Last night at the comic shop

Last night at my local comic shop, Best Comics International in New Hyde Park, NY, a young man walked over to me as I was looking over my pull (for those that don't read comics, your pull is the comics that that you have your local shop put aside for you, that way you're guaranteed to get a copy vs. taking your chances an issue hasn't sold out) & said, excuse me, I really like the Batman logo on the back of your car. I smiled, said thanks man, I appreciate that, and went back to looking over my pull.

He later joined in on my conversation with Tommy, the store owner, on the previous night's episode of The Flash and was smiling ear to ear, eager to contribute. As Tommy was ringing me up I asked if there were any different covers to Chrononauts and the kid said he saw some on the rack and offered to show me, I joked to Tommy that the kid might be making him some more money. I saw that the only covers left on the rack were the same as the one I had in my hands, but that the kid had a bunch of different ones.

The kid then asked if I had intended on getting the different covers and he was holding his books out, as if he was about to offer them to me, and I just smiled and said, hey man, you got to them first, they're yours, have a good one buddy. I said my goodbyes to Tommy and was on my way.

It wasn't until this morning that I realized that I was that kid, back in the late 80s, buying comics at the Bookworms booth in the Metro Marketplace on Union Turnpike chatting up the owner, a nice guy named Hal who was always super cool to me and who helped my folks out & spoke fondly of me when they came in looking for ideas for Christmas or birthday presents.

And I wondered, was this kid having a hard time fitting in? Was he feeling alone or uncool? If he is or was, I wish I could tell him, what I've told my own daughter at times. Dig what you dig, don't ever pretend to like or not to like something to fit in. The people who are into what you're into, will eventually find you or you'll find them. Don't change to fit someone else's preconceived idea of cool. I hope that polite, nice, friendly kid has a ton of friends and that he enjoys his comics, as much as I enjoy mine.

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Seven
I am now thirty-seven years old; I achieved this incredibly uninteresting milestone on Sunday. For some reason, turning thirty-seven has given me great pause. Turning thirty really didn’t bother me, it just felt weird saying it, the way it felt coming out of my mouth, just a different feeling than twenty-something. Turning thirty-five was a little different as it meant moving out of that coveted eighteen to thirty-four demographic. However, for some reason, turning thirty-seven seemed to really stick in my craw.

I don’t think it’s so much that I feel “old” as it is that I feel “older,” if that makes any sense. I think what keeps me from feeling old is that I don’t have interests that associate with being old, whether that’s true or not in reality, is of course up for debate. I love comic books and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu and music and standup comedy and preparing and eating food. My non-work wardrobe is made up of jeans, cargo shorts, hoodies, & t-shirts. Most of my t-shirts either reference BJJ, comics, or bands. This is not in an effort to cling to my youth, this is what I like & what I am comfortable in.

What I have found harder to hold on to or to attain as I have gotten older is physical fitness. When I started training in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu almost five years ago I was overweight and out of shape. Through changes in diet a ton of cardio and as much BJJ I could fit in I shed roughly forty pounds. I have noticed in recent months that I was starting to gain a bit of weight, not a ton, but enough for me to take my most slim fitting or clingy material comprised t-shirts temporarily out of rotation. My biggest roadblock has always been my love of food. I really do love to eat and most of what I love to eat is not very good for you. I try to restrict what I eat during the day during the week, but a lot of times my habits go to hell in a hand basket on the weekends.

In an effort to combat this I have added a three times weekly “core shredding workout” provided by a friend who is a personal trainer and attending a Bikram Yoga class once a week to my work out schedule. I have also started drinking roughly 160 ounces of water a day to combat any water retention. I am also trying to grill as much as possible and to limit eating out and desserts. I am hoping the end result will be a flatter stomach, stronger core, stronger lower back, and increased flexibility. I’m only in my second week of this new program, so time will tell.

The other thing that has started to eat away at me is the question of; what am I going to do with the rest of my life. In all sense of the term, I think it is very safe to say that I have entered what is known as “middle age.” How is my life going to go from here, what do I want to do with the time that I have left? Where do I want to go, what do I want to see and do? Am I doing the most to ensure that the second half will be better than the first? There are so many places I want to see and so many things I have yet to experience. I certainly didn’t think I would be where I am at this point in my life when I was; say my fourteen year old daughter’s age. In some ways I have seen and experienced so much more than I thought that I would, in others, I’m quite disappointed in myself, if I’m honest.

So many unanswered and unanswerable questions dog me regarding what comes next, so much so that it has almost paralyzed me when I try to wrap my head around it all. This is of course the entirely worst possible thing, to be so frozen that one does nothing. I am trying to keep what I have attempted to make my motto since my Father’s passing stay front and center in my mind; be better. Every year my New Year’s Resolution is the same; be better, be a better husband, father, son, friend, martial artist, PERSON. At the end of every year I always feel that I have failed in this quest. That maybe I have moved the needle the slightest bit, but how woefully inadequate of change that is. Every year I say the same; Be Better Tour (insert year here,) train keeps a rollin’, tougher than a coffin nail. And in my heart of hearts I believe this, I believe that I will be better and do better and grow. It just doesn’t seem to work out that way. I know the blame for this falls squarely on my shoulders. I know that I am the sole reason that I am so disappointed in myself.

So here I am, thirty-seven, with so much more to see and do, with half a life left to go. So now what, what comes next? I just don’t know yet. And that, that is what is making thirty-seven so different, so difficult, that I just don’t know what should or will come next.

Becoming a Man, what it means to be a Father

With Father’s Day rapidly approaching I’ve been thinking a lot regarding what it really means to be a Father and when you really become a man. I don't think I really became a man until my Dad died which is sad and stupid and fucked up, but that’s the way it is, if I’m being honest, which I’m trying to be.

One of my favorite examples to give, when people ask what being a Father means, or of how my Dad was is the time I moved to New Jersey. I was 18 years old and dating a woman who was 22 and I was totally and completely infatuated with her. She had already graduated college and I was halfway through my first year and not doing a very good job of it. I was too involved with going to goth clubs with my friends and exploring the NYC goth scene to do things like go to class and write papers.

I dropped out of school because it was interfering with spending time with her and with my working shit menial jobs to make money to move in with her. She eventually got kicked out of her place up in Port Chester and moved back in with her mother in South Jersey. I would work all week at Costco, then take the LIRR into Penn, walk to Port Authority and take the two hour bus trip down to Cherry Hill every Friday, spend the rest of Friday and all of Saturday with her and be back in NY in time to work the closing shift on Sunday. It totally fucking sucked.

We started looking for places together and everywhere in North Jersey or NY was too expensive. All the way my Father kept trying to talk me out of moving in with her and into going back to college. I wouldn’t listen and we argued often. We eventually found a place in South Jersey and were committed to moving in together. Despite their misgivings, my parents helped me pack, rented a minivan, and drove me down there. Once down there they took us to Bed, Bath, & Beyond and bought some things for us. We said our goodbyes and they were off.

While I was there, my Dad would send me care packages; video tapes of Giants games (when they won), and news clippings pertaining to the Giants, and any news clippings pertaining to the Islanders. He would call me often, not to hound me, but to keep in touch. When things started going bad he tried to council me.

Finally, it was at a point when things were not going to get better and he said “Christopher, just come home, I’ll take the for sale sign of your car, all you have to do is go to school. Just come home.” When I finally agreed, he again rented a minivan, drove down to South Jersey, helped me pack, and took me home.

Being a parent is trying to prevent your children from making mistakes, realizing when you can’t stop them, and being there to help them stand up, and dust themselves off when they do. He never rubbed it in my face, he never hit me with an “I told you so,” he just told me how proud he was of me for realizing my mistake and coming home.  And how happy he was I was home and how much he loved me. He even repainted my room and had my Mom get me new curtains and bedding.

I would make a lot more mistakes and he would do a lot more helping me up and dusting me off. He was the BEST, end of story and I'll never measure up, and I'm cool with that. But he loved me so much; he never gave up on me. He was the only one, other than Erin, who never gave up. And it took him dying, for me to really fully become the man he saw in me. What I’m not cool with is him being gone and I’m not OK with him not getting to see the man I’ve become. I love you Dad, with all my heart, always and forever.

Obsessed with Inside the Actors Studio, so I felt I had to…

OK, I’ve been meaning to write about what it means to me to be a good parent, and about one of my favorite instances where my Father was there for me and how I think it’s a great example. However, I’m just not up to it, with Father’s Day fast approaching, consistent thoughts about my Dad drive me to near tears, and I’m just not up to that at the moment.

But I digress…one of the epic presents my beloved wife got me for Christmas was a TiVo DVR. I know, welcome to 21^st Century. We had been delaying the whole DVR thing due to not wanting to give the shitty bastards at Time Warner NYC more of our money. Our good friends Mel & Steve had been lauding TiVo for years and my wife decided to surprise me.

Now my TiVo is currently dominated by all things UFC & episodes of Inside the Actors Studio, aside from the programs that we enjoy on a weekly basis and get watched pretty much a day or so after they air. If you’re a fan of the show, it stands to reason that you, yourself have thought about how you would answer, Mr. Lipton’s show ending questionnaire whose concept was originated by French television personality Bernard Pivot on his show Apostrophes, after the Proust Questionnaire.

So, in keeping with the spirit of the show and fun here are the ten questions he asks along with my replies:

1. What is your favorite word? love
2. What is your least favorite word? faggot
3. What turns you on? Lively discourse
4. What turns you off? Stupidity
5. What sound or noise do you love? When my husky “talks”
6. What sound or noise do you hate? My daughter crying
7. What is your favorite curse word? CUNT
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Therapist
9. What profession would you not like to do? Mathematician
10. If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates?
    Your Father is right over there.

I would love to hear everyone else’s answers, fire away in the comments section or hip me up with an email!

May I also note how sad I was when I found out that Inside Inside by the wonderful James Lipton is out of print!

Episodes of ItAS currently oin my TiVo: 14

Keeping It Real (Trying To Anyway)

I have been trying very hard to go very hard at anything not work related, to keep my head in the game. Reading whenever I can (not just comics, I swear), working out every day, grilling as often as I can, training BJJ at least twice a week (wishing my work schedule would allow for more), trying to write more, listening to as much music as I can, going to five shows in the next four months (Alkaline Trio, The National, Half Moon Run, Depeche Mode 2x). I haven’t taken the bike out yet but I am definitely getting the itch to hit it. I want to bake more, but that would mean eating the stuff which would be counterproductive!

I’m trying not to lose myself. I feel like that has been the big fear with me ever since I started working “real jobs” in other words jobs outside of retail. I feel like when I was young, early to mid-twenties and working in retail, it didn’t matter; the fear wasn’t there because I knew I wouldn’t be doing that bullshit for the rest of my life. I had so much other stuff going on, I was just SO creative that SOMETHING was going to hit. Either the writing in one form or another, the music in on genre or another, the acting, or I was going to cling desperately to one of my many talented friends coattails as they gleefully dragged me along for the ride.

Surprise, none of that happened. And you get to a point where you just have to move on with your life, you just have to do what you have to do to pay the bills and live the kind of existence you want to live. To not struggle to pay your rent or mortgage and to not worry if you can afford to buy new clothes for your daughter once she outgrows the ones she has or the seasons change.

So that’s what I did, I started working in office jobs with an unfortunately brief detour into the culinary/small business owner’s world, and then back into an office. And this where you really start to get that fear that you are your job, you don’t want to be, you certainly don’t identify that way, but it’s often the first thing someone will ask. So, what do you do? As if this was the most important part of one’s life?

Yes, being an Office Manager for at an IT firm is what I do to make money. This, however, is the last thing I would use to describe myself. Hell, look at my brief twitter bio: “Husband, father, BJJ Blue Belt, Pastry Chef, Straight Edge, food/music/film/comic book/stand-up junkie.” It doesn’t even make the damn cut. And if I extended it, it still wouldn’t; son, brother, uncle, nephew, friend, & writer would all make the list of descriptors first.

Yet I still have that fear that drives me so hard, that uneasiness that I am losing parts of myself that I am conforming that I am letting go or giving up. Not me, no fucking way, not this devout follower of the Church of Rollins. I have no interest in either burning out or fading away. I do what I do to take care of my responsibilities, but that which I do to earn a living will not & cannot define me; I won’t allow it.

Be Better Tour 2013, Train Keeps Rollin’, Tougher Than a Coffin Nail

Familiar Strangers

Like a lot of people I commute to work every day via mass transit. I go to the same train station every morning and I take the same train to work every day. As I take the Long Island Railroad or LIRR as it is abbreviated, I depart at the same time every day, with mostly the same people.

I see these same folks every day and they see me, yet I’ve never spoken to any of them, well not spoken anything of any real value anyway. Usually just excuse me, or no, you go ahead. This is my preference, I always have my ear buds in and in cooler or wet weather the hood on my hooded sweatshirt will be up until I am seated. Upon sitting, I open my messenger bag, pull out whatever I am currently reading and immerse myself in my book. This is my quiet before the storm, my sacred solitude.

However, this doesn’t stop me from wondering what these familiar strangers are like. The two girls, who arrive to together, dress almost identically and carry their way too big purses in the bend of their arms, while wearing their ridiculously huge sunglasses, and yet they never sit together.

The young man who shows up slightly flustered, suit jacket over his arm, tie not even around his neck, let alone tied, belt in his other hand! Dude, take a few extra minutes and actually finish getting dressed before you leave the house.

The young girl who is either goth, punk, or really depressed. Always in black leggings, a black top of some sort, and her Converse sneakers. Pale, black hair buzzed in the back, always looking dour. If Erin and I had a daughter, I imagine she would probably look like this girl.

When I get on the train I almost always end up sitting either right across or diagonally across from the woman with the big blue headphones, always drinking her coffee through her straw and peering at her iPhone. Usually with a furrowed brow as if she’s studying or concentrating very hard on something.

Sometimes I wonder what these people are like, what their jobs are, what music they are listening to, who they are texting so furiously, or what show or movie they are watching on their iPad or what they are reading on their e-reader.

I suppose all this is human nature, just as I suppose that they might wonder all of these things about me. Wow, it was loud when that guy cracked his neck, what is he listening to, what is he reading, what does “BJJ” stand for, why is he limping today?

Is it strange that I’ve never attempted to start a conversation and neither have they? Is it a consequence of being New Yorkers, would it be different if we lived elsewhere? Is it disinterest, distrust, laziness? What is it that keeps these familiar faces that I see more often than some of my closest friends and family strangers? Whatever it is, I’m sure that it will continue.

Having an incredible memory, a blessing or a curse?

My friends and family will often remark on my incredible powers of recall. I have a very, very good long term memory, especially when it concerns social situations. Without much effort I am usually able to recall minute details from as far back as my childhood. And I remember nonsensical things like what I wore on first dates in high school that never even resulted in second dates. My mind is filled with useless recollections of specific episodes of 80s sitcoms.

Oscar Hammling uttered one of my dear friend Chris Gavagan’s favorite quotes, “Often the greatest enemy of present happiness is past happiness too well remembered.” Chris repeated this quote to me often over many a cup of coffee at the infamous El Greco Diner in Brooklyn. It related both to a wonderful script he had written as well as both of our lives. I have often focused on this quote and on the veracity of it.

If you are truly happy in the present, can remembering how happy you were in the past really be enough to derail that happiness? Well, let’s examine this shall we? I am certainly willing to accept the fact that one’s memory is indeed subjective. And that how you remember something, doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s the truth of the matter. I could wholly and completely believe that I wasn’t happier than I had ever been at one point in time, but in truth, maybe there were events surrounding said point in time, that were causing me extreme anxiety? Maybe that MOMENT was wonderful, but the surrounding moments were horrible.

Now, if a person is happy, in the moment & place they are currently in, why would a memory of another time in which they are happy, ruin that? Well, perhaps it’s because you’ll think “I’m having a great time right now, I’m so happy, life is good!” And then you’ll think, “Well, it’s not as good as…” and this is what leads to problems, the comparisons.

These comparisons are often not anywhere near the realm of being fair due to the previously stated subjective nature of one’s memory. The odds are already slanted in favor of past happiness, due to the fact that you are subjectively remembering them. Then you work into the equation that you are older than the time you are remembering and in most cases ones responsibilities, stresses, and obligations increase with age. Another point for past happiness!

So here you are, concentrating on how good things were back then which in turn leads you to think of how much better than they are at the present moment. This can run you down into thinking that if things were so good then, that means they aren’t all that great now, and this totally kills your buzz on your present happiness. And BOOM there we have it, present happiness crushed by the oppressive heel of past happiness.

I have to admit, I have fallen victim to this many, many times. It has ruined many relationships and other opportunities for me in my lifetime. However, all things considered, I wouldn’t trade my memory for anything.

My Father has been gone for over 4 ½ years now, and I have many amazing memories of him. There are little moments between just the two of us as well as the big moments surrounded by others. Do my past memories of times spent with him make new memories of life events and achievements without him pale in comparison? Sometimes, sometimes it does, and I always wish he could be a part of them. I have learned, however, that I have to live in the moment and be thankful for the happiness I have & grateful for the good times I will experience in the future and not shackle myself to my past.