To those who have been patiently awaiting this blog...I commend you. I, on the one hand, lack patience most of the time so screw virtues.... I need answers now man! Anyway, as the kids at work like to say, "it's really rampin' up at the office," so my time has been spent either morphing into a corporate transformer, getting too drunk to type, or sleeping and dreaming about peanut-butter covered kittens. However, today, I took advice from the Beastie Boys and fought for my right to paaarty, and decided to leave work at a reasonable time to come home and enjoy one of the things I love most...having a nice cold beer, watching politicians try to persuade the crap out of other human beings, and stare into my computer screen and talk about my day.
One of the best places to get material, whether a blog or a half-hour comedy routine, is undoubtedly the New Jersey Path trains. I ride this delightful, over-sized, electric sardine-tin every day- Monday through Friday and I must say, I love it. On occasion, I am being either anally abused by a leather bag or nasally abused by an unshowered anti-hygenist, however I usually find a middle ground in between staring into my newspaper and listening to my iPod and trying to figure out the best way to keep my balance without grabbing a diseased-ridden pole.
Some days, it's magical. Today, for instance, was a day I felt like a really cool dude when I went to work because of someone on the Path train. As I stepped on the train this morning at 8:15 as I usually do, I found the best spot where I could simultaneously hold on to a pole with my left hand and not have to let go to turn the page of my newspaper (this is very successful for me). As I put my bag down to enjoy the 20 minutes of the day I get to listen to Hendrix become a sonic gust of wind and to find out why the Yankees lost the night before, I look down and see a very colorful magazine. Oh wait..it's not a magazine. Wow, it's a...a...uhh...comic book. My eyes gravitate to the reader and all I see is the top of his head. A clean bald spot makes it's home on the man's crown and it gets me thinkin'. What kind of 7 year old child is balding! I pretend like the movement of the tracks makes me stumble a little and I step on the 7 year old's foot to get a response. At that moment I realize that this is no 7 year old, but in fact, it is a grown man in his 30s. At this moment, I feel 2 emotions. One: Has humanity lost their god damn mind and two: I feel like a really cool dude now.
I start thinking about the concept of the comic book and it makes -10 sense to me (yes, that's less than zero). The comic book this gentlemen (possibly some sort of superhero) was reading was Superman. The only way I can give credit to a comic book reader is if they in fact cannot read and have to attain enjoyment through pictures. Did this gentlemen not know the story of Superman? Isn't Superman the easiest thing to grasp? Nerd by day, awesome by night, emotionally depressed because he cant reveal his true identity to the woman he loves? Hasn't this story been around for decades? What has changed? Is Superman doing something these days I don't know about? Is he inventing new dance moves?
I put on my kryptonite eyeglasses to try to rile the guy up, but he was too involved in his children's book. I'm going to stop here and say if anyone reading this also reads comic books... I applaude you for getting this far down without opening up a new website related to magic or Wicca. Moving forward, I realized that this man probably has not seen a naked woman since an 80's horror movie, so I had to be gentle. I thought about a guy at work who, on his lunch break, takes an hour and reads his comic book also. When I pass him, I don't know whether to say, "hey dude what's happenin'?" or, "hey dude, can I see that?" and start ripping out the pages and crumpling them up and continue to say, "you'll thank me later."
I just don't get it. I remember in 3rd grade EVERY kid my age was collecting marvel comic cards, so of course I went out and got the entire set. After I completed the set with Dr. Octopus (this is extremely hypocritical, I know) I never touched it again... I moved on to POGS. But there's something to be said about grown men who still are fascinated with the idea of men wearing all leather who can fly and shoot lasers out of their eyes. Even the word "Comic Book," makes no sense. Their not funny at all. They are actually in every sense of the word...evil.
Kohn, if you are reading this, you are in a different category. My friend Mike "Kohn" has this type of comic fetish I speak of. However, he has some of the most rarest comics on the planet which he could probably put his kids through college with. He also has a movie theater in his basement and owns "real" light- sabers and sometimes admits he is a "geek." But this geek happens to be a pretty cool dude because he has a kegeratore and gets to see naked women on a regular basis, so as I said before, Kohn, you are in a different category.
As I go back to spellcheck this blurb, I kind of feel bad now. Who am I to judge right? I mean, I like women, hanging out at cool bars, playing music, snowboarding, smelling good, feeling good, living fast and dying young. I bet the guy on the train probably thinks I am a complete moron. I bet the guy at work who spends his break buried in a cartoonish fantasy world wants to slice my throat with a samurai sword. I guess there's a viable reason there are actual stores you can purchase these flimsy, exaggerated books of unrealistic fiction. It's because people ENJOOOY them. If you enjoy something, fight for it. If some jerk like me comes up to you and slaps your comic book out of your hand and laughs, stand up for superheroes everywhere and use your powers to shoot lasers out of your eyes or turn into a 8 foot tall green asshole on steroids and smash him into the ground! Because, no matter how silly, or how sarcastic I get about topics like this, or how awfully moronic comic books (or Jimi Hendrix and Hugo Boss sports jackets) may be.... to each his f-in own. Talk to you soon fellow villains.
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