"I'll be back in three minutes and twenty seconds." - Batman (Adam West) to Robin (Burt Ward)
I’ve learned with my kids that they don’t like for me to be vague about things.
Words like “pretty soon” are always a disaster. But I just don’t like the business of letting them in on all the business. Why do they need all the details? They’re just kids! Life should be, mostly, a surprise for them. That’s my thinking. And if you tell them what you’re planning, it’s like law. They don’t get the reality that life gets in the way sometimes. If you say you’re going to do something and you don’t, it’s like you lied. So I purposefully lack specificity much of the time when communicating our plans with them, and I think this may be warping them a bit. We get conversations like this:
Me: Get in the car.
Kid: Where we going?
Me: You’ll find out. Get in the car.
Kid: Are we going to the zoo?
Me: Just get in the car.
Kid: Are we going to the store?
Me: I’ve told you to get in the car three times and you’re still not in the car. Is something wrong with the ears today?
Kid: Are we going to the zoo?
Me: We’re not going anywhere if you don’t get in the car.
You can see how hard it is to actually get anywhere without the details. But if you tell them, it’s worse. If they know where we’re going they have to bring 500 things with them. Getting out the door is like getting through a field of quicksand pits. I’m not sure, but my wife says this is a girl thing. They “need” hair brushes. They “need” purses. They “need” pillows for the car if the drive is longer than 3½ minutes.
I’m starting to believe there’s something to all this: that they’re in on this together, on some emotional level, using the fact that they’re female to take advantage. I’m not saying there’s conscious intent. I can accept the idea that they may be doing it without knowing they are doing it. Like a bird taking a dump on my head while it flies over my yard, blissfully unaware of my existence.
But I can get exact about things if I have to.
Me: Get in the car now or I’m going to blow up the house and leave you all wandering around in a theme park in Missouri on my way to go live in Florida with a retired couple who are too senile to realize I’m not their real son.
This they take seriously and get in the car.
Peace to you.
© LW Publishing 2010
Showing posts with label Batman. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Batman. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
Feeding the Nerdish Soul
Hark. It is on the horizon. The time has come again for the feeding of my nerdish soul.
So comes the advent of the Motor City Comic Con with the sweet smell of spring, and with it comes the sweet smell of ancient papers covered with ink so fair. But must I convince you of the joys of this occasion? Is your heart far from it?
O, hear ye, faint of heart: The millions of expressions of cultural joys, innocence, angst and confusion that have been manifested through the arts with simple line drawings, colors and captions.
Will Chewbacca be there?
We knowest not. But the man beneath the fur is a fine gentleman we do hope to meet again.
Will Mary-Ann be there?
Yea, verily, she shall. But Ginger abstains. (Would you believe that Ginger’s real name was not Tina Louis? It was actually Tatiana Josivovna Chernova Blacker. Seriously.)
Will the most unique of the Batmans be there?
Yea. Adam West will grace us with his presence and humor. And yet of Robin we knoweth not.
In days of yore we have met with Lou Ferrigno, Louis Gossett Jr., the Ghoul (who is, in truth, a kind and gentle soul), the mysterious, yet kind, Doug Jones, as well as those who have trekked the stars and fought the wars of the star. We have met with great artists such as Bernie Wrightson and lived to tell the tale. Humbled. We have seen on display first editions of our popular cultural history – men of superness, spiderness, hulkiness, and women of wonder and catishness – worth much gold and silver. I myself have gathered the withered pages of famous monsters and enjoyed them forthwith.
If you do not understand the attraction of these sundry pleasantries, you will not be judged by me. I will only hold out hope that someday you will understand this language of the heart which is driven by imagination.
Until that day, I weep for you. With pity.
Peace to you.
© LW Publishing 2010
So comes the advent of the Motor City Comic Con with the sweet smell of spring, and with it comes the sweet smell of ancient papers covered with ink so fair. But must I convince you of the joys of this occasion? Is your heart far from it?
O, hear ye, faint of heart: The millions of expressions of cultural joys, innocence, angst and confusion that have been manifested through the arts with simple line drawings, colors and captions.
Will Chewbacca be there?
We knowest not. But the man beneath the fur is a fine gentleman we do hope to meet again.
Will Mary-Ann be there?
Yea, verily, she shall. But Ginger abstains. (Would you believe that Ginger’s real name was not Tina Louis? It was actually Tatiana Josivovna Chernova Blacker. Seriously.)
Will the most unique of the Batmans be there?
Yea. Adam West will grace us with his presence and humor. And yet of Robin we knoweth not.
In days of yore we have met with Lou Ferrigno, Louis Gossett Jr., the Ghoul (who is, in truth, a kind and gentle soul), the mysterious, yet kind, Doug Jones, as well as those who have trekked the stars and fought the wars of the star. We have met with great artists such as Bernie Wrightson and lived to tell the tale. Humbled. We have seen on display first editions of our popular cultural history – men of superness, spiderness, hulkiness, and women of wonder and catishness – worth much gold and silver. I myself have gathered the withered pages of famous monsters and enjoyed them forthwith.
If you do not understand the attraction of these sundry pleasantries, you will not be judged by me. I will only hold out hope that someday you will understand this language of the heart which is driven by imagination.
Until that day, I weep for you. With pity.
Peace to you.
© LW Publishing 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
The Batman
In life, sometimes, there are moments of purity and clarity. Moments when you do the right thing and you know you’re doing the right thing and nothing else matters.
When I was very young, probably around 4 years old, I had gotten a used Batman costume from a yard sale. This wasn’t a plastic thing, it was the real deal, made out of cloth, with a dark blue cowl and a cape, with a grey suit to go with it. It looked just like the costume Batman wore on TV. It was wonderful to behold. I put it on and looked at myself in the mirror, amazed how I could become the Batman.
Then one summer day the opportunity arose to utilize my newfound glory. There was a little girl living across the street from us. She was a bit younger than me and she was beautiful. But she had a villainous older brother who picked on her, and I noticed him across the street performing one of his many acts of villainy, making the little girl cry.
And I knew just what to do.
I ran into my house and quickly changed from the mild mannered me into the fearless Batman. I quickly checked myself in the mirror to be sure my Batmaness was complete. It was. And I was fearless. I remember it clearly. With that cowl and cape I had nothing to be afraid of. The world would stop on my command.
I charged out of the house. I ran across my yard and across the street. I ran to the rescue. I started yelling at the girl’s older brother for his dastardly deeds and told him he better leave her alone. He seemed very old to me at the time. Maybe he was 9? 10? Almost an adult to a 4 year old. But I berated him in front of his friends. I told him to leave her alone. I put up my dukes and was ready to let him have it and he was stunned for a moment into a speechless stare.
I imagine it was just before he came to his senses and beat me to a pulp that their mom came outside to see what all the fuss was about. I told her he was a cad. Well. In so many words. I did tell her that he was making his sister cry and his mom did the right thing. She made him leave his sister alone and go sit on the back porch until he could learn to act right.
I was rewarded for my bravado with some cookies and milk, which I shared with the damsel who was now distress free. It tasted very, very, very good.
Peace to you.
© LW Publishing 2010
When I was very young, probably around 4 years old, I had gotten a used Batman costume from a yard sale. This wasn’t a plastic thing, it was the real deal, made out of cloth, with a dark blue cowl and a cape, with a grey suit to go with it. It looked just like the costume Batman wore on TV. It was wonderful to behold. I put it on and looked at myself in the mirror, amazed how I could become the Batman.
Then one summer day the opportunity arose to utilize my newfound glory. There was a little girl living across the street from us. She was a bit younger than me and she was beautiful. But she had a villainous older brother who picked on her, and I noticed him across the street performing one of his many acts of villainy, making the little girl cry.
And I knew just what to do.
I ran into my house and quickly changed from the mild mannered me into the fearless Batman. I quickly checked myself in the mirror to be sure my Batmaness was complete. It was. And I was fearless. I remember it clearly. With that cowl and cape I had nothing to be afraid of. The world would stop on my command.
I charged out of the house. I ran across my yard and across the street. I ran to the rescue. I started yelling at the girl’s older brother for his dastardly deeds and told him he better leave her alone. He seemed very old to me at the time. Maybe he was 9? 10? Almost an adult to a 4 year old. But I berated him in front of his friends. I told him to leave her alone. I put up my dukes and was ready to let him have it and he was stunned for a moment into a speechless stare.
I imagine it was just before he came to his senses and beat me to a pulp that their mom came outside to see what all the fuss was about. I told her he was a cad. Well. In so many words. I did tell her that he was making his sister cry and his mom did the right thing. She made him leave his sister alone and go sit on the back porch until he could learn to act right.
I was rewarded for my bravado with some cookies and milk, which I shared with the damsel who was now distress free. It tasted very, very, very good.
Peace to you.
© LW Publishing 2010
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