Summer of Superman: Why The League is a Superman Fan

When I was working on the League of Melbotis Awards, I asked for some possible blog topics. Almost half of the respondents asked "Why Superman?"

With the movie coming, I'm hoping to put things in the right context and possibly shed a little light on why I became a fan of Superman as a character, Superman as an industry, and Superman in general.

One of the oddities of being a fan of the Man of Steel is that everyone feels a bit of ownership. As a pop culture icon, Superman is up there with Mickey Mouse and Santa Claus for recognizability. You can chop through Peruvian rain forests for two days and find yourself face to face with a local wearing a Super Hombre shirt who knows, at minimum, Superman can fly, he's invulnerable to most harm and that he's very very strong.

A lot of folks have pegged my comic obsession and interest in Superman as a juvenile interest, primarily due to the marketing of Superman to children. I doubt anyone who has bothered to read a Superman comic over the past several years would feel as if the material were not geared towards children. While the comics of today are simed at adults and "all-ages", there certainly exists a "gee-whiz" aspect to Superman that's undeniable, and perhaps it's that fantasy element which is deemed "childlike". I will be interested to see if these same folks will retain their opinion if the new Superman movie attracts millions of viewers upon it's release, all suddenly Superman fans.

That's okay. From a critical perspective, most pop culture can appear a little silly on the sruface. I personally find the adulation of professional sports to be juvenile, the insistence of celebrity culture to shove starlets down our throats entirely infantile, and the fanboy obsession with trainspotting music and hanging out in garage bands dreaming of "making it" to be a little silly. It's curious that sci-Fi, in all it's many forms, has somehow become an excusable time waster. So has fantasy writing, to an extent. Meanwhile romantic comedies and soap operas are perfectly excusable for millions of people. The truth is: It's all pop culture of one form or another, and all of it just as guilty of flights of fancy.

That said: I've seen the folks who take themselves seriously and consciously behave in a mnner they believe to be "adult". They believe that adulthood means the ending of interest in silly things. I'd rather not turn off the switch in my brain that lets me crack open a comic and peer into another world, simply because some boring life-accountant decided I wasn't spending my time in a way they liked. Just as surely as sports fans would refuse to give up on their games simply because someone pointed out what a collosal time-sink it is to watch people throw around a ball (and, honestly, how much to season tickets cost to professional sports?).

Still, even among comic readers, a Superman fan might not be safe.

Among the fanboys, Superman hit a point of creative stagnation in the 70's that began to make the character less popular for collectors. Superman was not unpopular, but at the time Marvel was having it's triumphs and Batman went from being nearly cancelled to being revived with the Dark Knight work of the late 70's. The release of the first two Superman movies certainly helped the franchise regain a stint of Supermania. In the 1980's, "Crisis on Infinite Earths" and the resulting "Man of Steel" limited series should have put Superman back on top with readers, but an odd thing happened. Miller's "Dark Knight Returns" appeared with it's Clint Eastwood 80's sensibility and painted Superman as a patsy. For many readers appearing during the 80's comic boom, the powerful, naive boy scout was the definitive Superman. For years, DC didn't bother to counter their own image. Instead of giving the world a Superman which comic fans could get behind, DC seemed a victim of their own success and went with Miller/ DKR's take on The Man of Steel.

A generation of comic fans wanting to identify with the hard boiled Dark Knight saw Superman as the old, unwelcome man at the party and believed that the image of Superman was what was behind all those "Bam! Pow! Comics not just for Kids!" headlines they suffered through. Ironic then that it was Batman, the yardstick for comic superhero legitmacy, who had been the one who cemented the idea in the baby-boomers' heads that comics were for dullards.

Anyway, that was the context with which I approached Superman as a comic character. Sort of.

Like everyone else, I'd seen the movies in the theater as a kid. I remember being afraid for Superman when Luthor put the chain with Kryptonite around Superman's neck and kicked him into the pool. That's really my only memory of seeing Superman: The Movie when I was very little. I remember seeing Superman II with Jason, John, Jim and my Dad and Wayne. I remember thinking Superman was sucker for giving up his powers for some dumb girl. I even remember seeing Superman III and being terrified of Robert Vaughn's sister when she melded with the giant computer. Superman IV I wouldn't see until college on a sunny Sunday when I was avoiding doing any homework and my roommates were MIA.

In a lot of ways, I preferred Superman as a movie and cartoon character to the comics. I liked seeing him in action, zipping across the sky, using his superbreath to freeze a lake or flying out of the sky to save school buses. The few Superman comics I picked up off the shelf at the drug store didn't match what I saw in the movies. Superman was often in space with various pastel colored aliens. Luthor had his own planet. Mxyzptlk seemed less like the annoying imp from the cartoons and more like a sinister, near omnipotent genie.

When I was becoming a full-blown comic geek in the mid-80's, I have a firm memory of hanging out with a non-comic collecting classmate and explaining to him, in detail, why Superman could never be interesting. Every comic reader has the same litany of responses on the topic, passed down from geek to geek. In a way, it's an attempt to legitimize one costumed superhero over the other, and maybe, in the process, gain literary credibility for their superhero of choice.

Superman is invulnerable. There's no getting around that one. Bullets bounce off of him. grenades are an incovenience. A lightning strike will wind him, but nothing short of a tactical nuclear strike (or a hand full of kryptonite) is going to put him down.

He has too many powers. How can any character who can do anything the writers dream up possibly be of interest? He could resolve any conflict in the time it takes for him to pick from his catalog of abilities (right down to Super Ventriloquism), and defeat anyone in his path.

Superman is a boy scout. There's no danger to him as a character. There's no chance he'll make the wrong decision.

His secret identity isn't believable. How can a pair of glasses make for a disguise? How could Lois not see through the disguise?

His costume is stupid. He wears his underwear on the outside. He has a cape and shiny red boots.

He's got old fashioned ideas. His rogues gallery is lame. He's a government stooge. He's a fascist. He's a thug in tights. Who could ever believe such a guy would make the choice to help people?

I could.

I don't know when, exactly, it clicked with me. I think it started in high school when I stayed up too late on a Saturday night in 9th grade watching Superman: The Movie with The Admiral. I still recall watching that last shot of Superman in orbit, our hero pretty pleased with the end of the movie and having a good look at his adopted home planet. I turned to the Admiral and said "That was a lot better than I remember it being."

"Yeah," nodded The Admiral. "I always liked that one."

I picked up a few issues of Superman after that, and the same confusion set in. The DCU, at the time, was a little bit of a tough place to just wander into. They weren't as locked into the Marvel formula of having every character explain themselves in every panel.

I picked up some back-issues of "Man of Steel" at some point and understood what Byrne was doing with Superman, although at the time, I think Roger Stern and Co. had already taken over the regular Superman comics. Like the Superman movie, "Man of Steel" humanized Superman in a way I hadn't expected. Superman wasn't some Super Dad there to slap the wrists of wrong-doers. He wasn't a government stooge. Like in the film, Superman was a guy given incredible power, power he could use any way imaginable, and was trying to make the world a better, safer place to be. Perhaps a bit naive in the beginning (taking the boy off the farm, but not the farm out of the boy), but learning fast enough that the bad guys don't always wear the black hats, and that sometimes a victory isn't as clear as it seems.

No movies were coming out by this point, of course, and I'm not sure the syndicated "Superboy" program ever even showed in the two markets I might have lived in during that time. If it did, I was oblivious. Besides, I was into plenty of comics and didn't need to add Superman to my list of titles.

I was still reading X-Men. I was picking up Batman from time to time, depending on the villain (I was a big Two-Face fan), and I had just started picking up these Sandman comics toward the end of high school. At the time, I didn't even know anybody else who read comics. The internet was still something in a Robert Silverberg book (so there certainly weren't any newsgroups about comics), and I hadn't been to a convention since 7th grade.

They killed Superman my senior year of high school, and I remember having to explain to everybody "No, they aren't really killing Superman." Funny how that works. People still ask me once in a blue moon if that was the end of Superman. Of course the big revelation out such a dramatic turn was that Superman got some really outdated glam-metal hair. Even then I knew the worst thing you could do was try to update an icon to "appeal to the teens".

At some point in college, I picked up a few new issues of Superman, but what piqued my interest once again was the amazing Bruce Timm/ Paul Dini animated Superman series. The show delved deeply into Superman's silver age trappings, updating them perhaps stylistically, but never in spirit. All the villains I could remember from a Superman Flipbook my mom got me out of a Troll book order when I was five popped up sooner or later. Only now Toyman was a creepy little bastard with a plastic head instead of a goof on a pogo stick. Bizarro was full of pathos I'd not realized he might contain while destroying the tables at the Legion of Doom HQ on Superfriends. The Animated Luthor was cunning and brilliant, and utterly believable as a foil for the Man of Steel in a way Gene Hackman's Luthor never appeared to be.

What impressed me once again in the cartoon was the rich origin of Superman.

One of the complaints about Superman by comic fans is that unlike, say, Batman, Superman was born to his powers. But that isn't quite true. The explosion of Krypton, the loss of not just a family he would never know, but a planet he would never know, sent by parents who refused to give in to loss and send forth their only son into the cosmic void... Yes, Superman's powers are not derived from years spent training, any more than that of the Fantastic Four, Spider-Man or any others of hundreds of comic book heroes (see: X-Men).

The pained conversation in Superman: The Movie between Jor-El and Lara deciding upon the fate of their child tells you all you need to know. In vague, knowing terms the dialogue establishes that they know their son will never, ever truly belong, as cursed by his abilities as he is blessed.

It's a theme that's been explored in dozens of motifs in comics, probably most prominently in Spider-Man. Perhaps it's the grounding and relatable loss of Spider-Man's Uncle Ben rather than the catastrophic and unimaginable loss of your birth planet that seems somehow more sympathetic. But the idea that the super powers came at a price came from Superman, Batman's origin appearing well after his initial appearances. And, of course, Spider-Man and Marvel's complement of heroes came along decades after Superman's first appearance.

And, of course, the goodly Kents appeared in the cartoon as they had in the earliest episode of the George Reeves series, the Christopher Reeve film, the Silver Age comics and the Byrne comics. Guidance and honest discussion of the life his powers might bring him were the gift from his earthly parents.

So what was the difference? Why Superman?

There's the cultural archaeology of a character who has survived 67 years of the expanding American media world. There's the core of characters (friend and foe) who have made the trip alongside Superman in virtually every media from radio to internet shorts. In short, the character has thrived like none other over since the invention the super hero comic with Superman's first appearance.

He's a character everybody has some knowledge of, and who can spark conversations with just about anyone. On Wednesday I found myself standing in my sweltering house talking to the 60 year-old air conditioner repairman about George Reeves as the repairman eyed Superman floating above the Daily Planet globe (a newspaper name probably as widely known as any actual paper shy of the New York Times). Little kids point to the license plate on the front of my car in busy parking lots. More than once when I've worn a Superman shirt to work (under an oxford) someone in the elevator has looked to me and said "now I know your secret identity" with a knowing nod.

Of late it's been trendy for trucks to sport Superman stickers, perhaps suggesting that the truck is as powerful as the Man of Steel.

Seinfeld dedicated a whole episode to the comic geek friendly notion of "Bizarro".

So if Superman is all of those things that people equate with him, what is there to like?

Superman is the original superhero, and whether the average guy on the street knows that Superman was the first costumed super-powered character of his ilk is almost irrelevant. He's the most imitated, satirized and flat out copied comic character. The concept has been refined and splintered into thousands of new characters since Action Comics #1 saw print, some of whom have existed alongside Superman for almost the same amount of time (and others who pre-dated Superman and were co-opted into the world of super heroes). But all of them have some hint of Superman about them.

It's no doubt the longevity of the character and the various strictures of the time and company have often left Superman looking like a goofy do-gooder. The tendency to mistake brainless entertainment for children's and all-ages entertainment has too often affected the ace of action. With as much Superman product as has existed over the years, not all of it was going to be brilliant. Yet the character continues to find an audience, his career outlasting Sinatra, Elvis, and dozens of other icons of the 20th Century.

At the character's heart, Superman has managed to symbolize many things to many people. As often as Superman is invoked as a sign of invulnerability, his one weakness is brought up just as often. "Kryptonite" has become a synonym for a sure weakness for the seemingly strong.

However, it's in Superman The Movie that we learn that Kryptonite may be what weakens Superman, but it's his humanity that is his greatest vulnerability. No man, no matter how Super, can be everywhere at once. And with the (temporary) death of Lois Lane, we see Superman wounded to his absolute core in his grief, just as he was at the loss of Jonathan Kent. "All these powers" Clark Kent reflects at the loss of his adopted father, "and I couldn't save him."

For me, that's the weakness I can understand. Too many powers? Not enough, we're led to believe. Not enough if you can't save the ones who matter most.

If there's no danger to him as a character, I'll accept that as a criticism. The story of Superman is not the story of a character constantly compromised, nor a character who wishes to be seen as frightening to any but those caught in the act. He's the embodiment of trying to make the right choices and trying to live at the assistance of others. Rather than a sign of lack of will, Superman's character is reflective of what can be achieved by someone who has decided to live selflessly at the aid of others.

We throw around the term "super powers" in relation to governments, but just as often, Superman's dangerous potential is treated with the same cautionary wind reserved for our states of unimaginable power. In the comics, the Luthors of the world see the power and are jealous, seeing in Superman the power to topple mountains. They refuse to believe in a man who could have all of that power and not use it for personal gain, not turn upon his fellow man. How can he weild such power and not choose to enforce his will, not choose to become the single-minded fascist who crushes his will down upon the world? How can a man not reflect what they see in themselves?

Just as often, there are the readers of the comics and the viewers of the movies who turn their nose up, raising the same questions. But these readers and fans are missing the point. The story of Superman is a story of hope.

Superman is about what can be done when we not only turn away from those desires to control and destroy, but when we use that power for the right reasons and in the right way. The actual stories in the comics, in the movies, in the TV series and radio show are about that never ending battle to not only combat the endless tide of the strong over the powerless, but the struggle to know the right choice.

They can be a great people, Kal-El. They wish to be. They only lack the light to show them the way.

Does this make the character less relatable? Perhaps to some. To me, it's a wonderful story. It's a reminder of the potential of everyone to do the right thing, and to remember that everyone has the opportunity to make the right choices. I think that inherent message is what's kept Superman flying for seven decades.

As longtime readers of this blog will know, things aren't always peaches and cream at League HQ. There are the times I wish I could spin the earth backward or lift the bus off the bridge if it could help in the smallest of ways. I don't mind cracking open a Superman comic to remind me that the good fight is a never-ending battle, that it's worth it, and it doesn't hurt if you do it for the woman you love (even if she doesn't recognize you when you're wearing glasses).

Saturday

Saturday was okay.

I got up early, ran (without being chased) got home, mowed the lawn, weeded the purple flower tree and trimmed the other tree so people don't have to fight off wild monkeys and such as they reach our front door.

Went in, tried to find the end of the England/Paraguay game, realized I'd missed it, and watched some Headline News. Ate some bagels, played with some dogs.

Eventually the Sweden/ Trinidad & Tobago game came on. Watched a good chunk of that. Cheered wildly for the final, tied score of the game. I love an underdog doing well. I also watched the Ivory Coast/ Argentina game. I was happy to see Argentina playing well for reasons which will become apparent below.

Every four years I show an interest in soccer. Since watching Cameroon play in the 1990 World Cup, I've been a fan of the tournament. This year at work I've got two soccer nuts in my office and a guy from Poland who believes that Poland has a chance. Such is the insane nationalism that goes along with the tourney.

Despite the fact that I know absolutely nothing about soccer I'm currently ahead in the office pool, having called the Germany/ Costa Rica score (and victory) and assuming Poland might lose in their first game (which made our Polish guy very unhappy). Everybody else did this thing called "research" before entering the office pool, but me, I went all Colbert and went with my gut. I've got Mexico and Argentina in the final game. The reason I've selected Mexico to win: They're our neighbor to the South. That's it. That's what I'm going by.

In the afternoon we took in the new Altman/ Keillor film "A Prairie Home Companion", which I highly recommend. The movie will never be remembered the way some of Altman's other pictures will be remembered, but it's a heck of a movie. Fans of the radio program may be waiting for certain items to be included, but the movie does well without them. I sort of thought Meryl Streep stole the show, but the movie is filled with an all-star cast that all turn in excellent performances, even Lindsay Lohan (who I will now be able to say I've seen in a movie).

I got home, read the latest Ultimate Spider-Man trade (Silver Sable), played with the dogs, and rested up. After all, we had AZ Rollerderby tonight.

While my beloved Surly Girlies were not playing, we still had a heck of a good time. The Bad News Beaters took on the undefeated Bruisers, and the Bruisers pretty much stomped them. There were a large number of people at the game, far more than at the last game, and we managed to snag some chairs despite the crowded building.

I ran into the guy who manages our building. Apparently his daughter plays for The Beaters. You learn something new every day.

Oh, and since I'm talking about AZ Rollerderby, here's that link to Brickhouse I post every time.

It was a good day, all in all.

Hope everyone else is having a good weekend.

WELCOME DAVE'S LONG BOX READERS

Jim D. has suggested I welcome all of you folks good enough to drop by. In case there's any confusion, Jim D. also suggested I post a link to the post Dave referred to on his page.

Here you go.

The League of Melbotis is not a comics blog in the strictest sense, but I'm a fairly avid comic reader, and thus, a lot of comic related discussion goes on here.

You may note I am a fan of Superman and DC Comics. I also read other comics, too, so don't worry about me drawing some line in the sand over that topic.

Feel free to drop in any time, put your feet up and leave some comments. We'd love to see you back here again some time.

Things have been a little wonky for us this week, so I recommend also hitting Nanostalgia for some media reviews by a little collaborative team we've got going on over there.

Also, feel free to click on the e-mail link if you have any questions. We're here to help.

Good to see you. Hope you can stick around.

Thoughts

Today is the second day back from our nightmare day. Between the time at the ER and my time of revelation in the Indian styled sweat lodge, I had much time to think. I am turning over a new stone. My plans for the day are as follows:

Get up around 5:30 and run and extra half-mile more than I normally do (so that's .75 miles to all of you out there keeping score at home). I will take Lucy and Mel with me, so it may take a while longer than usual.

When I get home, I will make breakfast for Jamie, possibly french toast or eggs benedict. I will also make my own lunch, in a Target bag, of course, consisting solely of ants on a log. 13 logs, exactly.

After I get done making breakfast, i will do the dishes, and head off to work. At work, I will go out of my way to be kind and courteous to all my co-workers, and to share a log of ants with each of them. Should they decline my ants on a log, I will throw it at them in a fit of rage. Afterwards, I will apologize and blame the whole incident on "my inner demons."

After work, I will come home and clean the entire house. Since lately I have come to realize how Superman comics are ultimately pointless, due to his invincibility, I will begin my phase out of Superman figurines from the house. I won't get rid of all of them, and they won't be thrown away, (they will be meticulously wrapped and stored in one of the closets). I will begin to replace my Super-Man memorabilia with that of Spider-man and Batman, whose mortality make
them much more interesting anyway.

I will work some more on training Lucy, and play with Mel, since she feels a little neglected with Lucy around.

During my hiatus, I had some time to think as well as read (and misplace) books. I am going to make the following amends as well. I will apologize to my parents for the many many shenanigans I pulled (including the Clyde and Roundball incidents). I will apologize to
Steanso for the beatings I passed out to him over the years, both emotional and physical. I will apologize for calling his bands "jam bands," and will attempt to appreciate those bands on a new level.

Finally, I will take Jamie out to Barcelona for dinner, as she is the best wife in the world. Any woman willing to put up with my crazy comic obsession deserves no less. (I'm sure you comic collectors out there know as well as I do that collecting comics is really a very small form of Peter Pan syndrome, grasping to hold on to our youth, and attempting to glamorize that youth by confusing it with super heroic actions. I am trying to get away from that and face my
reality. )

Thus will end my day. Wish me luck Leaguers. Change is often hard, but well worth it in the end.

THEY WILL REMEMBER ME AS AN IDIOT

Jim D., I guess, sent my link to comic geek website Dave's Long Box.

Normally I wouldn't have thought too much about it, but I guess people really read Dave's Long Box. I know this because my old roommate Kevin B. saw me and e-mailed me.

For good or ill, Dave's Long Box misidentified me as Jim.

I am beginning to rethink this whole "ha ha, I like Superman" thing.

Hello to MySpace people. I think you might see Michael and a few other people pop by. Welcome them.

Melbotis Store update. Since Natalie thinks I should make money off the store, I jacked the prices up by a dollar or a dollar fifty or something on the items in the store.

I do plan to swap out items in the near future, so if you really, really liked something on the page, order soon.

We got our shirts in today, and the quality of the images is pretty good. I was pleasantly surprised.

That's it for today for updates. I'm a little tired.

living la vida loca

(editor's note: this is not written to illicit sympathy. Rather, Jamie and I sort of just had a bad day, and I thought I'd share.)

Man.

Last night Jamie and I spoke on the phone before I got home about how all we were going to do was watch TV and and read.

When I walked in the door, Jamie was already working on some fajita ingredients. "Do you hear that?" she asked. There was a loud hissing sound coming from outside the sink window. Not a snake hissing, like compressed air escaping.

Sure enough, when I stepped outside the sound was coming from the direction of the air conditioner. Immediately we called an air conditioning repair service, hoping that, at best, we could make it through the night and the air wouldn't fail until the temperatures fell outside.

The first company informed me that they weren't even taking on any new customers, thanks to the busy, busy season. Luckily the next company was able to send out a repair person (the next morning). With Jamie scheduled for dialysis in the morning and myself scheduled for meetings in the morning, we had to put off the repair until any time between 10 and 1.

So... about twenty minutes after dinner and dishes, I was reading a book when I realized "gee, it's getting pretty warm in here..." The blower was still on, but the air was no longer cool.

It was getting pretty warm pretty fast, and as we're often a little overly cautious with Jamie, I started calling hotels to find Jamie a place to sleep. My gameplan was to get her a hotel near her dialysis location (where she has to be at 5:15 MWF), and then I'd get up with her, shower at the house, feed the dogs (who would spend the night outside), and go to work as early as possible. Jamie would be able to wait for the air conditioner guy for a while, and when I was done with my meetings, we'd tag team, and I would send her back to the hotel.

It took me four hotels to find a room. And checking into a hotel (without vibrating beds) the same night you call is an expensive proposition.

We ended up at a very nice Holiday Inn just South and West of the house. I watched the Mercury on TV, read a few pages and went to sleep.

At 2:00 in the morning Jamie was yelling for me from the bathroom with the complaint that "I need to throw up and I can't. And I can't breathe."

For those of you who haven't had a silent heart-attack, these symptoms may indicate that Jamie was doing some wicked after-hours partying. As far as I know, that wasn't the case. She was more than a little weirded out, and for maybe the first time in our adventures, she requested EMS help.

The front desk was pretty helpful, and within, literally, five or ten minutes four burly firemen/ emergency responders were standing in our hotel room. Now, I've spent a lot of time in ER's, and the stuff you see on TV is mostly horse-hockey. These guys, however, had the coolest system of testing and report-out that I've seen, with two guys checking things on the wife, one guy doing all the questioning, and one guy overseeing the operation to check for mistakes.

For good or ill, in that five minutes between placing the call and the burly firemen showing up, Jamie threw-up. A lot. Her fajita dinner came back for all to see.

We immediately theorized that a recent chnage in her meds was probably the culprit, but once you set the wheels of Emergency Medical Services in motion, it's best to just them do their thing.

In the middle of all the medical fiddle-faddle, I sort of had a 2:15AM out of body experience. There were four strange men in my hotel room, the room that I really shouldn't have been in, and one of them was wearing his baggy fire fighter pants.

Because Jamie had a heart-attack in 98 or so, her EKG's are always a little off. We had to promise the firemen that we would be headed to the ER, so off we went.

The ER had some folks waiting around who had obviously been there for a while, so I was beginning to wonder exactly how long we would be stuck watching re-runs of "Cheaters" on late night TV. One gentleman who had a hurty elbow was yelling at the nurses that he had been there for a long time.

Note to people who go to the ER: Hurty elbows will not get you seen quickly. Today we learned that a possible silent heart attack gets you the Gold Member Treatment. Jamie was seen almost immediately, and we got a room within half an hour. Unfortunately, the room was in the "Crash" area, where you're almost guaranteed to see a dead person or two before the end of the visit.

And, sure enough, I was sitting there for all of five minutes before some poor soul under a sheet was wheeled by.

Meanwhile, the guy in the next room was "crashing", which understandably draws the attention away from the non-crashing patients. Such as Jamie, who was feeling much better at this point, and me, who was trying to immerse myself in my "JLA: Greatest Stories Vol. 1".

Here's another important life-lesson, Leaguers... yes, you went to the ER because you felt poorly. But when someone just died and someone else is working on it, it is NOT the time to cause a scene because your discharge paperwork is taking a few extra minutes.

One charmer in our ER, who was decidedly not ill enough to actually be in the ER, started walking down the hallway shouting about "Where's my nurse? They said they was coming back in five minutes, and it's been fifteen!" When a nurse tried to explain that they were having a critical situation, she, being well trained as an American to expect instant gratifcation at the expense of everyone else, began shouting about how she "didn't care". And how she was "going outside for a smoke and they needed to come find" her.

When it was expalined that a patient had just died, and could she please lower her voice for the families that were around, she suggested "get him a body bag" loud enough for the entire ER to hear. At this point security was called, which made her grab her items and head for the exit. I'm not really sure what happened after that.

You don't often see ER staff that angry, but, man, yeah... they were all pissed after that. But they LOVED us, for not screaming in the hallway.

Jamie was released at 4:45, so we dashed to get her to dialysis. I drove back to the hotel, slept for a few hours, picked her up, and went to drop her off and grab the free breakfast at the hotel. Apparently, the breakfast wasn't free, we learned, when we were handed a bill.

Returning to the room, the phone immediately rang and the front desk called.
"Did you call for emergency services."
"Yes."
"And what was this regarding?"
"My wife wasn't feeling well, but she's been to the ER and stuff, and she's okay now."
"...you just called for Emergency Services."
"No, I called at 2:00 this morning."
"I have emergency services on the line, and you just called for assistance. I have them on the line."
"No. I called at 2:00 this morning."
"Let me put them on."
"Sir, do you need assistance?"
"No, we're okay. Your people already came out here at 2:00."
There was sort of a bit of dicussion going on at the front desk that I could hear on the line. "We have the wrong room."
"Okay then," I said. "I'm going to hang up. Thanks."

By 9:50 I went to sit in the house and wait for the air conditioner repairman (from 10 - 1, if you're checking facts). So, anyway, I waited. And waited and waited. It was pretty hot, but I brought in a fan and sat pretty still and watched "The Roaring Twenties."

At 1:15 the company cut me off at the pass and called to let me know my repairman was en route. He showed up about twenty minutes later, sweaty and disheleveled, and honestly, looking pretty tired. He got cracking, located a freon leak (that hissing), told me he was going to gauge me, I agreed, and he went to work.

Being the smart guy I am, I went out to his truck with a glass of water, neglecting to put on shoes in the 110 degree heat, burned my feat, handed off the water and went to clean up the plotch of cat barf Jeff the Cat had deposited in by the bedroom door.

Jamie called and announced "My car won't start. I tried to go get some lunch, but my car won't start."
"Of course it won't," I replied.

The gentleman was done fairly quickly, ran through the bill with me, I paid, and changed my air filter (helpful league tip: don't use the solid, nice 3M air filters. Apparently they're too good and make your air conditioners work overtime, shortening the life of your air conditioner).

I drove back to the hotel, started Jamie's car on the first try, retrieved Jamie and checked out. And they didn't even bill us for a second night when they well could have.

Anyway, I'm a little pooped. And poor.

Jamie's feeling better and, in fact, is playing with Lucy right now. We have AC, and things are, for better or worse, back to normal.

But in the past several weeks, Jamie's car has had some minor problems, my tires and radiator needed to be replaced, Lucy was in the doggie ER, Mel had some very minor problems from his surgery, Jamie's been in and out of teh ER three times, and the AC died on the house. I'm just waiting to be diagnosed with a brain cloud.

At this point, you sort of have to be optimistic. I figure we're due for things to balance out.

Post-Hiatus Post 2


It was a nice, quiet week away from blogging. Here at League HQ, peace and quiet is a welcome thing, and rarely gives way to actual boredom. That may change quickly as temperatures have already crested 110 F, and will just get worse through August. These days we're getting up early on weekends so we can get errands done before it hits 100.

I'm reading too many books, which usually means I won't finish any of them. I finally started reading "In Cold Blood" after having seen the film two or three times and having seen Capote. At some point, I need to see what the fuss is about. I started (and then misplaced) Augusten Burroughs second memoir "Dry". Jamie got me started reading ANOTHER memoir called "The Glass Castle", which I then misplaced. Plus, I picked up a non-fiction book about Pirates. There's never enough time to read, and my books always seem to disappear.

Finished "The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck", and I'm now officially a Scrooge McDuck fan. The Walt Disney comics are a weird comic-reading subculture as the stories are not simple "funny animal" strips, but rather fairly detailed adventure stories incorporating painstakingly researched real-life historical details. No, seriously. It's sort of like "The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles", only less stilted and with talking ducks and dogs.

Unfortunately, the Disney Comics get a lot more play over-seas than they do in the US. Here, those comics are relegated to the juvenile section, when in fact that argument could be applied to a hell of a lot of comics that are marketed for teens and adults. I'll be picking up more of the Uncle Scrooge and Donald Duck stuff. It's a fun read.

Suns lost in 6, which is about what I'd predicted. What I didn't predict was that the Suns would be unable to hold onto a lead when the Mavs decided to get serious. I can now, at least, respect the Mavs. If Cuban can keep his mouth shut and Dirk can continue to play like he has while simultaneously keep his comments to himself, I can give the Mavs credit where credit is due.

That said, if we can keep the current Suns line-up together and get Amare healthy, next year we may be able to finally win a Western Conference Championship.

With the Suns's loss, at some point CrackBass will be guest blogging here at The League. I don't plan to edit a word he says, so God knows what Wilson will write about. I don't usually open the door for Guest Blogging as I ultimately feel responsible for the content here. It's a bit like having your buddy fill out your diary while you're away on vacation. As you all know, if you really want something posted, for the love of mike, just e-mail it to me and I'll post it in nice italics.

As I often do, I'm reviewing the sort of content I post to the site. Between you, me and the wall, Nanostalgia.com has made me feel a bit split in loyalties as a lot of what once went here now winds up over there. The end result is that I occasionally feel as if I have to post more inane stuff to this site just to ensure I post regularly. I guess it would help if I felt folks were making the jump from here to Nano, but I really don't get that impression. If you are, in fact, reading Nano-based reviews of comics, TV and movies, it would be nice to know. Right now I suspect it's me, RHPT, Jim D. and CrackBass all talking to each other.

On the political front, you can tell it's an election year. The GOPers are making a fuss again over the Gay Marriage Amendment. Voters should be far more offended by the GOP's insistence on dwelling on what is essentially a divisive non-issue instead of the many actual issues of the day. Some folks may not like the fact that two dudes can rent out a reception hall, spend too much on a cake and get health insurance through someone other than themself, but it's hardly as pressing as the massive deficit, NSA wiretaps, Iran's nuclear ambitions, North Korea's nuclear ambitions or the many, many aspects of "the long war."

I've yet to hear a logical reason for including secondary-citizen status for a minority group into the constitution, but it's an election year. People do start acting a little daffy.