grabbed me by the foot, hoisted me out and put me on a towel, or in a highchair, saw that I was fine and continued whatever they were talking about and absolutely no one gave it another thought, ever. I don’t even know if my mom was there or if she was ever told, because who cares, I was fine. 50 years,after, the last time I saw Marylou, I brought this up. She had no memory of it and that’s not a surprise because who cares, I was fine. She probably never did give it another thought even though she, or Darryl probably saved my life. And she performed with Nixon, I don’t know if you’ve heard….

But as a side note, just think how that toddler falls in pool, gets saved scenario would play out these days so many levels. Probably get eight crisis counselors. Two camera crews and a SWAT team involved. Then a reality show. 

This was originally supposed to be about my attempts at water sports. Maybe in the next installment….