Everyone has stories of things that they are told happened to them during the early years of ones life that one doesn't/cannot remember, in that time before our consciousness 'wakes up' and we start being aware of our life. 

For me, these include, being obsessively protected by our family's big black lab Licorice (who died, while I was still a baby, I think, by being hit by a car on the highway just outside our house), being present at a party my parents threw and exclaiming "OH HELL!" for some unknown reason, and the time I stuck my hand out to stop a slamming door with a glass pane in it that caused a scar on my right arm. I remember none of this. 

I was also told at a young age that I had been an unexpected third child after my mom had had some problems carrying to term. My sister, born in 1956, was supposed to have been a twin, and I seem to remember hearing from her that mom had been pregnant twice between my brother being born in 1960 and my birth in 1964.

So, from a young age, before I was 'awake', my mom doted on me as I was not only a 'whoops' but it was clear that I would be her last child. I can't, of course, know what that must feel like, to know or suspect that you can't have any more children, but it can only be a sad thing (whether or not she and my dad even would have wanted more kids is not important). 

When I tell people that my mom and dad were my best friends growing up, some look at my like I'm crazy, some look at me as though they pity me... and some understand. My parents weren't perfect, but, they were perfect for me. My mom was loving and kind, creative, smart and funny, and my dad had a wealth of knowledge about pop culture, world history, and a mind for exploring interesting subjects (such as visitors from other worlds and things of that nature). They would each leave me, in their own way, over time, but I think that they armed me with a better tool belt than either they or I realized. That I have lived in many cities, have a large number of friends, and have had the pleasure of a variety of super cool experiences comes from parents who taught me the right things. I'm certainly not perfect either, but I have them to thank for a lot of things that have kept my life full of life. 

Anyway, the first image that I have always remembered clearly, was the image of the back of a woman's legs, standing at our kitchen sink washing dishes. She was wearing a dress and short heeled shoes. I know it wasn't my mom but was probably our housekeeper, Mrs. S.

Mrs. S. was hired to help my mom cope with three kids and a big house. As my mom suffered from agoraphobia (something that would only be named after my dad passed away in 1981) we all just accepted that my mom needed companionship in the house and when driving and it was Mrs. S who would cook meals, do laundry, iron, and, to some degree, the disciplining. Later, after Mrs. S left, Mrs. K joined our household and would threaten us with "the stick" - a large wooden spoon. She called me "Charlie" as in "Charlie Brown" and I would stay at her house in town on occasion when my parents would go out of town. I don't really remember Mrs. S at all, but would later "meet" her briefly. It's a strange thing to meet someone who took care of you but you don't remember them. 

The image up above is of a Christmas card I salvaged from one of my usual childhood raids of boxes in our attic. It's certainly one of the things I wouldn't remember getting at 2 years old. I am thrilled that it somehow survived until I could, during college, put it in a photo album for safe keeping.

The card is from my grandma and grandpa Hansen, my mom's parents who lived in Milwaukee. My grandma refers to herself as "Nonna" in the note but I know I never referred to her as that, although I do remember my sister doing so.  As a side note, this grandma, Thelma, was always a very big part of our Christmas as she would bake the most delicious sugar cookies and put them in fancy tins, sealed with heavy tape and sent to us not to be opened until Christmas day. She was quite a positive influence on me and, aside from my parents, she is the person from my family that I miss the most (she passed at nearly 100 years old in 2004). 

That's all for today, more soon! 

originally posted 12/19/18 Noon. 

edited for additional clarity 12/19/18 3:30pm

I was born in a paper mill town called Mosinee, in the central part of Wisconsin. My parents' house sat on the edge of a thick woods just a few minute walk from the Wisconsin River. We weren't on a farm, but we didn't live in town either. We were in between and part of both but neither at the same time. I have found that this has been sort of symbolic of my life. Thankfully, I grew up on a country road with a bunch of other kids. We were all of similar ages and had many adventures throughout our shared childhood. In many ways, I felt/feel closer to them than I did/do my own siblings. But I'll get to that eventually. 

My story really begins on March 9th. The possibly apocryphal story of my birth is that my mother went into labor during an episode of The Lucy Show and about an hour and a half later, I was born. I only couch this as a possibly apocryphal story because Lucy was on at 7pm and I was born around 8:30. That seems pretty fast but I don't know if she was already in the hospital at the time or if she went from our house to the hospital and to birth in 90 minutes. My mother would have enough trouble with me throughout my life so, if true, I'm glad that it sounds as though my birth was a fairly easy event and that at least she went into the delivery room laughing. 

I was also a 'whoops'. My mom didn't think she'd have any more children so I was apparently a surprise. Perhaps this is why she and I got along so well. Knowing that you weren't planned is a kind of weird feeling as you realize that you almost weren't anything at all. It's also weird for me to know that my parents tenth wedding anniversary was June 20th, 1963 and that I was born 9 months later. It's nice to know that I was probably conceived during a celebratory time. :) 

This photo is the earliest one of me that I have. Taken in March 1965, I would be one year old. It doesn't look like my parents home nor does it look like either of my grandparents' homes.. so I'm not sure where I am. But, it does look like I was comfy and clearly they were worried that I'd just wander away (probably a reasonable concern given my eventual peripatetic ways). I really love that pillow, by the way. It's super cool. I also kind of like the art deco green lamp behind me and the 'genie' bottle on the table. If I had to guess, I might think that I might be staying at a woman's house who had been our housekeeper (Mrs. Sinkhofer) in my early years. She would retire by about the time I was 3 or 4 and Mrs. Kasmirski ("Mrs. K") would be with us up until my dad passed away in 1981. 

Interestingly, later on in life, when I was with a boyfriend who was a serious snorer, I would spend a lot of time sleeping on the couch. It never bothered me. I guess it's because I had been a couch surfer from early on. :) 

Anyway, I think that's a good start. I'll be back with a few more bits and pieces. 

Everyone has stories of things that they are told happened to them during the early years of ones life that one doesn't/cannot remember, in that time before our consciousness 'wakes up' and we start being aware of our life. 

For me, these include, being obsessively protected by our family's big black lab Licorice (who died, while I was still a baby, I think, by being hit by a car on the highway just outside our house), being present at a party my parents threw and exclaiming "OH HELL!" for some unknown reason, and the time I stuck my hand out to stop a slamming door with a glass pane in it that caused a scar on my right arm. I remember none of this. 

I was also told at a young age that I had been an unexpected third child after my mom had had some problems carrying to term. My sister, born in 1956, was supposed to have been a twin, and I seem to remember hearing from her that mom had been pregnant twice between my brother being born in 1960 and my birth in 1964.

So, from a young age, before I was 'awake', my mom doted on me as I was not only a 'whoops' but it was clear that I would be her last child. I can't, of course, know what that must feel like, to know or suspect that you can't have any more children, but it can only be a sad thing (whether or not she and my dad even would have wanted more kids is not important). 

When I tell people that my mom and dad were my best friends growing up, some look at my like I'm crazy, some look at me as though they pity me... and some understand. My parents weren't perfect, but, they were perfect for me. My mom was loving and kind, creative, smart and funny, and my dad had a wealth of knowledge about pop culture, world history, and a mind for exploring interesting subjects (such as visitors from other worlds and things of that nature). They would each leave me, in their own way, over time, but I think that they armed me with a better tool belt than either they or I realized. That I have lived in many cities, have a large number of friends, and have had the pleasure of a variety of super cool experiences comes from parents who taught me the right things. I'm certainly not perfect either, but I have them to thank for a lot of things that have kept my life full of life. 

Anyway, the first image that I have always remembered clearly, was the image of the back of a woman's legs, standing at our kitchen sink washing dishes. She was wearing a dress and short heeled shoes. I know it wasn't my mom but was probably our housekeeper, Mrs. S.

Mrs. S. was hired to help my mom cope with three kids and a big house. As my mom suffered from agoraphobia (something that would only be named after my dad passed away in 1981) we all just accepted that my mom needed companionship in the house and when driving and it was Mrs. S who would cook meals, do laundry, iron, and, to some degree, the disciplining. Later, after Mrs. S left, Mrs. K joined our household and would threaten us with "the stick" - a large wooden spoon. She called me "Charlie" as in "Charlie Brown" and I would stay at her house in town on occasion when my parents would go out of town. I don't really remember Mrs. S at all, but would later "meet" her briefly. It's a strange thing to meet someone who took care of you but you don't remember them. 

The image up above is of a Christmas card I salvaged from one of my usual childhood raids of boxes in our attic. It's certainly one of the things I wouldn't remember getting at 2 years old. I am thrilled that it somehow survived until I could, during college, put it in a photo album for safe keeping.

The card is from my grandma and grandpa Hansen, my mom's parents who lived in Milwaukee. My grandma refers to herself as "Nonna" in the note but I know I never referred to her as that, although I do remember my sister doing so.  As a side note, this grandma, Thelma, was always a very big part of our Christmas as she would bake the most delicious sugar cookies and put them in fancy tins, sealed with heavy tape and sent to us not to be opened until Christmas day. She was quite a positive influence on me and, aside from my parents, she is the person from my family that I miss the most (she passed at nearly 100 years old in 2004). 

That's all for today, more soon! 

originally posted 12/19/18 Noon. 

edited for additional clarity 12/19/18 3:30pm

If someone asked you, 'what is your story?' what would you tell them? 

Would the sum total of your Story be - "I went to work and then I got married and then I died" ?  Hopefully not. What did you DO? What are you most proud of? What did you learn? That's all part of your Story. 

Starting on Saturday, December 22nd, I'm going to tell you my story. Some of it is nice. Some of it is not. I probably won't tell you some things, and you may even think that I'm over-sharing. But it is my Story. And, as I approach a Very Important Birthday on March 9th (one that I have written about in the past here and, more recently, here)I want to tell my Story while I can because we never really know what the future holds, do we? 

I hope you'll join me. I hope that you find something that resonates with you. Like Elizabeth Moss' character on MAD MEN, I wish to create something of lasting value. Perhaps my Story will be it. Maybe not. But, I feel compelled to tell it at this point in my life. 

Meanwhile, what is your Story? 

Good morning all - today, September 18th it's been 6 years since my mom, Joan, passed away after a long illness.

My plans today are generally to do what I do every day - job hunt and create comics ... but on this day I'll also listen to The Lawrence Welk Theme "Goodnight" song (a kind of "our song" thing) and, of course "Tie a Yellow Ribbon" song (which is the basis for The Joan Project). Mom also liked a lot of 1940s standards. My favorite, although I don't know if she liked it (although I suspect she did) is "I'll Be Seeing You".

Mom used to sing to herself while taking the curlers out of her hair in the bathroom - she standing there singing in her gorgeous voice while a cigarette smoldered in an ashtray teetering on the bathroom sink. The bathroom was tiny but had good acoustics and her quiet sound filled the room with joy. On occasion, I would sit in there with her and we'd talk about things. While strange, I suppose, those times are among those that I cherish, and the ones I miss most. 

Here's a pic from last year's remembrance of her - I went down to Riverside Park and enjoyed a little "mom and me" time. I was feeling particularly hopeless about a lot of things as I had, at that point, just finished some things in my life and was feeling a little bummed out about my life. To my surprise, Mom arranged for The Yellow to be presented to me in a way that was as big so that I couldn't possibly ignore it or write it off as 'coincidence'. No, I'm convinced that my mom chose to show me that she was looking out for me. And that mattered. 

Anyway, if your mom is still alive, consider honoring her with a phone call or note or even a visit. If she's not around any longer, I challenge you to make a list of all the ways in which she influenced your life. I will bet, in either case, you will be happy with the results. :) 

Have a great Tuesday! 

In honor of my mom, Joan, gone nearly 6 years now, I'm posting a favorite set of photos of mine of her from Christmas 1994. I usually didn't have to persuade her too much to pose for a picture (she and I share that, I suppose) as long, of course, as she looked flawless, which she always did no matter what she was wearing, because that's just how she rolled. :) 

Happy Mother's Day to all moms today! 

My favorite song. Ever. 

Good morning all - hope you've had a GREAT week out and about in the world! As you might know, today is my 54th birthday and in honor of that, I'm posting some of my favorite music throughout the day. Enjoy!

You know, I have some friends who find it silly that a 54 year old man would make a big deal of his birthday. I understand the thoughts, but I don't agree with it. I celebrate my birthday every year because to me, it IS a big deal. 

You see, when I was in my mid/late 20s, I had a friend with whom I joked that I was approaching 30 and hadn't accomplished anything. It was a joke, really, I was only in my 20s, but, because he had been in and out of ill health due to AIDS for some years, he grimly replied 'well, some people didn't get to be 30'. And you know, he was right to be annoyed by my ridiculous notion that 30 was something to be dreaded. 

I was always a proponent for celebrating the day in style but, after that, I took an even harder line. There was one year in my 30s when I celebrated for two months with dinners, drinks and producing fundraising events around the country. That was my personal best until I approached 50 - I started celebrating in July 2013 and that lasted through to March 2015. Subsequent birthdays have been a bit quieter, of course, just to balance things out! 

But, 54 for me is abit special as it could be the last 'normal' year. Let me explain. 

In 1980 my dad was diagnosed with cancer. He was 55.  He spent a year on chemo and died at 56. This made a big impact on me, a young man of 17. So, for all these years, I've lived with the looming worry of making it through my 56th year.

So, today, I begin the ramp up to a two year cycle of celebrating 54, 55, 56, and, with God's help, 57 and beyond. Because one person I loved didn't get to be 57. 

I hope you'll join me in this journey, because it promises to be fun and interesting. 

First up, a great way to start anything: 

A common complaint about the new Star Wars flick, The Last Jedi, is that it has ruined people's childhoods. Apparently because Luke dies (sorry, spoiler) and has more or less failed to live up to the mantle of hero in the way that fans think he should have, this has ruined 40 years worth of devotion. 

First, that's ridiculous. If 40 years can be rubbed out over the course of one movie, then I question what kind of fan you are. 

Second, and most importantly, throughout The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi, Luke is seen as a hero throughout the galaxy. His name is said reverently and apparently he has inspired others to tap into the Force. There is real beauty in his story - especially in his final sacrifice. I can't think of a better arc for him and I'm very happy with it. 

Growing up I loved reading Harvey comics. Casper, Richie Rich, Wendy, etc captured my imagination. The stories were funny and fanciful and I loved them. But my sister thought that I, as a 12 year old, should be reading something more 'adult' in nature. So one day when my parents, she and I were traveling in our Winnebago, we stopped in to the Clock Tower Resort located in Rockford, IL In the gift store, they had a spinner rack with three bagged super hero comics. My sister liked the one featuring someone saying Superman was the pits (it was her 'catch phrase' at the time). So on the way home, I read The Flash, Action Comics, and Justice League of America. I was hooked and spent the next decade a very hard core reader up until the Crisis on Infinite Earths changed the continuity from multiple earths to one Earth. The 12 issue story was great but not really well thought out and post Crisis DC Comics has often been a muddle where creators have continuously tried to rework the revision. I stopped reading regularly in the late 80s although I have kept up with occasional stories now and then. 

Along the way most of my childhood heroes either died (but came back) or their origins changed (how many versions of Wonder Woman's origin exist?) or they became 'grim and gritty' (I was bored with this direction as soon as it appeared). But at no time did I feel like my childhood had been diminished. 

Out of curiosity, I googled the Clock Tower only to discover that it had fallen into disrepair and had been sold to a developer last May. Last report was that it was in the middle of demolition last month. 

I should mention here that the Winnebago was sold in 1982 after my father died of cancer and we were basically broke. I should also mention that after another 30 years of living in her house, my mom passed away in 2012 and the house was sold. The new owners have made massive changes at least the exterior of the house and it looks amazing. 

Is my childhood gone because fictional superheroes I loved died/got gritty? or that things from my growing up were sold, demolished, changed, upgraded? 

Well, no. 

Life is evolution and nothing can stay the same no matter how much we'd like it to. You can't keep your childhood in amber, bubble-wrapped from the rigors of the march of time. 

And even if you could... would you want it to?

Good morning all - today, I leave my apartment. No, not moving out, just actually getting out. And just in time. 

Let me explain. 

I've spent nearly all of the last few days holed up in my UWS man-cave noodling around sending out resumes, feeding the bird, and generally feeling kind of bummed out. It's the holidays and I get seasonally affected from about Halloween until New Years.

My fondest wish is that someday I can find a job opportunity to spend this time of the year working outside of New York City. It's not the grey sky or the cold or the snow that bums me out, but the clutch of holidays wherein everyone goes their separate way and doing business (or, in this year's case, getting a job) is basically impossible until after January 2nd.  As a lifelong freelancer (even when I've had a 'regular job", I've felt like a freelancer), I'm kind of out of step with the rest of the workaday world and that can be liberating at times, and crushing at others. For those who have worked a 9 to 5 their entire adult lives, you don't know how good you have it in this regard. 

Anyway, not only am I leaving the apartment for the rest of the day but I have things that will keep me on the go until basically late Saturday night. Not only is that good for my head, but it's also good because I'm a huge Star Wars fan and I'm that rare person that hates spoilers to the point where I will not even watch trailers. I'm not kidding. If I'm watching a show and the trailer comes on, I push mute and close my eyes. Strange but true. 

You see, back in 1977 my sister took me to the original Star Wars (back then, no numbers, no subtitle, just Star Wars). For the first 20 minutes, I hated it with the passion of a thousand suns. Who are these people? What's happening? Why do I care? Robots? UGH! And then Luke appears and I suddenly it all pulled together. By the end of the summer, I'd seen the film at least three or four times. I had to hide it from my parents who thought seeing a movie more than once was 'foolish'. It was one of the very few things that we ever disagreed on growing up. :) Apparently I was notorious for this as the matter was brought up by a teacher that autumn during parent-teacher conferences. They thought it cogent to mention it to them. My mom was not happy.

Since then, like a sports nut, I have my superstitions - I go to great lengths avoiding everything about the films, so that I can be totally surprised and enjoy it like I did originally. You don't even want to know the loop de loop I had to do with Google in order to get the poster image for this blog. Further, I had to put my hand over the image while I resized it in Photoshop and posted it here. When I do something, I commit! LOL

Of course, immediately after we see the movie (tomorrow morning), I will gorge myself on articles about every aspect that I can get my hands on. Such is my obsession. :) 

So it works out that I'll be on the go throughout the rest of the day, getting out of the man-cave as well as avoiding spoilers. No one can say I don't know how to multi-task. :) 

Have a fantastic Friday, everyone!