Dear Ian:
Saturdays are the perfect day. The sit-com day. When you are old enough, you will appreciate this fact: in re-runs of shows like Friends and Seinfeld, they seem to spend an unlimited amount of daylight hours hanging around in coffee shops or diners. No one seems to have a job. This makes a bit of sense with Seinfeld, George never really seemed to hold a steady job, Jerry worked at night, Elaine was not always present, and Kramer...? How the heck did Kramer afford a New York apartment without ever actually having a job? Reruns...I love 'em.
Speaking of reruns, the "origin story" has to be the most rerun, retold, refabricated, reprinted, re-re in comic books. I started reading an Angel origin story today. It is a five part story arc, limited series. Angel is a mutant, one of the X-Men, his story has been told a hundred times before (okay, he isn't one of the super important, extremely popular X-Men, so maybe 10 times would be stretching it), and because this is stand alone series, it does not necessarily mesh with regular X-Men continuity. I am only two of the five issues in, but so far it is a pretty good read. Origin stories are that tell you the beginnings of established protagonists (or antagonists, for that matter) are supposed to provide insight into what you already know, or thought you knew, about a character. Kind of cheating in a way, and also extremely difficult for that very reason. Anyhow, origin stories, read them. All of them. Not just comic books by the way. Read your Bible, great origin stories there. Not just the Eden one either. Check out that Moses story, baby in a basket, compare that to Superman. Read Inuit origin stories, look for trixters and thieves.Other origin stories place the world on the back of turtle that stands on the backs of elephants. Read your Greek and Roman origins, almost all of them intend to tell the story about something that came to exist, such as the story of Arachne and spiderwebs.
Someday, maybe you can write an origin story of your own.
Spent the rest of the day with a headache. Read in good light. Advice I shunned in my youth and still do, despite the reading glasses and headaches.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
The day after...
Dear Ian:
I will keep this brief as you are likely suffering from a bit of a sugar hangover. That's the nature of birthdays: over indulgence. Whether you choose the path or your friends and family sort of back you into it, birthdays are almost always about doing too much. Just a word of warning. I think that it is our way of physically equalling the psychological let down of the day after the birthday. One day you are king of the world, center of attention, the man in the paper crown, and the next you are returned to the masses. Sorry to be such a downer as you start out year two, but I figured honesty is the first step.On another note, it's Friday. Fridays are like mini-birthdays that come along once a week. Fridays are usually about over indulgence as well. This might come in the form of a 24 0z steak dinner at Texas Roadhouse, a half gallon of ice cream and an all night horror movie marathon, or beer. Lots and lots of beer. Of course you shouldn't drink beer until you are old enough. That's the law, but chances are you are going be tempted, coerced and cajoled into having a few suds with the buds before you hit the magical age of 21 (or whatever the law states by the time you are college aged). Just remember moderation. Take it easy, don't over do it and you won't have any regrets Saturday morning.
Saturday mornings should be reserved for cartoons.Also, if you get a chance, always be the boss on Fridays. I worked like a three-legged plow horse this week. Twelve hour days minimum. Let assistant managers go home an hour or two early on Wednesday and Thursday, pretty much so I could say adios at 2 PM today, take the time off when it actually means something, and start the weekend early.
My Friday over indulgence? I took a nap. See we have a lot in common.
I will keep this brief as you are likely suffering from a bit of a sugar hangover. That's the nature of birthdays: over indulgence. Whether you choose the path or your friends and family sort of back you into it, birthdays are almost always about doing too much. Just a word of warning. I think that it is our way of physically equalling the psychological let down of the day after the birthday. One day you are king of the world, center of attention, the man in the paper crown, and the next you are returned to the masses. Sorry to be such a downer as you start out year two, but I figured honesty is the first step.On another note, it's Friday. Fridays are like mini-birthdays that come along once a week. Fridays are usually about over indulgence as well. This might come in the form of a 24 0z steak dinner at Texas Roadhouse, a half gallon of ice cream and an all night horror movie marathon, or beer. Lots and lots of beer. Of course you shouldn't drink beer until you are old enough. That's the law, but chances are you are going be tempted, coerced and cajoled into having a few suds with the buds before you hit the magical age of 21 (or whatever the law states by the time you are college aged). Just remember moderation. Take it easy, don't over do it and you won't have any regrets Saturday morning.
Saturday mornings should be reserved for cartoons.Also, if you get a chance, always be the boss on Fridays. I worked like a three-legged plow horse this week. Twelve hour days minimum. Let assistant managers go home an hour or two early on Wednesday and Thursday, pretty much so I could say adios at 2 PM today, take the time off when it actually means something, and start the weekend early.
My Friday over indulgence? I took a nap. See we have a lot in common.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
First Birthday
Dear Ian:
Happy 1st birthday. This is a pretty big one. It's a first, after a year of many, many firsts. First tooth, first hiccup, first giggle, first word, first poo, first...well you get the idea. And I am fairly certain that a good many of those firsts, including this one, have been fully captured and duly documented on film or digitized or however it is that memories are stored for later use and abuse. Trust me, your first date is going to be a wowser when your mom, my sister, pulls out the family photo album and starts showing snapshots of kitchen sink baths and naked jaunts around the backyard. Don't worry, she does it all out of love. As far as incriminating pics of your mom in her youth, I am afraid to say that I can't help you out there, bud. None. Zip. Zero. I was never the best at taking or hanging on to photos or other mememtos from the "good old days." Now, stories, on the other hand, those are pretty safely locked away in the old noggin, and someday you and I will have to sit down and have a little chit chat about that. Of course, my stories and your mom's are going to vary by a huge degree, so I will just say that what I tell you is commonly referred to as the truth, your mom's versions are what is known in the writing world as "creative nonfiction" or embellishments. Anyhow, more on that later. A couple other things here, while I am thinking about them, why this? Why a blog? Well, I can't be there as much as I want to, but I think about you every day. Strange, we've really only met once and you snoozed most of that day, and I realized I probably won't get a chance to see you again until you've grown another foot or two or three, but hopefully not seven or eight. Also, since I am your mom's older brother, hence your uncle, there's a bit of responsibility to sort of jump in there and give really, really bad advice from time to time. Added to that, your mom went ahead and made me your godfather which has all kinds of ramifications that I am not even sure I am ready for or what the heck she was thinking. But, godfather implies godson, in this case, and the closest thing that I will probably have to an actual son, so...get ready for it, more really, really bad advice. So, every once in awhile, this is where I will come to tell you about comic books, video games, classic rock, dead poets, pizza and the world as I see it. Sometimes good. Sometimes bad. Sometimes just odd. It was a fast first year and I wish you many, many more to come.
Happy 1st birthday. This is a pretty big one. It's a first, after a year of many, many firsts. First tooth, first hiccup, first giggle, first word, first poo, first...well you get the idea. And I am fairly certain that a good many of those firsts, including this one, have been fully captured and duly documented on film or digitized or however it is that memories are stored for later use and abuse. Trust me, your first date is going to be a wowser when your mom, my sister, pulls out the family photo album and starts showing snapshots of kitchen sink baths and naked jaunts around the backyard. Don't worry, she does it all out of love. As far as incriminating pics of your mom in her youth, I am afraid to say that I can't help you out there, bud. None. Zip. Zero. I was never the best at taking or hanging on to photos or other mememtos from the "good old days." Now, stories, on the other hand, those are pretty safely locked away in the old noggin, and someday you and I will have to sit down and have a little chit chat about that. Of course, my stories and your mom's are going to vary by a huge degree, so I will just say that what I tell you is commonly referred to as the truth, your mom's versions are what is known in the writing world as "creative nonfiction" or embellishments. Anyhow, more on that later. A couple other things here, while I am thinking about them, why this? Why a blog? Well, I can't be there as much as I want to, but I think about you every day. Strange, we've really only met once and you snoozed most of that day, and I realized I probably won't get a chance to see you again until you've grown another foot or two or three, but hopefully not seven or eight. Also, since I am your mom's older brother, hence your uncle, there's a bit of responsibility to sort of jump in there and give really, really bad advice from time to time. Added to that, your mom went ahead and made me your godfather which has all kinds of ramifications that I am not even sure I am ready for or what the heck she was thinking. But, godfather implies godson, in this case, and the closest thing that I will probably have to an actual son, so...get ready for it, more really, really bad advice. So, every once in awhile, this is where I will come to tell you about comic books, video games, classic rock, dead poets, pizza and the world as I see it. Sometimes good. Sometimes bad. Sometimes just odd. It was a fast first year and I wish you many, many more to come.
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