Saturday morning cartoons

26 07 2011

This space has lain dormant for a while now, and after the (completely appropriate) drama of my most recent entry I feel a little silly stepping back into things with this flippant non sequitur. It’s not that I haven’t had anything to write about–quite the opposite, in fact–the problem is everything I might have to say hinges upon one story that is too messy, involves too many other people, hits too close to home, for me to indiscriminately throw out into the world (even though almost all of you reading this probably already know to what I refer).

But, with that disclaimer carefully in place, I do have something to say:

I am Peter Parker.*

I’ve been soothing myself these past few weeks by recreating the weekends of my childhood: wake up around 10, pour myself a giant-sized bowl of cereal, and curl up in front of the tv (now my computer) to the lights and sounds of super hero cartoons. Spider-Man is my favorite, though the X-men can occasionally give him a run for his money. As nostalgia inevitably carries me down memory lane, I’ve been repeatedly stunned to realize how often–even to this day, over a decade since I last watched the show–my inner monologue perfectly mimics that of Peter Parker.

I so loved and internalized a cartoon that I still regularly recreate episodes in my daily life. And I had no idea it was happening until watching those episodes all over again. As I was teaching myself to be a man that friendly neighborhood spider was, apparently, one of my most influential role models. I could certainly do worse.


*Not that pathetic Tobey Maguire character. If he’s your only window into the world of Spider-Man stop reading this right now, go out and buy a few comics. Or, better yet, log in to Netflix and check out the Spider-Man cartoons that ran from ’94-’97, as those are my primary source material.



6 07 2011

Well, well, well.

Over the past few months this blog has seen lots of pretty, pretty words and even more tears (mine and, apparently, others’)

The next few months will see those pretty words thrown into the crucible and melted into slag. The shit has officially hit the fan, people, and my world–my family’s world–my family–will never be the same. Every story I have to tell has taken on new and sinister overtones. I am unmoored (and I miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight have broken a toe yesterday in an epic sledgehammer rage).

Lord, have mercy.

Friends, have mercy. And know that I will be


relying on you more than ever