Words Of Advice That Made Sense Then And Still Do

    "Do the best you can with what you have where you are right now" - those words have been attributed to President Theodore Roosevelt and several decades ago, when I first read them, the thought that initially came to me was "Those are great words to live by, I'll think I'll give it a try."

   While I have not in fact been able to do exactly that, I have, on occasion, tried, which is much better than not having any sort of guiding principle at all.

   Being one of those chowderheads that believes it is necessary to have guiding principles by which to live, I have written down and even committed to memory several old adages and axioms, and most if not all of them have proven to be helpful - that is, when I remember to apply them as intended.

   Some of the other pithy statements I believe have helped keep me on a fairly steady track are the following;

"Act like a man of thought, think like a man of action" - this one was stated by French philosopher Henri Bergson (speech given at the Descartes conference, Paris 1937)

"The weakest ink is better than the strongest memory.' Chinese proverb

"Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence." - based on the words of French mathematician Pierre-Simon Laplace, made famous by Carl Sagan. 

"Let us not look back in anger, nor forward in fear, but around in awareness." James Thurber

    

Neal Adams, Peerless Comic Book Artist, Writer, & Creator, June 15th 1941 - April 28th 2022

Neal Adams passed away yesterday. This blog entry is titled with his name, what he is primarily known for, and the years of his birth and death.

Which is as big an understatement (undersummation?) of that man's life and influence on the world of comics and comic creators, as well as commercial illustrators, as there possibly can be.

Neal Adams was the first comic book professional who changed what I personally thought comic books could and should look like. 

He was a classically trained artist with the incredible ability to create imagery of fictional characters that leapt off four-color pages with an almost tangible energy. He took decades old characters and not only reinvigorated them, but he also re-invented them - all while staying true to the roots and ideas of those characters original creators.

His respect for the creators of comic books (and the characters they often anonymously created) was boundless, to the point that he spearheaded efforts to secure not only creators rights for his contemporaries, but long-denied credit and pensions for the Golden Age creators, especially the two men that created the most famous of all superheroes, the last son of Krypton known as Superman. 

Those two, Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, basically were the progenitors of an industry that is now worth billions. 

He was also a truly great human. It was my good fortune and privilege to meet Mr. Adams when I was 12, and he was as graceful (and tolerant) of a young, star-struck fanboy as a man could be.

Over time I continued to be able to sporadically interact with Mr Adams as an ardent admirer of his artwork, and at each and every encounter Mr. Adams continued to be as graceful (and tolerant) of me (now an old star-struck fanboy) as a man could be.

For everything you did and were Mr. Adams, thank you.

   If I have a prize possession it's this, an illustration of me as the Green Arrow by Neal Adams circa 2014

The Basic Plot Of A Surefire Blockbuster

    She agreed immediately to the unusual proposal of switching identities with the niece of the alcoholic millionaire gambler - after all, their resemblance was uncanny - they both had metachromatic eyes, and a little bit of peroxide would give her the blond hair needed. 

   The plan would be for her to accompany him on a trip to the Azores in another rehab bid, the center in Ponta Delgada being isolated enough that he would not have to contend with distractions from his so-called friends, and she, as the niece, would be able to steer his decision-making towards giving her power-of-attorney, which in turn would allow the real niece to secure title to the real estate holdings that dotted the central California coast from Carpentaria north to Cambria.

   However, the niece had not counted on the return of her nefarious brother Laurence, who had been missing for nearly a decade after embarking on an ill-fated adventure into the unexplored jungles of Guyana, South America. 

   Laurence had been found wandering in southern Guyana by members of the Macushi tribe, suffering from amnesia and unable to communicate with his saviors. For nearly a decade he believed himself to be one of these primitive tribesmen, just taller, with straighter, lighter hair and better teeth. 

   It wasn't until a group of British explorers from the Royal Geographical Society who had been sailing along the Essequibo River spotted him fishing with a small group of his adopted brothers on an island in the middle of the river near the dangerous Kaieteur Falls that his true identity was revealed to him, and now he was back in Los Angeles, looking to claim his slice of the family pie.

   Which complicated the plans of the aforementioned niece, not to mention the also aforementioned niece impersonator.

Death, Taxes, & Exaggeration

   There are people who proclaim that there is nothing certain except death & taxes.

Those people are in error, for if the age of the internet has taught us anything it's that there is a whole helluva lot more on this planet than death and taxes that are certain.

Chances are there are millions of things that are as certain as death and taxes.

People exaggerating to make a point for example, and the propensity for people to deify their heroes and demonize their enemies, or to make unsubstantiated claims about things like encountering extraterrestrials, ghosts, or honest politicians.

Those things are all as certain as mispronouncing a Welsh place name.

Alone, And Not Wanting To Be

He walked in and looked around hoping for a familiar face                                 Someone who would at least 

                 Nod their head to acknowledge him 

                 Could introduce him to the crowd 

Because he hated being alone and he hated being unknown                 He knew he couldn't just walk up to a stranger 

Put out his hand and say hello 

Hope the greeting would be returned 

           And then maybe conversation would flow 

No, he knew he couldn't just put out his hand 

He had to be ready with some witty repartee and a plan 

For he hated being alone and hated being unknown

James Bama, American Illustrator & Artist, 04.28.1926 - 04.24.2022

 

                    Bantam paperback of The Man of Bronze with James Bama illustration, re-issued to                               coincide with the 1975 George Pal produced movie, Doc Savage: The Man of Bronze* 

James Bama, one of my favorite illustrators/artists, passed away yesterday. He lived 95 full, rich years, and his work inspired legions of illustrators, artists, and writers - that's what vivid, dynamic imagery does. 

As is plainly evident, Mr. Bama was every bit a master of light and shadow as an artist can be, and created eye-catching, imagination-stirring covers for hundreds of books and advertisements until he retired to Wyoming and devoted himself to the creation of paintings featuring contemporary visions of the west.

His work can be seen in multiple art galleries, including (luckily for me) the Denver Art Museum.

*Model for the cover was actor Steve Holland

Banshee Winds

 When the wind is howling like it is at the moment

                 It is not hard to imagine why our ancestors thought

           It was the screaming of a spirit that portended doom

    For the denizens of the home that were of noble bearing

The Comedian's Confession

He said it was, for him, the equivalent of a junkie's first heroin rush.

The laughter, the real laughter, the kind you not only heard but could actually feel, like a sonic wave almost knocking you off the stage.

That's what he had been after ever since the very first time he had killed an entire room. Men, women, old & young, laughing uncontrollably, grabbing their sides, falling off their chairs, clutching at the sides of the tables.

It had happened probably at least five times that first year, then at least once a month thereafter. 

And each time it happened he was hit with that same rush. That same intense feeling of really reaching people, making them smile, making them enjoy being alive - intensely enjoy being alive, even if for only a few minutes.

Weird thing is, it was never with the same joke. He could hit with a joke in front of a small crowd on a slow Thursday night and then retell the joke to a larger crowd on a Saturday night and just die.

Being a comedian was all he had ever wanted to be, it was what made him feel alive and worthwhile, and valuable.

And that was it. That was why he did it.

The Subtle Insult

Of all the small slights that I should be able to just let slide, the one I absolutely cannot is the accusation that I am a workaholic.

That may seem like a silly thing to find insulting, but it isn't.

I have been told by a number of people that I would rather be at work than have to spend time with them. 

Which is as big a falsehood as one can state about my work habits and what I'd rather be doing with my time.

Work is what I do to keep food on my table and a roof over my head, for now and for the future. 

I did not grow up in a situation where those two basics, food and shelter, were a guarantee. 

In fact, it was quite the opposite. My Mom and my five siblings, we lived the epitome of hand-to-mouth.

That level of insecurity does something to a person's psyche.

I cannot imagine what life is like for people who have never had to scrape by, who never knew the fear of losing what little you had due to one bad week, who never had any type of safety net - no well-off parents or grandparents or other assorted relatives who could and would bail you out if times got rough.

Because those things - that's the only life I ever knew.

So I work, and I work a lot, at more than one job. Not because I enjoy it, but because I have to.

It's that simple, yet it astounds me that I know people who are oblivious to that simple fact.

Again, this may seem like a petty issue to many people out there, but it isn't to me. 

Some people reading this probably have no idea how being accused of working too much can ever be interpreted as an insult.

It's actually very simple when you factor in that the accusation usually comes from people who have never actually had to work hard to keep ahead of the game. 

Not because they don't know how to work hard or won't work hard, I'm not saying that, I'm saying that they've never actually had to.

Had to, as in having to work hard to survive. 

They've never experienced life with the threat of actually living in their vehicle or on the streets being real, tangible.

They've spent their whole lives like trapeze artists who walk a fat wire with not just a safety net below them, but a couple extra back-up safety nets and a few of those large airbags below them to catch them if they fall.

Working, being able to work, being able to earn a living, is a serious thing to me.

It's also something I feel very fortunate to be able to do.

I admit I work a lot, and I can get too busy, and on occasion I get too tired to want to spend much time with other people.

I've actually ended relationships with people who have stated; "Oh, don't give that 'I'm too busy' excuse - no one's that busy, that's BS."

Well, yeah, I am.

That's just how it is for me. 

Man...I'm really not a lot of fun right now. 

But it's not because I'm overworked.

Without An Oar, Without A Rudder

 

Unauthorized Withdrawal

 

Three Easy, Surefire Steps To Failure (Statistically Speaking)

 In these here United States, there is a Bureau of Statistics. 

Because people in the United States love statistics - that's why professional sports were created, to add to the joy of keeping track of occurrences and stuff.

Aside from knowing how likely a specific third baseman is going to strike out in the 8th inning with runners at the corners and facing a left-handed Pitcher with a wicked slider, the pitch-count being 2-2, statistics come in handy for predicting trends and behaviors, and probabilities. 

From that, certain rules can be formulated, such as the following three rules for failure. 

Now, these rules are not guaranteed to work for everybody, there are always exceptions, but the numbers show they bear out for most.

1) Do not graduate from High School. To really improve your odds of failure, drop out in 9th or 10th grade.

2) Get married before you are legally allowed to drink alcohol. If you can get married before your twentieth birthday, the odds of failure are even better.

3) Have a kid before you get married - that really ups the chances of failure right there.

Now, some of you may be asking "Hey, what constitutes failure? How is failure defined, statistically?"

Being poor, of course, living in poverty. That's how losing the game is construed in these here United States.

Boredom Influenced Temptations

The too-young wife 

Of a Sailor out to sea 

           Draped herself around the shoulders 

           Of a washed-out recruit

           As they sipped stale beer in an upstairs corner of Desi's

Middle of the afternoon 

In America's finest city 

And there didn't seem to be anything better to do

Lakewood Museum Of Discarded Art, Winter 2021 - 2022 Show

 More paintings found in Thrift Shops and at Garage sales in and around Lakewood, Colorado for your viewing pleasure.

Keeping Track Of Tall Tales, Whimsical Stories, And Fables

   Today I stumbled across a literary resource known as the Aarne-Thompsom-Uther Index.

   It is a basically a listing of folktales and fairytales from every corner of the world, and the basic plots of such. 

   Initially assembled of European (both Western and Eastern) tales, the index has been expanded over the past 100 years or so to include tales (oral and written) from every corner of the globe.

   What intrigues me about the index of tales is the commonality of not only characters and plot elements of stories that originated on the different continents and from the disparate cultures therein, but also the choice of villains.

   For example, there are a lot of evil Stepmother and stepsister tales out there, and quite a few featuring clever animals that are intent on teaching stupid humans a sobering lesson or two.

   Apparently, at one time there was a need for both warnings about the danger in one's father's choice of a second wife (and the kids that were added to the fold) and the need to be listening to animals for necessary life skills advice.

The Angel On The Other Side Of The Fence

 

Gotta Pursue Your Dreams Regardless

As per the expectations of his family he attended Law school and, after graduating, passed the Bar exam.

But the practice of law was not to his liking and soon he was spending most of his free time pursuing what he considered his true calling, his real passion.

 Stand-up comedy...specializing in lawyer jokes, of course.  

The Sad Reminder

 

The First Day Of April And Spring Is In The Air

   It started early. 

   Colin, half awake and bleary eyed, sat down to eat breakfast and Blamo! - someone had put a whoopee cushion on his chair, which nearly startled Colin right off it.

   After tossing the rubber bladder aside, Colin proceeded with his usual routine of adding salt and pepper to his eggs and then digging in for a bite - which he promptly spit out, as someone evidently switched the salt with sugar and there is nothing quite as shocking as sugar and pepper seasoned eggs.

   Colin poked at the bacon on his plate gingerly, until he was satisfied it was real bacon, then cut off a small corner of it to taste - it tasted like real bacon, so he lifted an entire piece to his mouth and took a full bite - only to discover that the lower half of the strip of bacon must have been marinated in hot sauce overnight, as his mouth was suddenly on fire.

   He reached for the glass of milk to his right and then immediately pulled his hand back - no sense in pushing his luck with the milk - so he got up and went over to the sink.

   Hurriedly taking a glass from the cupboard he turned on the cold tap and filled the glass, then gulped down about half of it before spitting out the hot water into the sink - apparently, someone had gone through the trouble of switching the hot and cold taps.

   Hyper alert now to the possibility that everything in his home was potentially rigged to fool him, he carefully made his way to his bedroom and just as carefully dressed to go to the gym - he wasn't going to chance shaving and showering at home, lord knows what could happen to the water temperature or supply, so he decided he could get some morning exercise at the gym and also prepare to go to work there - much safer that way.

   He tossed his gym bag into the backseat along with his work clothes and then sat down behind the wheel. Turning the ignition over resulted in a series of clicks. Colin instantly realized it was the ol' disengage-the-battery-cables trick, so he popped the hood and got out of the car to re-attach them. 

   Lifting the hood he discovered it was not the ol' disengage-the-battery-trick. It wasn't even the replace-the-battery-with-a-dead-battery trick. It was something a little more involved, a little more advanced.

   The entire engine had been removed. Colin stood in front of his car with the hood open and stared at the large empty engine compartment and came to an undeniable realization.

   It was going to be a long, long day.