Survey Says!

Richard Dawson, first host of Family Feud, in a sketch with Johnny Carson as President Ronald Reagan.

David M. Lynch's First Rule of Writing: Never Throw Anything Away.

Since I've spent so much time lately reminiscing about various not-too-personal aspects of my past life (like my fifteen chapter "Insect Asides" series, a few random reprinted posts, my Tuesday post about this blog's tenth anniversary, etc.), today's post ought to fit right in.

I was looking through my old computer files and found something that's been kicking around since 2001, which was only a couple of years after I finally broke down and whole-heartedly embraced this wacky, zany, kooky "internet" thang.

In those days, I was quite likely to forward jokes and little memes that other people sent to me, and the following was no exception. So here's the text of an email which you might have gotten from me then, if we corresponded with each other (Brand new, personal observations will be written in brackets, in bold print, italicized, and in blue!):

*  * * *  *

Hi,

I recently received the following message. I did not "mess" with it, even a bit. If you choose to respond, please delete this introduction from me. Whether you replace it with one of your own is up to you, of course.

Have fun (sort of),

David

Okay, here's what you're supposed to do...and DON'T BE LAME and spoil the fun. Do it. [Do I even HAVE to tell you that I didn't write that "Don't Be Lame" command? It was part of the email which someone sent to me!] Copy (not forward) this entire e-mail and paste it onto a new e-mail that you will send. Change all of the answers so that they apply to you. Then, send this to a whole bunch of people you know INCLUDING the person who sent it to you. The theory is that you will learn a lot of little known facts about your friends and family. Remember to send it back to the person who sent it to you.

1. LIVING ARRANGEMENT? Renting a three-room apartment, but it's really four if you count the rather large hallway. And I do! I live alone. No wife or girlfriend, no kids, no pets. [Yep, "no pets". This was about three years before I got Orson.]

2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW? I'm not reading anything lately. No time! The last two books I picked up and never finished were You Might as Well Live (a bio of writer Dorothy Parker) and The Best of Damon Runyon, a wonderfully-preserved paperback book from 1943! The last few books I've read completely through have been celebrity biographies (Kovacsland, The Real Bettie Page, Mr. Laurel & Mr. Hardy, and three Orson Welles bios, Citizen Welles, Rosebud, and Orson Welles) and other Hollywood memoirs (The Name Above the Title by Frank Capra, and Adventures in the Screen Trade by William Goldman, the latter of which was sent to me from Florida by one of my many friends named Jennifer. Thanks, Jennifer!)

3. WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? [My mouse doesn't even have a mouse pad nowadays.] The "Charter Pipeline" logo. I just got their online service, and received my new computer only a couple of days before that. It'll no doubt be a while before I get anything more personalized.

4. FAVORITE CARD GAME? Unless you count the "Free Cell" game installed on both my computer and the one at work, I don't really play cards often at all. I think the last card game I played was "UNO" in the late 1980s!

5. FAVORITE MAGAZINE? Maxim, although, believe it or not, after all the adult mags I've sold, the cheesecake shots in Maxim don't do a hell of a lot for me! Forgive the cliche, but I read the articles!

6a. FAVORITE SMELL: Hmm, I'll eschew the obvious, here... Okay, how about very well-done boneless spareribs from a Chinese restaurant? I could also list a couple of people whose personal scents are somehow comforting (and I'm not joking here), but... I won't. And don't ask me in person, either! :)

6b. LEAST FAVORITE SMELL: Any bad breath odor emanating from a source which is, shall we say, attempting intimacy?

7. FAVORITE SOUND? Make that "sounds." Mostly musical. The voice of someone like Billie Holiday, Frank Sinatra, Enrico Caruso, or even Freddie Mercury... How about the "right" guitar riff or solo, when performed by Jimi Hendrix, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Ted Nugent, David Gilmour... Then, there's the classical stuff. Mozart, Beethoven, Grieg... You get the idea by now, right?

8. WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD? The thought of my dying with no one around me at that very moment, and (I predict) with so much left undone.

9. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE UP? "Excuse me, miss, but what was your name?" (Hey, after that last one, I had to lighten things up a bit, ya know?)

10. FAVORITE COLOR? Black. Big surprise there, huh? But remember, everybody, I was dressing in black 10-15 years before all the Goths made it fashionable!

11. HOW MANY RINGS BEFORE YOU ANSWER THE PHONE? Phone? What phone? [It's true! I didn't have a telephone -- cell phone or landline -- for many years! I do have one now, though.]

12. FUTURE CHILD'S NAME? Yeah, right.

13. WHAT IS MOST IMPORTANT IN LIFE? Feeling needed and wanted by friends. Preferably both, simultaneously. And that just barely edges out my second choice, "the feeling that you've made a positive mark in the world" as number one!

14. FAVORITE FOODS? Boneless spareribs, pistachio nuts, oysters, and my very own chicken soup. [I'd have to add McDonald's Filet-O-Fish, and boneless Buffalo wings.]

15. CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA? Vanilla. I've always been vanilla, surrounded by chocolate. Think about it, and get back to me.

16. DO YOU LIKE TO DRIVE FAST? Not any more. I guess that comes with age, and the gradual awareness of one's own mortality. [Just recently, I was driving my mechanic back to his garage after he'd done a car repair, and he told me I drove "like an old lady." I was going 37 mph in a 40 mph zone. I said "You do realize that the speed limit is just that, right? It tells you the highest speed you're supposed to go. There's no law that says you have to travel that fast, and even if there were... Seriously? Three mph under the limit, and you're f***ing complaining?"]

17. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL? Only when I have to... Oh, wait, you said "stuffed," not "inflatable?" Never mind. No.

18. STORMS -- COOL OR SCARY? Very cool. You can pick up energy from the air during a thunderstorm, and during a snowstorm, I like to test myself by being one of the few idiots on the road.

19. WHAT TYPE WAS YOUR FIRST CAR? A 1964 Plymouth Belvedere with an 8-cylinder 318 engine and a funky push-button transmission.

[Nope. You're NOT imagining things. There was/is no #20!]

21. FAVORITE DRINK? Alcoholic: Molson Golden Ale. Non-alcoholic: Dr. Pepper. Seasonal: Egg nog. [Nowadays, when I drink alcohol -- which is  rarely -- I prefer Coors Light. And I don't drink soda very often. I usually drink coffee, unsweetened iced tea, or sugar-free powdered drink mixes. Currently, my favorite is Welch's Cherry Pomegranate Singles to Go.]

22. WHAT IS YOUR ZODIAC SIGN? Scorpio. And if anybody wants a demonstration of the term "Scorpio rising..."

23. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS OF BROCCOLI? Of course. Why waste it?

24. IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY JOB YOU WANTED WHAT WOULD IT BE? Hmm. "Sultan" isn't really a job, is it? Okay, I'd put "writer," but since I've actually done that from time to time, even 'though I don't support myself that way, let's say "actor." In the movies, primarily. [Since then, I actually did support myself as a writer for a few years. Now I'm pretty much retired, except for the flea market and eBay.]

25. IF YOU COULD DYE YOUR HAIR ANY COLOR? Gee, let's try going back to where it was ten years ago!

26. EVER BEEN IN LOVE? Next question? Okay, okay... "Yes," and always with the wrong people (one way or another). [I don't mean "the wrong people" as an insult. No, really. I just figure if I'm not still with them now, they couldn't have been the right person, y'know?]

27. IS THE GLASS HALF EMPTY OR HALF FULL? That depends. Did you take an empty glass, and fill it halfway? If so, then of course, it's half full. If you took a full glass and drank half, or poured out half, then it would be half empty. [I love messing with those little cliches, y'know?] That's the curse of being analytical! And did you notice that "analyze" and "anal" (as in conservative, or uptight) appear to have the same root word?

28. FAVORITE MOVIE? Make that movies, since I own over 1300. "The Philadelphia Story," "Casablanca," and "It's a Wonderful Life" (I know, me and the rest of the world...!) among the classics, and "Midnight Run" and "Ed Wood" among the moderns. [Since then, my 1300 videotape estimate grew to exceed two thousand! Now, of course, my collection includes DVDs. I have dozens of those.]

29. DO YOU TYPE WITH YOUR FINGERS ON THE RIGHT KEYS? No, technically, but I prefer to think of the "right" keys as the ones which give me the right results. If I type an "r" and "r" shows up on the paper (or screen), then I must've had my finger on the right key. Ya think?

30. WHAT'S UNDER YOUR BED? I never store things under the bed. And since I just rearranged my bedroom, no dust bunnies, either. The occasional sock before laundry day, perhaps?

31. FAVORITE NUMBER? Not what you're thinking. I don't have one, really.

32. FAVORITE SPORT TO WATCH? I'm not a sports person, but... Baseball, if I have to watch anything. It would have been roller games (very similar to roller derby), back in the '70s, but what they call roller derby today is too glitzed-up.

33. SAY ONE NICE THING ABOUT THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU. She's probably the most unique individual I've ever known. And with my friends, that's saying a lot. [And here we are, many years later, and I don't even speak to that "person."]

34. PERSON YOU SENT THIS TO WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Jennifer. (Which one? Hahahahahahahahahaha....!)

35. PERSON YOU SENT THIS TO WHO IS LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Bekki. (And that is a challenge.) [Uhhh... I hate to admit it, but I can't even recall who "Bekki" was! You'd think that with the odd spelling of "Bekki," she would have made some sort of lasting impression on me, right? Apparently not.]

36. IF YOU COULD BE ANY ANIMAL, WHAT WOULD YOU BE? A real scorpion. Or a dragon (which is supposedly mythological, true, but...).

*  *  *  *  *

Thanks for your time.

DAMN! Missed It!

Unlike the little silver fox pup shown above, who's just a young'un, my Silver Fox blog is ten years old! In fact, it turned ten on October 12th. I had planned to do a lengthy post about the blog's origins and history but I got sidetracked along the way and totally missed it!

I've decided to write that post later, hopefully soon.

The Lair of the Silver Fox was an offshoot of my original Blogger blog, David'Z RantZ (which I posted about last February, when I celebrated its anniversary). But this blog, what I've sometimes referred to as my "Foxyblog", was designed to showcase original stories rather than just any damned thing I wanted to write about.

So, today, I've decided to post the very first post from The Lair of the Silver Fox, introduction, afterword, and all! Coincidentally to my last post, "Breakfast in Other Countries", it was a short story called... "Breakfast".

Here 'tis, and thanks for your time:

*  *  *

I was undecided up until the wee hours -- or, as my aging bladder would have it, the "wee-wee" hours -- of Sunday what my very first post on The Lair of the Silver Fox would feature.

I was leaning heavily on a comic book concept called Aero which comics legend Dick Ayers and I submitted to a handful of alternative publishers about fifteen years ago. However, the background info on Aero's creation necessitated more than one chapter in the tale of "his" creation, so I decided to go with something that would stand on its own, in one entry. There were a handful of other candidates that fit that criterion, but I chose the following story rather than those others for various boring reasons of my own.

Most of my stories are autobiographical at their very core. Then, usually, I deviate from "me" and warp the main character(s) accordingly. In this particular tale, it remains about me, literally, but it will quickly become obvious that the story is fiction.

Enough, already. See you at the bottom.

* * *

Breakfast
by David M. Lynch
(entire contents copyright © 2001, 2005, 2008 David M. Lynch)

I wake up early. Too early, considering that I got more than a little bit drunk last night, arriving home just before dawn.

I’m hung over. That much seems appropriate. My stomach feels more than a little queasy, with that unsettling warmth that warns you that you may soon vomit up whatever impurities still float around, undigested, inside of you.

I look at the clock near my bed, which reads 9:39. And since I always set my clocks ahead by approximately fifteen minutes, in order to fool myself into being on time for most of my appointments, that means that it’s not yet 9:30 in “real” time. However…

It’s dark outside. Really dark.

Another quick look at my clock assures me that it’s nearly 9:30 (“real time”) in the morning.

That’s “a.m.” to you.

I turn on the overhead light in my bedroom and hurriedly throw on yesterday’s clothes. Then I go outside, combing my hair. No excuse for looking totally unpresentable.

The sky is pitch black. I mean that literally. It’s not just cloudy, not merely overcast, like it is before a violent storm. It’s black. Jet black. It’s pure darkness, much darker than any moonless night ever thought of being.

But… It’s daytime, at least, if I understand the term “daytime” correctly, which I like to think that I do. Yet, if “daytime” can be defined as that time between sunrise and sunset, rather than the hours during which one would expect the sun to be up there, shining merrily away…

Well, then, it’s not daytime. Not now.

And as I stand in my driveway, staring upwards, a ludicrous thought occurs to me.

Someone ate the sun.

I’ve said and written plenty of strange things in my time, but this one certainly ranks up there with the strangest. And it’s not something crafted for one of my stories, plays, poems, songs, screenplays, or scripts!

No, the sun is gone. Simply, gone.

And I know that it’s gone because somebody ate it.

I can hear a handful of centralized commotions, both nearby and far away. People all over the neighborhood are coming to roughly the same realization as I, and predictably, they’re not taking it very well.

In fact, dozens of them (at least those within earshot) are outside (as I am), literally screaming to the heavens (as I am not).

   All those “end of the world” clichés spring up in my mind, and I can only assume that almost everybody aware of this unlikely phenomenon is experiencing the same thoughts.

Hey, come on, folks, don’t be too judgmental here. Someone ate the sun. People are allowed to react accordingly.

Well, aren’t they?

* * *

   I have a lot of friends and/or loved ones who come to my mind at that moment. With my usual self-important attitude, I realize that I should be with some of them, or at least contact most (if not all) of them somehow, in order to provide some sort of comfort to them.

I go back into the house and grab my car keys. I walk to my car, get in, and start it up. It’s dark, remember, so I turn on my headlights.

They still work, just like my electric clock/radio, and my bedroom light. So we haven’t lost electricity.

That’s good, I think. This isn’t a nuclear winter, or else we’d be suffering all sorts of residual power outages from whatever “big one(s)” they’d dropped. We’ve only lost the sun. Just the sun.

Which…

somebody…

ate.

* * *

I don’t know why I don’t stop at the house next door. The many people who live there are my friends, for the most part. At the very least, I should probably use their phone to call my mother and sister. But I don’t. Instead, I put my car in gear and drive the back roads to the next town over from mine.

I have to keep dodging the dozens of screaming people in the streets. It’s a good thing I’m not in any great rush.

* * *

Finally, I reach the home of my friend Jennifer. By the entrance to her building is a motion-detecting spotlight. It comes on as I approach the porch.

It’s dark, remember?

I knock at Jennifer’s door, but no one inside hears me. No surprise there. At least two of her three kids are crying, rather loudly. I guess they’re scared. It’s not every day that somebody eats the sun.

I enter without leave to do so, which is rather unlike me, but these are unusual circumstances, I guess.

A frightened Jennifer is huddled on the kitchen floor, in a “group hug” with her three equally frightened children. The dog and cat are close at hand, as well. Presumably, even the pets are rather disconcerted.

“Good morning, Jen.”

She seems glad to see me. “David! Oh my God, David, what’s going on?”

Well, you know what I tell her. “Someone ate the sun.”

“That’s not funny!”

“I’m not joking.”

She shoots me a “this-isn’t-the-time-for-your-usual-shit” look, but says nothing, probably for the sake of her kids, who are even more freaked out than she is.

“What are we going to do?” she cries, and I have to admit, it makes me feel good that her eyes show that she actually trusts me to have the answer.

Which I do. Sort of.

I briefly join the group hug (solidarity, don’tcha know), then stand up and grab the telephone. I hold it out toward her.

She stares at it. “And what’s that for?”

For once, I resist the urge to be a smart-ass, and do not reply, “It’s for making phone calls, Jen.” Instead, I say, “Call Jennifer.”

By that, of course, I mean the “other” Jennifer.

By “other Jennifer,” I don’t mean to imply that the… well… that the “other” Jennifer is in any way secondary (or, Lord forbid, inferior!) to the “first” Jennifer. It’s just the way that this story works out.

Years ago, in my little circle of friends, we learned to refer to these two Jennifers as “Jennifer” and “Little Jen,” only to differentiate between the two in conversations. The Jennifer you’ve already met, sort of, was (and is) the one we call simply “Jennifer.” The Jennifer you’re about to meet was (and is!) “Little Jen.”

Therefore, for the remainder of this story (which is almost finished, believe it or not!), I’ll be using the same convenient designations.

Jennifer doesn’t question me. She calls Little Jen. During their brief conversation, it is decided (with a kibitzing assist from me, naturally) that we should all get together as soon as possible.

In a matter of minutes, I’ve loaded Jennifer and her kids into my car. We even take the dog and the cat, at her insistence. Not that I argue with her, of course. I rarely do anyway.

I drive on the back roads once again, dodging an even greater number of screaming people in the streets. They’re not taking this well at all.

* * *

We arrive at Little Jen’s home. Her boyfriend seems understandably agitated. Her son seems scared, yet fascinated. Yeah, he’s his mother’s son, that’s for sure.

Little Jen seems to be taking this as calmly as I am. In fact, she and I are just about the only calm people I’ve seen so far, although I must credit the “first” Jennifer with having settled down quite a bit since I’d arrived at her home. Maybe that’s because of me. I’d certainly like to think so.

Little Jen has interests that are, shall we say, not necessarily confined to the earthly plane? In that respect, she’s much like my friend Teresa. Teresa lives many towns distant, but Little Jen, luckily -- and obviously, if you’ve been paying attention -- lives nearby. So to my mind, it’s more than appropriate that we’ve come to see her.

“What do you think is going on?” asks Little Jen. “The sun’s just… vanished!”

“I know,” I say evenly. “Somebody ate it.”

Jennifer shoots me another look. “Will you please stop saying that!” she hisses. I shrug.

“Someone ate the sun…” murmurs Little Jen, nodding like she actually believes me.

(I love my friends!)

“But David,” says Little Jen, “if that’s true, then why isn’t it colder? If the sun is really gone, it shouldn’t merely be dark. This whole planet should be an ice ball!”

Good thinking. I wish I’d thought of that. I exchange a quick look with Jennifer.

“Oh, my God, that’s right!” exclaims Jennifer. “We should all be dead! Why aren’t we all dead?!?”

I am attempting an answer, or at least a speculation, I should say, when that unsettling warmth in my stomach that I mentioned earlier makes itself known once again. My mouth fills with saliva, a sure harbinger of an oncoming puke.

“Jen,” I gasp, speaking to Little Jen, “may I use your bathroom?”

Without waiting for her reply, I race into her apartment. I quickly locate the toilet, lift the lid, and position my head above the seat with jaws open wide as my stomach heaves and its white-hot contents force their way upward, exiting my mouth.

And then, even as my eyes are forced shut by a blinding flash, I suddenly recall what I drunkenly did right before passing out that morning.

I uneasily stand and find the sink, splashing cool water into my mouth, rinsing it. Moments later, I step outside, into the warm morning sunshine. Little Jen & her boyfriend & Jennifer & all four kids are staring at me in awe.

So.

I ate the sun.

Lil' ol' me.

Li’l ol’ “drunk-and-got-those-last-minute-munchies-just-before-passing-out-for-the-night” me!

Damn.

Always knew I could do that.

* * *

This story was written in one sitting, on August 17-18, 2001, inspired in part by some of the more whimsical works of writer Neil Gaiman. (It was edited slightly for a 2005 appearance in a literary magazine called Nights and Days.) I kept it as brief as possible, just to prove to myself that I could be brief if I ever really wanted to be!

Less than a month later, the “attack on America” occurred. By that date, my own story was all but forgotten, even by myself. Over the years, a few people have drawn some disturbing parallels (as many people had done several years earlier, when a comic book script of mine blew up a space shuttle, months before the Challenger tragedy), based on the whole "disoriented people crying in the streets" aspect. Personally, I think that's stretching it a bit. But, for whatever it’s worth, the first person I called as the details of 9/11 unfolded was the same Jennifer whose home I’d immediately driven to in my little piece of fiction.

Breakfast in Other Countries (Slightly Edited and Reprinted from 6/12/2013)

An oyster omelet, known as a Hangtown Fry!

You know what I've always wondered? (Gonna tell you whether you do or not!)

Why don't so-called "ethnic" restaurants in the USA -- Chinese, Italian, Mexican, etc. -- open earlier and feature breakfast menus? Is their idea of breakfast so close to ours in the USA that it's simply a case of "Why bother?"

I have several readers outside of the USA. Maybe they can answer that question for me if my "home-grown" readers can't.

I'd look it up myself, if I wasn't feeling so damned lazy today... hence the uncharacteristically short post.

Thanks for your time.

One of My Shortest "Comical Wednesday" Posts EVER!*

In 1973, I eagerly bought the second issue of Shazam! (shown above), featuring "the original Captain Marvel".

It wasn't until a few months ago that I saw the following cover, from 1949!

The Captain Marvel figures on both covers were drawn by C.C. Beck, by the way.

So, would this be a "tribute" cover, a "swipe" cover, or what?!?

Thanks for your time.

*You're welcome! I figured that, after putting you through fifteen lengthy posts about Insect Man, you deserved a breather!

Camera Shy

I haven't had internet at home for about five or six years now. Usually, I go to my local town library to use their computers. Above is the old Webster Public Library in Massachusetts, officially named the Chester C. Corbin Public Library. The building was in use just a bit less than one hundred years.

A little over a month ago, however, work was completed on a new library which miraculously fit on the same lot as the previous building, although it's roughly three times the size of the old one. The new library is the Gladys E. Kelly Public Library. (I have no idea why Mr. Corbin got the shaft, as it were.)

I was, not surprisingly, one of the first patrons to enter the new structure on September 4th. A reporter/photographer named Gus Steeves snapped a photo of me without my knowledge as I entered the building. Gus knows my name because, as it happens, he dated a close friend of mine several years ago!

I saw Gus on the inside of the library that day, but didn't know he'd taken my picture a few minutes earlier. Without my knowledge (or permission!), said picture of camera-shy me wound up on the front page of the Webster Times!

What's that you say? Oh, you can't see me? Well, let me give you a close-up!

There! Now, who says I never show photos of myself on my blog?

Thanks for your time.

Insect Asides, Part Fifteen-and-Final! ~~ A "Comical Wednesday" Post

Paul  Howley, owner of That's Entertainment!

I've devoted this overlong "Insect Asides" series to reminiscing about my contributions to Insect Man and Insect Man's Weird Tales, amateur comic books I wrote during the 1980s. Today's post, while dealing with the Insect Man character, talks about the two "real" Insect Man anniversary comic books published since my stint on the book! In other words, I didn't write 'em!

Even as Ken Carson and I finished plotting the "Funnel Effect" storyline in 1988, I planned yet another never-finished Insect Man project. This was "A Last Insect Man Story", a proposed two-issue tale that would take place fifteen years in the future, in the year 2003. The concept of the end of a superhero's career was inspired by two 1986 comic stories. One was Alan Moore's two-part Superman story, "Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow?" which was published in Superman #423 and Action Comics #583. The other was Frank Miller's four-part limited series, Batman: The Dark Knight, which has been reprinted a zillion times since as Batman: The Dark Knight Returns.

I plotted and partially wrote "A Last Insect Man Story" from an odd angle, namely "What would the last Insect Man story become if I had continually written Insect Man for fifteen more years?" In other words, the story contained all sorts of little references to things that had never actually happened in the stories anyone had ever actually read! Confusing, huh? Oh, well.

"A Last Insect Man Story" is still taking up space inside my twisted mind, although I did actually go so far as to script the nineteen pages comprising part one, which I still have lying around in my files somewhere. No one has ever seen it! Not Ken Carson, not Paul Howley... nobody!

Anyway, once "The Funnel Effect" concluded in Insect Man #108, there wasn't an IM issue published until 1991. Insect Man's 25th Anniversary Special was a "pro" comic book, and featured a cool cover by well-known comic artist Rick Veitch, known for drawing and/or writing such titles as Swamp Thing, The One, and Brat Pack.

The anniversary special also contained pin-ups by Ken Carson, Chris Coleman, Dan Courtney, and Larry Young.

That's the Worcester, Massachusetts, City Hall in the foreground of this first illustration by Ken Carson!

The second pin-up page by Ken, containing the initials of almost every Insect Man artist and writer since IMWT #88!

Not only that, but the back cover of was drawn by none other than Kevin Eastman. And in case you don't recognize the name, Kevin is best known as the co-creator (along with Peter Laird) of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles!

Now, as for the story itself... I've read many interviews with comic writers and/or artists in which the interviewee has said that once he or she stops working with a certain character (or team), he or she doesn't look at the book again. I can sympathize with that. Before opening Insect Man's 25th Anniversary Special, I knew that whether the story was better or worse than whatever I would have written, it wouldn't be the same as whatever I would have written because -- duh -- I didn't write it.

Therefore, I will neither describe nor review the story and art. I will, however, mention the two things that bothered me about the issue.

Firstly, in the author's introduction, he said that he'd first encountered Insect Man's Weird Tales on the rack in a comic shop, and considered it a piece of trash. This prompted him to say "I can do that." He then launched into an overview of Insect Man's 25-year history. I should mention that, although he spoke disparagingly of some of the earlier Insect Man material, he did speak somewhat favorably about the issues which I wrote. He ended by challenging the reader -- and again, I'm paraphrasing to reflect my own interpretation of what he wrote -- by saying "I did it, and so can you," and suggesting that the reader do just that.

The other thing was that he decided to include Rex Mason's son Alex (whom I had created and introduced), but he made him a teenage boy. And he also established that Rex Mason was pining for his ex-wife Angela, Alex's mother. This bothered me only because the writer was ignoring the fact that the Insect Man stories were supposed to be taking place in "real time." Rex "Insect Man" Mason, as mentioned way back in IMWT #97, had been very briefly married in 1963 until the marriage had been annulled, and Alex was born as a result of said marriage. (And he was not "illegitimate" as the anniversary special's author claimed in his intro.) Therefore, IF the "real time" element of the Insect Man stories still held true, in 1990 Alex would have been a young adult in his mid-twenties. Also, Rex presumably hadn't seen his ex-wife for over twenty-five years (in my stories anyway), yet he was still carrying a torch for her?

"My" version:

So. Rex was married briefly when he'd just gotten out of high school, and he hadn't seen Angela since.

Rex, speaking with an off-panel Scythe. Okay, so let's assume from now on
that Rex's son was born circa 1964, one year before Rex became Insect Man.

Here's Alex (Alexander) Mason in 1985, already in his early twenties.

Now contrast that with the Insect Man's 25th Anniversary Special version:

Five years after his introduction, Alex had de-aged and become an adolescent!

Well... no. Rex hadn't even begun his Insect Man career when he and Angela last saw each other.

The changes just seemed wrong somehow. At least, they're wrong if the anniversary special was a continuation of the earlier stories. Of course, I'll readily admit that if it was merely supposed to have been "based on" the amateur editions, my petty complaints would be unjustified.

Or... Maybe the "real time" thing was no longer in effect? I suppose only Paul Howley would know the answer to that... and I've never asked him.

(For that matter, in all these years, I've never asked Paul how he felt about the way that I -- and all the other Insect Man writers -- controlled the lives and deaths of what were essentially his characters!)

In 2015, Insect Man's fiftieth anniversary issue hit the shelves. And this time around, Rex definitely had not aged fifty years since becoming Insect Man in 1965.

The second professional Insect Man comic book sported a terrific cover penciled by legendary comic artist Gene Colan and inked by another well-known comic personality, Tom Palmer!

 

The copy I purchased at That's Entertainment just a few months ago had been signed by Paul Howley as part of the "push" for the issue in 2015. 

   

Looking at the signature, I have to laugh. When I worked for That's Entertainment back in 1985-1988, I was often required (and permitted!) to sign Paul's name to various informal documents. And if you ask me, my "Paul Howley" signature was even better than his! Heh.

(Too bad I never got hold of Paul's checkbook, innit?)

And how did I feel about the fiftieth anniversary Insect Man issue? Well, quite frankly, I was a lot more pleased with what writer Chris Coleman -- who had written and/or drawn Insect Man several times during the 1980s -- had done with the character. It was obvious that Chris had read everyone's '80s stuff and the 25th anniversary issue, and his story incorporated Insect Man's history as related up until then. (I've recently attempted to contact Chris Coleman, by the way, but have not yet succeeded. So, if you someday get a chance to read this, Chris... Great job!)

When I worked at That's Entertainment in the 1980s, they were located here, on Chandler Street in Worcester, Massachusetts:

 

The store moved to a new, much larger building in the early 1990s.

The current home of That's Entertainment is on the corner of Park Avenue and -- I swear -- Lois Lane!

  

Y'see, back in 2011, T.E. "petitioned the Worcester City Council to change the name of the private street running alongside the store from Marmon Place to Lois Lane." (From the Wikipedia entry for That's Entertainment.)

And Paul Howley? Paul currently writes a blog called My Life With Comic Books: A History of a Comic Store. But it's not just a blog about comics, despite the title. Paul's had a very interesting life, and he's putting it out there for us to read, delivering "the truth as I remember it".

Paul retired at -- IIRC -- age forty, but he still owns That's Entertainment. And although he hasn't been my employer for thirty years, I'm proud to say that we're still friends.

Paul as he is today...

And Paul as I like to think of him!

And Insect Man? Well, in another twenty-two years, he'll be celebrating his seventy-fifth anniversary! And who knows, if I'm still around, maybe I'll get to write about it!

Thanks for your time.

Insect Man, Insect Man's Weird Tales, and all related characters and titles are copyright © Paul B. Howley. Scythe is copyright © Holly Basiner and Frank Hunt.

"One Who..."

You know how, even if you know what a certain word means and can use it correctly in a sentence, sometimes when someone asks you to actually define it, you can't exactly put it in words? There are such words, words I "know" but can't actually give you the "dictionary definition" of said word.

Well, the other day, for whatever reason, I did a quick search for a dictionary definition of "introspective". And what was the result?

in·tro·spec·tive: characterized by or given to introspection.

Well, that was a lot of effin' help...! Good thing I already know how to use "introspection," innit?!?

I was reminded of vocabulary tests in high school. Every so often, I'd be faced with a word that I just didn't know. However, if said word ended in "er" or "or", I was all set. I could usually bullshit my way through the answer. Let's say that I didn't know what -- I'll choose some easy words for my examples here -- a "speaker" was, or what a "driver" was, or what an "actor" was. I'd just answer "one who speaks", "one who drives", and "one who acts", respectively, and ninety-five times out of one hundred, I'd actually get away with it!

Of course, certain words just can't be defined in such an underhanded way. Words like "carpenter" and "butcher", for instance. "One who carpents"? "One who butches"? Uhhh, maybe not.

Sorry. Just rambling today.

Thanks for your time.