You can´t go home again. Unless they have a DVD player.

We are taking five days off and this crappy holiday´s to blame. Assuming I can make it through today (the ships usually berth on Saturdays, which means we must make sure that come tomorrow everything´s kosher) I have until Wednesday morning to do… well, not much.

Turn on your loudspeakers for the lingo:
Carnaval! Caipirinha! Cyanide capsule in the filling of my back teeth and I bite hard, god, I hate this time of the year it´s so much worse than Christmas or New Year´s Eve, it´s one of those days you keep wishing for searing hot Napalm to pour down from the sky above our collective asses.
It´s not about elitism, it´s about really bad music and there´s simply no excuse for listening to bad music.

But I have a plan and it´s fool-proof; it´s going to be big, it´s going to be grand, it´s going to be one those once-in-a-lifetime things, it´s going to be positively (and literally) Wagnerian! We´re fighting fire with fire. The whole “knowing Hemingway” thing kind of fell through partially because the guy just wouldn´t change the setting in For Whom the Bell Tolls (book; never saw more than five minutes of the movie anyway) and the one about the fish was one of those classic cases of too little, too late. The one about the ambulances in WWI was pretty cool, though.
…So we´re switching the experiment to a whole new direction, media too. DVD now. My parents bought a DVD player a few months ago for their place and even though I was a bit reluctant at first about it I quickly discovered the joys of having the complete 1960s episodes of Star Trek at home. Despite being kind of jaded by watching 16 “Legion of Doom” episodes of Superfriends in one weekend the honeymoon still is on between me and the DVD player. But well, yeah, do I digress.
Now, thing with the DVD for the holiday is we´re packing an ungodly amount of Opera DVDs, it´s my own Opera-thon, have been getting into Richard Wagner´s works lately, I´m strictly a beginner with a tsunami behind my ears but hey, we all gotta start somewhere, right?

Get ready for 15 hours straight of Der Ring des Nibelungen, early 1990s NY Metropolitan stage productions of the four operas; Das Rheingold, Die Walküre, Siegfried and Gotterdämmerung conducted by that fellow James Levine who looks like Newman the mailman from Seinfeld.

People say it can´t be done. People say it shouldn´t be done. People say one´d rather be out having drunken sex and car crashes (two staples of the holiday).
I´ll tell you this, it can and it will be done. Can´t be so much harder than Superfriends, and the DVDs do have English subtitles.

Off to Asgard, then, though not to that sissy Asgard from the Jack Kirby Marvel Comics. Superman can and will and has whupped Thor the hippie superhero after all.
“In MY world the dials go up to eleven!”


Getting this %$#&@ music out of my head

A song´s stuck to the inner walls of my skull and won´t come off. I keep trying to picture my workmates (female) naked, I keep trying to come up with a different tune, all to no avail.

No matter what I do I can´t get rid of the first few verses to the In A Big Country lyrics from 1983 by Big Country (the band). It goes something like this; now everybody please sing along with me so we can make it go away or at least make sure I get to the chorus for a change,

“I`ve never seen you look like / This without a reason / Another promise fallen through / Another season passes by you”

Oh well. Who´s to blame anyway.
The way the last word from each line becomes the first word from the next one oh it´s quite catchy… :-)

The oddsbreaker, tips for avoiding wrinkles, corn flakes, then a commitment

We strive for meaning.
Loneliness is the enemy and it makes us look for patterns and connections everywhere, be it Jungian synchronicity or the horoscope in the back of my cousin´s Glamour magazine last Sunday with “J-Lo” on the cover and all of a sudden I discover- en route to the 20 ways to spice up your sex life article- that sleeping on your own face (down on the pillow) makes you more prone to having wrinkles. Please bear with all the non sequitur here, we are getting somewhere (think of reading this post like being a wingman for the Red Baron if WWI had been fought in the 1960s under the influence of Timothy Leary). The horoscope said I should be a. Looking for a new job (no, not right now) and b. It´s a good time for finding a new man (no, it´s strictly a woman´s magazine and I was just flipping through because it was on the backseat of my cousin´s car and the trip would take about two hours and I didn´t feel like talking about the Oscar because all I´ve seen so far was Good Luck Good Night or something. Terrific movie, though!)

Case in point I´m a bit edgy this morning because there´s this blood test here at work and this means none of us could have breakfast so this is the sound of my blood boiling on corn flakes withdrawal:

[SFX: Exquisite GURGLING sound]

On a sidenote, they told us it´s supposed to measure our cholesterol and stuff but I really think it´s about drug detection. Or is it done by peeing in the cup? Gee I really hope I don´t have to pee inside the cup today; if there´s one thing I really hate is aiming at that really narrow opening… Oh wait. That last bit didn´t sound at all like I intended. You know.
See? We´re “BC” on the timeline here now, which stands for Before Corn flakes. I have the right to go conspiracy-theory on a blood test before breakfast.

Next part of the story is tucked in under the deceptively-safe aegis of the “small world” banter. The coincidence. Synchronicty:
Happened yesterday afternoon at the office:

[Am called up for the test and discover I have been losing an ungodly amount of weight with all the jogging and the push-ups and the barbells. Looking good!!]

Back to happened yesterday afternoon at the office, an unexpected phone call from out of the blue:

CUSTOMER, on the phone: Hi. This is [name] from [company] and ahh. May I ask you a question?
ME, Sure.
CUSTOMER: Ahhn it´s not a question about work per se, you see…
ME: No prob.
CUSTOMER: Ahh. It´s just that I was copied in a e-mail you sent to this guy who works with me and I saw your name I thought it sounded familiar, I thought, I know this guy.
ME: Yes?
CUSTOMER: Yes. By any chance… did you happen to grow up in [name of small town, my hometown] ?
ME, a little surprised: Actually yeah.
CUSTOMER: Did you live in [name of building]?
ME, very surprised: Daaamn. Yeah.
CUSTOMER: Wow, don´t you remember me? We grew up together and… etc etc etc.

Turns out the guy is living a state or three away, down south, is copied on some company e-mail, recognizes the name, wham!, too funny. It is a small world after all and stuff.
We called him [name]-the-owl because of his thick-rimmed spectacles. You´re probably thinking of Clark Kent, no, guy was more like Harry Potter.

…Then it was on to the train, then off to the locker room [reads, Shopping Center. I change clothes in the bathroom in the Shopping, the one on the 3rd floor just beneath the food court. Now this is hard-science for you people, always go for the bathroom one story beneath the food court. It´s always the cleanest and it´s seldom full.] and this one cool, cool thing happened:
I discovered I´d forgotten my shorts, how can I run without my shorts? The Flash keeps his uniform miniaturized, shrunken inside a special ring but I don´t have that advantage… so it was straight to the sportswear store and I bought brand-new shorts, actually a tad expensive (I´m a cheap bastard, by the way) Mizuno sportswear for tennis players that dry up real soon and are almost weightless, makes you feel you´re running naked and I have just realized that for the first time in years I´ve actually COMMITTED to something other than the work or comic books.

Probably busted my knees again… and shoulders.
No, scratch that. I´m sore all over. Feels good, almost happy now.
"Currently engineering a jailbreak," see? I told you.


A contribution to the study of organ grinders, interrupted

Stage fright. Logged to the funky website that keeps track of the traffic around here and for most days there were what? three or four persons coming over? About two of them actually work here and shouldn´t even have access to this thing, shouldn´t even acknowledge its existence in the first place but hey I was a bit careless and the thing did not go undisclosed… so now everybody´s welcome and I thank you for showing up oh kind sirs and ma´ams.

What I really wanted to talk about today was organ grinders, but the kind with the parrots not the monkeys. Monkeys are dirty and there´s no way in hell they mix well with the mall.
The shopping center is after all the one place I get to come upon organ grinders these days.
So kids whenever considering a new career in organ-grinding here´s my recommendation to you, ditch the monkey.
…Unless of course it´s one of those monkeys specifically trained to steal other people´s wallets like in the movies with the Mid-Eastern settings and the red hat things, whassisname… like Morocco Mole wears ´em… a fez, that´s right. So like in the movies with people wearing fezzes.
But I obviously digress as usual, for today´s post is not about organ grinders. It should be. It isn´t and all because of stage fright.

This Blog has received recent visitations from USA and Japan. To my new friends in the land of the Rising Sun- totally unexpected by the way- hey there!, welcome!, good to have you here, honest to god, love your “racequeen” p---star websites, really do. And samurai armors, those fancy kabuto things and whatnots. Oh yeah, and the Lone Wolf & Cub manga, especially the one in which the protagonist comes upon this weaponsmith and gets a really cool built-in medieval gatling-gun installed to his baby carriage… et. al.
As for the USA visitation, wow, MY HERO walks these hallowed grounds. Stage fright all the way, baby. I just can´t think of anything new or smart or… adequate enough to meet HER standards. Superman´s girlfriend Lois Lane has entered the building and all of a sudden I´m feeling like a fifteen-year old kid clad in naught but diapers in my first day in High School, the girl mercilessly reading between every single line of mine, I´m naked, I´m exposed, I´m good she´s better.

This should be a post about organ grinders, it´s a post about you (all).
Thanks for dropping by!


The “So I missed the U2 concert” post

Today´s topic would be about that fairly recent Batman enemy called Hush who´s a doctor and an old childhood buddy of Bruce Wayne and scares the crap out of me because every time I´m in my parents´ garage late at night I get this unnerving, ominous feeling that Hush´s gonna pop in as soon as I´m up in the elevator then place a bomb in the car´s ignition so my parents are blown to bits early in the morning when mom leaves for the supermarket. There´s an intrinsic, inside-the-closet beauty to being 26 and afraid of a comic book villain.
It´s either that or I´m 26 years due at the psychiatrist. But I digress as usual, for today is not Freudian Remembrance Day at the Blog. We should come up with another one of those, though.

Last night U2 came to town and did this huge gig. I could´ve been there but I don´t even like U2 that much, apart from say two or three of their most famous songs. But having watched the show on TV I must confess my envy at those who went, because wow! Some lighting and fireworks and stuff. I´m a sucker for fancy lighting effects, I´ll tell you that much.
You know, just like Kiss but without the Kabuki-Commando thing going on.
Next time we´re having a rock concert nearby, I´m there. Haven´t shouted real loud in a long while and it´s about time we´re back at… living life as human beings? Re-joining our fellow homo sapiens brethren? Oboy. Touch a nerve there again and I´ll punch you in the arm just below the shoulder where it hurts like hell and we called it a stun-gun blow when we were kids because of its alleged muscle-paralyzing effect. We also cut big dented crests on the back of our rulers with the pencil sharpener so we could hurt each other´s arms at grade school while on the bus home.

Having said all that I´m left with a few more minutes´ worth of nihilistic wisdom to spare. Or is it fatalistic wisdom? Were you to imbue a Philosophical bent to this Blog what would that be?
Would you be willing to herald me as the Avatar for the incoming collective Ubermensch-spirit of mankind?
Does that mean (strictly for the female readership) you´re willing to have drunken sex with me?

On a sidenote that book by Dave Eggers has just let me down. Not only Judd Winick makes a cameo but he actually becomes a supporting character for a whole chapter of the book!
(Guy´s a real-world comics writer who was in MTV´s Real World show in the mid-´90s. He currently writes Green Arrow, Batman and the Outsiders for DC Comics, and I really don´t like his stuff. Then how come all of a sudden he´s a character in this non-comics-related book I´m reading? Not fair!)

Memo to self: Leave a note to Hush about this guy Winick´s car. The other one belonged to my grandfather so I really wouldn´t enjoy seeing it go all U2-concert-like in dad´s garage.
I mean, to have Bono preaching to the firemen about world hunger once the place was in flames…


Introspective (redux)

It happened a few years ago and we were all different people back then. I was probably a little more sociable, didn´t really eschew the sun, had more friends, had people coming over.
I was at my parents´ for a week or two, on leave from work, god knows about College (he never did), was recovering from some minor surgery. I´m sure I was in a relationship back then though it´s a bit unclear whether we were on one of those infamous downtimes of ours. We were so often apart it´s a miracle we were ever together in the first place, but what the hell I´m veering way off that particular topic right now. Issues still linger basking the afterglow of the atomic war, sheltered in lead against the nuclear winter outside. Fallout. But I digress.

I had this friend coming over to pay me a visit. It´s not like I was going to die nor anything but she was kind enough to bring some chocolate and dominoes. We had something going between us from some years starting straight where High School left off. I don´t know exactly what. Way much more than a best friend but a whole planetary system less than a girlfriend. Damn cute girl though, terrific smile.
Why on Earth she brought dominoes I´ll never know. It´s a mystery to this day and I guess I should call her up at least to ask her about it but I figure she´s probably still a bit cranky at me for not returning any of her calls last year. Last year was not a very good year for me, I was not in the mood for well, people in general. Anyway, she dates a lot and stuff.
Funny thing was, both of us were lying on my bed (I couldn´t sit down because of the surgery) and she was trying her best to get me to play a game of dominoes, I was trying my best to make out with her. Then she leaped to the armchair beside the bed, which swiveled on its base, and I kept daring her to take off her shirt. Or was it a tank top? She always looked great in tank tops. And if the phone hadn´t rung she would´ve taken it off and… But the phone rang, the phone always rings. The phone never rings.

How long ago, then slingshot forward to say five years later and this is the future, we have landed in the future and it´s half-bleak. My father says I´m a right-wing technocrat, which has nothing to do with this post but has just slipped back in from the back of my head.

I probably shouldn´t have posted this one, anyway. It was spared from the shift + del oblivion solely because we got the “spontaneous prose” thing going again!



The Egyptian Book of the Dead describes how a dead man´s spirit is set to be judged on the netherworld by the jackal-headed god Anubis, weighing the mean´s heart against a feather. Your heart´s heavier & you´re a goner, kiddo and you´ll be dismembered into oblivion by a spirit-eating demon lying conveniently nearby.

I have studied my whole life but not really in the Ah. Traditional or orthodox sense of the word I guess and to this day I feel that the Free-world´s motto for higher learning should come from a 1980s Bruce Springsteen rock song which goes sort of like “We busted outta class / Had to get away from those fools / We learned more from a ten-minute record than we ever learned in school.”
I am therefore quite ready to handle Judgment on my own terms. I´m positive that if push ever comes to shove I´m able outsmart God and assure my way into his Heaven despite the fact that I´m a card-carrying Atheist and will be right up until five minutes after I´m dead. If God´s ever real, though, I can take on him. In fact, find me in a good week and I´ll prove to you I can take on everyone on a huge list just short of James Spader´s character in Boston Legal (the TV show). I´m not that good.
That said, I hereby make it public that I have devised a way out, no better yet- a perfectly logical explanation for justifying any heinous act I might have done in life. Bring on the nasty stuff, bring out the skeletons off the closet, I´m on it, I´m right there.

Superman has his Kryptonite and I used to shoplift when I was a kid. From ages 8 to 11 (approx.) I was the terror of the supermarket, a relentless force of evil raiding through the aisles and shelves out for two things:
Exhibit A is Chocolate even though I had the money, mostly for the sheer thrill of it. I can do this, they´ll never catch me. They never did.
Exhibit B is, oddly enough, Condoms. I´ve never had that many condoms in my pockets or wallet than when I was 10, go figure [Everybody´s got a couple of funny stories about running out or having none of the stuff in a given peculiar moment. Get me drunk one of these days and I´ll let you know about the thing during my grandfather´s funeral].
Once puberty struck I let it go just like that, not fun anymore.
I have, then, no justification for doing that- and this from a guy who absolutely botched everything he did during the College years and is clearly capable of acquitting himself of all those charges and more- so I´m watching out for any incoming jackal-headed people.

Quite the number of ass-headed people at work, though, but they probably can´t operate a scale.
Nor hire James Spader´s character anyway.


Odds & ends, assorted

(Going for a hat trick today; boy are we prolific)

1- Have resumed weightlifting yesterday, now that my roommate has brought home a s***load of weights and dumbbells and barbells and etc.
Reading this, one´ll think of me as an athlete. Funny.

2– Went to the bookstore last evening to pick up a Justice League comic book I´d ordered, then went looking for that It´s Superman! novel by some De Haven fellow. Ended up stumbling upon a book by Bret Easton Ellis (who wrote American Psycho) but it wasn´t Less Than Zero and I´ve been half-assedly looking for Less Than Zero for a few months now with no avail.
But then guy´s name starts with an E and so does Dave Egger´s, which kind of led me to A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, another book I´ve been half-assedly pursuing.
I´d read You Shall Know Our Velocity last year and wham!, great book and so was one of his McSweeney´s I found earlier this year (also by accident). So yep AHWOSG it was.
Would rather bring home a blond girl with short hair and big… a big heart, that´s what, but we´ll have to do with a book instead. Girls usually smell better, though.

3- Have been half-assedly looking for Down and Out in Paris & London by George Orwell. Yes, I do realize I could order those books in, but what´s the fun?
It is my deepest belief that one should never order a book. Comics, yes. Books, no. Either the book finds you or it doesn´t.

4- Oh yes. This is a good one. I was talking about my roommate and guy´s had some serious food poisoning last weekend so he´s all covered in red pustules from head to feet now. He´s got it so bad that he scratches himself wildly all through the night and even though I shouldn´t be laughing I can´t help myself. It´s SKRRSH SKRRSH SKRRSH all night long, fingernail on sore skin.

Kerouac 4 kids

Have just noticed I´ve been heavily editing all my text pieces before & after posting.
Once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away the long-lost art of spontaneous prose was opening up before us which is no longer the case sadly sadly sadly.
Memo to the ghost of Jack Kerouac: I´ve shot my own gig, Jack, I´m so sorry.

The last couple of posts did not turn out as they should; as of now we´re riding the spontaneous prose full throttle on this blog.

Fifty years after the Fair

…Is a 1993 song by Aimee Mann about the 1939 New York World´s Fair.

It is a song about the future; the Fair was all about the future.

(The Fair, mind you, was pretty much like Disney´s Epcot Center. Big amusement park built around a lake. Half of it focusing on technology, half of it divided to various nations of the world; large sphere-like attraction as main theme.)

One may surmise the Fair as cozy, cute footnote in History but all in all a failed 2-year entrepreneurship built over a marshland in Queens in steel and plaster. Perhaps so.
Not quite, though, when seen through the eyes of the dwindling population whom, to this day, remembers the Fair. “I have seen the Future,” boasted the button that each visitor won after riding General Motors´ Futurama (the Fair´s most popular attraction) which showed an idealized vision of a future 20 years hence made perfect by roads and the automobile.
Visitors saw the future in the Fair and it was a future dreamed up by the big industries, and they believed in that future.

The futuristic city diorama called “Democracity” inside the hollow heart of the Perisphere (the Fair´s symbol and thematic attraction, a giant sphere joined by a 3-sided towering spire not unlike the Washington monument, called the Trylon) carried no churches in its first year, a fact duly amended once the Fair re-opened in 1940.
Point is, the initial (though probably non-intentional) absence of Religion.

We´re pushing seventy years after the Fair now and we have treaded on the grounds of its Promised Lands: Cross-country highways and phone calls. Plastics. Amazing advances in health care. Television.
Then there´s the Internet and the International Space Station and microwave ovens and cell phones that allow us to call up Bhutan while riding the bus to work (at least in theory!)

I think the greatest sin in the clean, streamlined future world of 1939 would be taking technology for granted, so don´t. Let us not.
Ah. I might have taken the very-personal-route on this one to a point that the post is almost no longer about the Fair, but about the way we see ourselves… but then I guess that´s what the Fair was all about, looking at the present while having our reflection shot to two, or seven, decades ahead.

Hope makes us what we are and what we will become; it´s mankind´s collective will to power being rendered in a CAD-system. It´s television being the foundations of the Western educational system. Technology is our tool, it is our right arm.
We are, however, no longer marveled at the realization of technology and its many possibilities. The sense of wonder has left us in a dreamless sterile world craving for another shot at 1939.
I wonder of a younger, perhaps more naïve 20th century.
I wonder of a different time when we still had so much to come.
I wonder of the world of 1939 standing in the shadow of a second, and more brutal War in Europe… swastikas looming over, well everywhere, then Czechoslovakia falling and its Pavilion in the Fair being supported by an international fund in 1940.
I wonder of the loss of innocence.

…The Fair´s structures were turned to scrap metal for the war effort afterwards and rained hell over Europe as tanks and planes and ships in the following years.


The “Dear Penthouse” post

There is an irreprehensible, relentless, amoral force of nature called Fate to which all mortals must bow at least once before passing to the Great Beyond.

To the Russians it happened back in 1908 in a region of Siberia called Tunguska when a fireball came out of nowhere and exploded high above the ground, totaling literally over two thousand square kilometers of the ground below.
No definitive explanation has been offered to this day, though most available scientific data point out to a meteor bursting in midair before landfall. Either way it was an Act of God.

To me it happened last week in the last day of my 10-day vacations at the doctor´s office, and even though it´s a tale far more amazing than Tunguska, I assure you it´s quite true nonetheless:

Okay. Picture this. Standing in line and waiting for my name to come up for a check-up, all drooling over the drop-dead gorgeous skinny redhead at the reception desk with the bikini marks crawling up her low-cut jeans. Then enters the really hot nurse.
Me, being a man, first thought that crosses my mind is, “Wouldn´t mind being examined by those chicks!”

As it turns out Yes!, hot nurse with the cleavage will carry out the examination.
“Come with me,” she says with a smile and boy am I smiling under my pants. “Now lie down on this table and take off your shirt.”
Now we´re talking, here´s me thinking. Now if only…

“I´ll have to shave your chest,” she smiles awkwardly while fiddling with the razor.
“No problem,” that´s what I say.
“Thank. You. Oh. Lord!,” that´s what I think. “Looking like a good, solid p*** movie to me so far.”

Then all of a sudden… and I kid you not, damnedest true story here… enters the cute redhead girl from the reception desk and asks if the hot nurse needs any assistance.
A conclusion is drawn right alongside there-is-a-god-after-all, which is: “Definitely a p*** movie!”

Now I´ll leave the rest of the story to the reader´s imagination.
…´Cuz those damn nurses left me to mine.

Straight from that Aesop guy, here´s the Moral to today´s post:
“Living halfway through a p*** movie is better than not having lived through a p*** movie at all!”


Telegraph Road, part IV

I´m taking the path of least resistance on this one, okay?
I´m through trying to call Bhutan (the country) from my cell phone.

But as they say in Bhutan whenever T-2 is on,
"I´ll be back."

The “I shall (not) become a bat” post

Spent the last ten days at my parent´s, vacations and so on. If there´s one thing to do in one´s hometown when one doesn´t really want to spend any money, is to go walking around. And boy, did I walk! Was going at what, 20 Kms a day in my fancy Liberace shoes… I even got to see the sun. Scratch that one- I actually got myself a nice tan!
A nice tan… and one important realization. An epiphany:

Lowdown is, I´d make a poor Batman.
Here´s why:

True story: Back in the late ´50s / early ´60s my grandfather built two or three movie theaters back in my hometown. Dad never really says much about the time, though he often recalls that he saw The Blob for about six or seven times there when he was a kid, straight from the projection room. The one with Steve McQueen. The theaters were eventually sold to third parties a few years later, and ended up becoming televangelism churches not long ago. (Actually one of them did become an arcade, then a nightclub, then a church, but moot point there).
When my grandfather passed away this really cool thing happened (in a weird way); all of a sudden there was this guy attending the funeral about whom no one in the family knew zilch. As it turned out he´d been an employee from the cinema as a young man. He told me many, many stories about those days and... well, it was fascinating.
But I digress.

When I was a kid- and this was early ´80s, many years after grandpa had sold ´em, but before they were turned into temples- My parents would take me to the movies. There was also that one Friday evening that my grandmother, not the one married to the grandfather mentioned above, I´m talking about my mother´s mom now, she took me to see Moonwalker and I was really frightened because, wow!, pretty much all the audience was at least ten years older than I was, those damn punks clad in ragged jeans vests with shiny hairstyles… and I was all like, “Whoa! Those are honest-to-god gang members and they´re gonna mug grandma and I as soon as the movie ends.”
…Which never really came to pass anyway and she bought me ice-cream and we got home scot-free.

But back to Batman:
My parents took me to the movies with some regularity. Get this, Batman fanboy around seven or eight years old, walking home with his parents just off the movies at night… You get the picture. Every time.
Now, what really made me afraid wasn´t just urban violence. I mean, that´s a given. Too easy. What made me afraid was, if my parents were killed and I survived, there was no way in hell I would grow up to become the Batman, and that´s not the (lack of) money speaking.

Bruce Wayne got into “Batman mode” right that instant. By the time he was in his late teens he was already roaming the world, seeking perfection in all sciences and martial arts and whatnots.
Meaning, studying and sports. Namely, the last two things I´m good at.

Alan Scott the golden-age Green Lantern though, was riding in a train, then he came upon a magic ring. Hal Jordan the silver-age Green Lantern was flying in a simulator, then he came upon a magic ring.
Riding the train home from work and playing video-games. Sheesh.
Green Lanterns always had it easier.…


Stopped writing for a while, then took 10 days off work.
Have returned now; shall resume blogging in a few hours.

Thanks for coming, and be kind to animals.