A WORD FROM OUR FOUNDER
I’m learning more about myself…
Maybe it’s old age, or that reunion I went to. That whole “happy with what you have” nonsense is still floating around in my head. I’m getting even more introspective than normal. And by the way all you that said the key to my happiness was with looking at myself…evaluating my life weeding out the bad. WORSTE ADVICE EVER. I already spend to much time in my head over thinking everything. Only now I’m justifying it to myself as NOT unhealthy and neurotic…but “introspection”
Anywhoo, that’s the dance of folly I’ve been performing between my ears. Looking over my life. That and the reunion has made me reflect on childhood…and what was good about it., I don’t remember much of it…so all that’s come out of that is me listening to a lot of seventies music. I was a happy kid and remember hearing that type of song on the radio while going on errands with my Dad, i rememer 50 ways to leave your lover and sly and the family stones and i liked "rich girl" by hall and oats because it had the word "bitch" in it but it was the sevenries ...there where no Ipods so you could only sit and suffer through carly simon and the carpenters while waiting for "bad Leroy brown" to come on. i remember my Dad looked alot like Ben Steller when he was undercover as a biker in "starsky and Hutch"... i don't remember what the errands where and much like me not remembering anything about the boyscouts...it's probably best forgotten.
You know it’s a whole new world when you listen to those lyrics as an adult…all those drippy happy assed hippie songs are actually bitter. No wonder everyone was stoned in the seventies…they where all miserable bastards. I’ve been listening to carly simons greatest hits…whoaw…what a cynical acerbic handful she must have been. Boy, if I could go back in time and date her…we could have had some glorious arguments…her- passionate angry teary eyed,…white sundress waving as she throws a glass “ziggy” sculpture that narrowly misses me and hits the beaded macramé owl that is hanging on the wall…me ducking and screaming back that if she wasn't stoned all the time she might remember al the nice things that i DO do for her...knowing full well that i don't do nice things for her but that i can hide behind her inability to remember things when she's stoned. i could probably get away with that for awhile.
I’m fantasizing about the arguments I would have if I dated carly simon….that’s…that’s not healthy introspection…that’s not finding the joy I had as a child. I was tricked though…those songs sounded pretty when I was a kid and wasn’t listening to the lyrics. I wonder if there are four year olds right now riding around with their parents as they do errands listening to “the killers” or “depeche mode” simply thinking that the song sounds nice. And only decades from now realize that all those songs where about how miserable those people where.
I dunno, but if you like the killers or depeche mode go download “that’s the way I’ve always heard it should be” by carly simon and listen to the words. You’ll never cut yourself with car keys by any song written after 1978 again. Man…if i ever have kids and am forced to raise them I’ll never let them listen to that stuff. Better they live on a steady diet of “motorhead” or “puff daddy” than hear lyrics like “cling and claw and drown in loves debris” or “my friends from college their all married now…tearful nights angry dawns…their children hate them for the things they’re not , they hate themselves fro what they are” with light piano playing ….it’s brutal. do you think right now there are kids in thier parents car listening to the Killers and Eddie Vedder and missing all the lyrics and just thinking that the sounds sound peppy? anywho enough with the subtly disguesed sad music. No more of that for me. so my childhood happiness is best left alone. What else…I’m happy when I drunk…that’s a road I shouldn’t go down.
As I think about it , don’t like drunk Doug. day to day I’m not that big a fan of myself. I see how the sausage is made so I’m not that impressed by the work I’ve done. It’s fine, but the mistakes and things I think I could have done better is always what jumps out at me. or the panel I spent weeks re-doing while I perhaps should have been doing something about my crumbling marriage…years from now when I’m a deranged homeless person living in a dumpster wearing one snow boot and a sock and a flip flop on the other foot my only worldly possession will be a crumpled up page from arsenic lullaby where I missed correcting some minor detail before it went to print…and I’ll be giving it the stink eye from the other end of the dumpster as the garbage trunk pours me into the compactor…I’ll not dignify that last moment of indignity by screaming…I’ll just let that eye get squeezed out of my skull as I cling angrily to the page as I become mason for that particular cube of garbage.
What was I saying? Oh yeah…I’m not that impressed with myself. even when I do a really good book, so what? I made a stupid comic book. There are people out there…mechanics, plumbers, garbage men…who’s jobs are important. I just keep those people entertained…BUT when I’m drunk…boy oh boy I think I’m the greatest thing since sliced bread. I’ll go on and on about it…I can’t get enough of myself, I’m my own obnoxious drunk buddy. “I luv you mannn * hic* your stufz so awzomm…hic* man you work your ass off and it really showzz hic”” I have a love/hate relationship with myself. thank God the busy seasons starting again…all this time to think is doing me no good.