Finally home and done for a Friday and the weekend. Got a beach chair out and I’m sittin’ back under a UV lamp in silly little goggles with my toes in the sand (improvising with Kitty Litter – hey, it’s clean and I own a broom – so shut it) and I’ve got my Lysol Martini simply poured in a chilled glass, not shaken or stirred (don’t want to disturb any possible medicinal properties). Time to completely distance again.

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Earlier in the week I had decided or maybe resigned myself to going shopping again this weekend even, throughout the week, asking my phone to add to my shopping list (No, I don’t say “hey google” first by the way … it’s just a “hey” … my phone and I are on an intimate though no names basis. Makes it much easier to leave, clothes in hand, in the mornings).

What do you want to add?

Soap

Ok, I added soap, anything else?

Toothpaste

Ok, I added toothpaste, anything else?

Deodorant

Sure, I added deodorant, anything else?

New underwear

Ok … wait … is there something I should know?

But then I realized that I didn’t really need to go out again for the shopping. I was good. I had enough of the make Steve not stinky/bad breathy stuff for now (though for just who I couldn’t really tell ya. Maybe just a personal thing, I haven’t devolved completely just yet). I also had enough of the feed the girls and feed the Steve stuff (and enough of the what eventually follows stuff, human and fur alike) to make it through another weekend.

A couple of weeks ago some really good friends, knowing my anxieties (I just may overthink that I’m in a worrisome category but I ain’t playin’) helped me stay out of the store by picking me up a few things on their own trips to the market, one of which was a frozen bag of something, which, after defrosting turned out to be some nice seasoned taco meat another of which was just simple caring.

So what do I do with this I thought? I could just do the defrost and throw it on a plate. But wait …

My sister and brother had bought me, for Christmas, a really nice Farberware counter top, two burner hot plate that I hadn’t used yet (my place has my convection oven and my microwave but no stove). So now I could break out a pan, yes I do have pots and pans, but wait …

Some of what my friends had picked up for me included pasta, something I haven’t cooked in years, but with my unused Farberware I could now boil up some of it and maybe even fry up that taco meat and just throw in on top, but wait …

One of these friends had surprised me with some groceries after I got out of my hospital stay three years ago. It included a jar of Marinara sauce. Three years, I know, but it’s in a jar right? Now we’re gettin’ somewhere, but wait …

Celie, here, another good friend, picked me up a loaf of bread for my tuna sandwiches and I already had some butter. The perfect side.

Now that was a meal. Apparently it takes a village to feed a Frankenberry.

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The roads have, obviously, been quiet for so long. I clock now how long it takes me to get to Route 9 from the top of this driveway’s long hill. It’s a game. No speeding of course, that would be cheating, but just what the latest days time out to be. Latest record? 8 minutes. On the normal, in a normal, when the world went about it’s normal the best I ever did was 15 minutes. Only 7 minutes difference you say? That’s kinda huge, at least for a guy who is still trying to figure out what all this means while keeping his head down and clocking driving games.

There’s a new small plot of construction on my way in, after a right where I hop off Route 9, escaping the numb of that road and it’s never ending traffic lights, just instead getting to the quiet of my welcome back road way and that small spot passed that has just recently been razed. Maybe ya just might find some art. Thanks guy with that eye.

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Came home earlier, after a stop at Stewarts, cursing those that had the same idea as me as I sat with BB in the parking lot for the longest time waiting for them to leave. I just wanted ice cream, and some cheese but they were enough for me to wait. When I did go in my face was covered, my hands were gloved, I shallow breathed and ran out of that place as quickly as possible after my get. (Meet BB by the way)

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Been forcing myself to take a walkaround, however easy/lazy it may to not. But once I start the down the driveway and go up and around the back way an easy/lazy doesn’t happen and I’m so glad for it. Breath. I’ve got some some friends waiting. Well, friends with a few handfuls of pellets. I’m Ok with buying friendship.

The cover art for the debut album from Suburban Bovines “Cows And The Horses They Rode In On” (below). The aloof one on the right is the bass player.

Toons. I don’t check in with him as I should, which is a my bad, but I can’t help but connect him with SWEETS as they started together and that hurts. Sorry Toons, it’s not you. Sigh.

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I have a thing for seltzer water, an incessant need to be stocked up, even more than beer, but not wanting to go to store, I remembered that Park Beverage in my old digs of Hyde Park carried them, the other couple of distributors I hit don’t, it would be an easier in and out than a grocery I thought. So I went my old route, a couple of exits past my last two year’s new normal, three years of such before then, eventually past the Culinary Institute but past now some newly, somewhat cleared hills, just after Marist.

Wow.

I’ve always been fascinated by what may seem to be an armageddon’s leavings seeing what was a once surely vibrant compound of buildings and purpose and thinking of the peoples that inhabited them

But now, in stark ghosted relief as I drive by? Where did you all go? Mister mister in the big house, who were you? Who were they?

I know this is silliness. They’re just old buildings that need to be torn down, but there are still echoes reaching.

After my latest walk, around the round of the homes, up top here, with no real history other than the current, which is still good by the way, a beginning, I get stuck in my head. I look down at my spot and then come across a pretty with a bit of a quizzical look who decides to follow me for a moment.

Days

(The first part of this is something I wrote earlier in the week, Monday the 13th, but I knew wasn’t finished so thus …)

No, driving into work this morning didn’t seem like I was living some sort of bad, though all too real movie.

It’s been overly windy for days but it really kicked in last night screaming around and shaking my second floor windows and walls like a pissed off giant trying to get me to fall out on top of our tall hill and it hasn’t subsided today, making BB dance and sway back and forth on the ride while just trying our damndest to stay straight, buffeting him with apparent ill intended windy glee. The sky’s are dark and ominous with intermittent rain and my daily takes me along the Hudson which was really in a mood, with endless roiling ripples of small angry white swells that you could practically hear yelling back and forth at each other at each snap of their breaks.

The roads were littered with the debris from trees or with actual trees that have just given up their roots, or snapped in half or decided to relax their standing tall and instead just lean on power lines like a one too many regular needing the bar for support. There were roads that were closed including one that forced me and BB to detour down another that was a bit remote so, thus, around even more debris. I could hear occasional sirens in the distance, I even passed a lonely funeral earlier, just those who had a job to do, a hearse, a backhoe and a poor soul and, no, I’m not going to speculate nor mention the tear. I just can’t.

Just a surreal start to the week in surreal times and it hasn’t really let up. Even now I sit in my little studio at work on generator power as the wind’s giants continue to work their shakedown business … freakin’ giants …

(to be continued)

… freakin’ giants. A good friend asked me, after reading this quick take on the shakedown and the surreal start to the week, if I had tamed my giants while noting that she and I must have similar ones as hers and mine are conspiring against us. “Mine clubbed me with their blunt weapons all night last night” she said. “Nature took it’s course” I said back “and tamed the physical ones, her ones … the others? Still tossing me around, same as you”.

After this past ominous Monday to start the week the skies lightened on Tuesday, the wind died down, the screamed whipping attempts to shake me from place onto my tall hill alone like some simple Ken toy bounced, tossed from a life sized dollhouse stopped, and the giants found me newly resolute though a bit shaky. BB and I’s ride wasn’t as iffy on this Tuesday, lesser winds had done what needs be done to make the roads seem, seem clearer, more normal I guess, a ride now like any other for the moment, the Hudson had calmed, its angry small white capped swell snap breaks not necessary at the moment, they had already made their point, there were no funerals to pass this Tuesday at least, thankfully, at least not the ones I could see. But that is what the giants depend on, a semblance, a hope that today might just be the one that you wish signals change or, at least, doesn’t seem as bad. But those fuckers, they just wait don’t they? Hovering. Bullies that hope for you to let down your guard, maybe they’re not waiting for me around that corner that I tip toe up to as silently as I can I think, oh, but they’re waiting. I know they are.

Tomorrow will be two weeks since my last time spotted in a place with peoples, a shopping need, a more than that just one guy at the Mobil, behind a newly built/added plexiglass screen, a more than just that one guy or girl I thank for the curbside who I give a quick hello to from my elbow, or from behind my mask, blocking any little cough that just might be a signal, a more than just the few folks left at the station for now.

But this shit resets doesn’t it? Any time you stray away from the straight there and straight back, mask or not, gloves or not, quick or not, holding your breath or not, this shit resets.

Is this overly dramatic? Of course it is. It’s what we do, or what I do anyway right now. Is this drama warranted? Well you tell me, take a count, and add places like Florida, their dumb uniquely, sadly, orangely, all theirs. Is the drama warranted?

But I’m still keeping my head down and up, up and down. Finger to the wind.

Seems, giants, you and I could be at an impasse. You’re bigguns, you’re more than me, too often, and I understand that, invading my sleep and even my wake-ed days, but less on occasion now which I’m thankful for. I’m moving while staying put, at least for the weekends. I understand the reset, the fear of it, but conversations I have back and forth, upside down and sideways, rightside, leftside, otherside, intentional long winded words with my sister or good friends, words to distract with an any them, any other than you and your bully tactics, makes me feel better. I take deep breaths, check my forehead, go for walks around a wished normal world about the back way and the expensive houses that sit on this, their also, hill. I used to wonder while I walk what people in these expensive houses think of the cows, the horses down the way are a given, a joy to see for them I’m sure, but what of the cows up here when I catch back up with them at the end of the down the driveway and up walk around through the neighborhood loop? What do they think of the cows? Let’s call the first album from Suburban Bovines “Cows And The Horses They Rode In On”.

You’re giants, misgiven thoughts, fears, a lack of sleep, an attempt at control … you’re in my head, maybe always will be at this point, a pain in the ass, noggin, but you don’t own me just yet.

And any idea of group anytime soon has passed by the way, in case you were hoping, and I’m Ok with that, waaaay before this, good with that. Gotcha there. Anti social was already a skill.

Giants you stomp, it’s what you do, you big footed bastards you, walk all over us. You’re loud and insistent, invasive, obnoxious and noxious but maybe we have an understanding now. I’ve put it down.

Here

I know you

We know you

No, driving into work this morning didn’t seem like I was living some sort of bad, though all too real movie.

It’s been extra windy for days but it really kicked in last night screaming around and shaking my second floor windows and walls like a pissed off giant trying to get me to fall out on top of our tall hill and it hasn’t subsided today, making BB dance and sway back and forth on the ride while just trying our damndest to stay straight, buffeting him with apparent ill intended windy glee. The sky’s are dark and ominous with intermittent rain and my daily takes me along the Hudson which was really in a mood, with endless roiling ripples of small angry white swells that you could practically hear yelling back and forth, up and down at each snap of their breaks.

The roads were littered with the debris from trees or with actual trees that have just given up their roots, or snapped in half or decided to relax their standing tall and instead just lean on power lines like a one too many regular needing the bar for support. There were roads that were closed including one that forced me and BB to detour down another that was a bit remote so, thus, around even more debris, I could hear sirens occasionally in the distance, I even passed a lonely funeral earlier, just a few folks, a hearse, a backhoe and a poor soul and, no, I’m not going to speculate nor mention the tear. I just can’t.

Just a surreal start to the week in surreal times and it hasn’t really let up. Even now I sit in my little studio at work on generator power as the wind continues to work its shakedown business … freakin’ giants …

(to be continued)

Cat On A Cold Tile Roof starring Honey “Boo” Bob Tail

“Moving yet indifferent performance! Even my allergic roommate teared up” – Cat Fancy

“Left me with gunk in my eyes” – Catster

“Great new production minus all the human trappings, drama (cough … cough … cough … Ackkkkk …. spit …) and uncomfortable subtext” – Modern Cat

“Hey!!! Litter box here!!!! Little privacy??!!” – Cat’s Mind

Performances randomly at the Wiltse Manor on the Hill Theatre … surprise cast changes … like good ol’ neighbors just dropping by to say meow … right outside your window it seems!

“Almost feels like the cast is walking, no running on your head” – Mousebreath

“4 paws up … wait … 4 paws up? … belly rub time!!!” … whoa, hold on … slanted … rolling off the roof …” – Total Cat

So as I mainline white knuckle anxiety these days (WNA with an X and a Y, “Winxy”, the latest designer that comes with a masked frowny face sticker on it’s tiny zip-lock in now empty dance clubs) I just couldn’t wait to get to my carrot tonight. Shit, half way through my half day at the station on Wednesday I could just barely concentrate enough to get things done before finally being able to get behind the wheel, me and BB, and head home … and I still had two more fucking days to go. But in three weeks, or so, I’ve been pretty good at just going straight to work and coming straight home. I’ve only stopped a couple of times, gas or a curbside pickup I may soon not be able to afford, that plus being REALLY good at staying out of circulation on the weekends, an already and always enjoyably year’s well honed fuck people skill of mine, has made me feel a bit better. I’ve also only been grocery shopping once (thank you so much Keryl M Pesce for the assist and the kindness) though I’m going first thing open tomorrow after seniors and I’ve already got my list and route through the store mapped out in my head. 10 minutes tops with gloves, mask, hoodie, sanitizer, hope and paranoia in tow. Sorry fellow shoppers, but I won’t be much for even a nod. I’m frightened.

To all of those who have done what they can to make the best of all of this, to post positive messages, to maybe make a little light, to entertainers who have produced/produce things from home, brought us specials to keep us entertained and distracted, to try and make us feel more connected and more normal I commend you. You’re stronger than I.

But to all those on the “front lines” who are even STRONGER, mere words won’t cut it. There’s not just an unbound admiration or an unmeasured level of hope for you all, heroes if ever there were any, but there is prayer, and not that of those with hollow words professed by rote on what really, in the long run, are small stages, but actual prayer, something I’ve never really been any good at or only ever kept to myself, too often for selfish reasons but not always, sorry ’bout that big guy (please remember the “not always”) but not now. You have all that I can offer.

All I can do at the moment IS the selfish I guess. Keep my head down, go straight to and come straight home as best I can, keep to my little workspace studio while I work, or clean up the one’s shared, or keep a distance from the skeleton crew as best as possible while still being human. Then keep the interactions with Celie and the gang downstairs to the bare minimum when I do get back from the straight home. That’s not easy by the way. She and the gang have proven to be quite a bit, no, not a “quite of bit”, but the MAIN source of sanity over the last two years. Some hello’s, quick talk, some pet pet’s and then upstairs? Man, that’s tough. I so miss simple rewarding conversation with a now best of friend and the feeding of the cats and the opening back porch doors for the dogs and convincing Bella the Bird to relax her clamor. “Got your new water right here noisy lady”

But there, at least, is the carrot.

As I’ve mentioned before, Bella is not a fan of Cricket the Blind and stays away, as best she can, around Cricket’s blind meowling pacing circles, though with curiosity, but bumping happening on occasion, sometimes with noise, and Bella never makes noise, and she only tolerates Mimi the Quirky in a sniff, sniff, sniffing thinking about giving her a pop kind of way. Bad Bella. Bad Bella. C’mon girlfriend. Give Mimi a break. Poor Memes, just an old, fragile, quirky girl who has adopted this guy and wants nothing more than to just share a lap at TV time and a pillow at night. There’s a comfort in Mimi’s need … and my own in turn.

But this dynamic, in it’s own little universe, is that aforementioned carrot.

I often feel guilty with Bella, nine years together now, missing her time with me. She doesn’t like to grab the foldover of the sheets/comforter anymore like she used to (and I hate that) as Cricket and Mimi hog a lap at TV time. But tonight, when I turned on the PC and flicked the lamps at my desk (It’s all about warm lamplight right Ma?) she about bounded, about bounced from across this small spot to hop in her, Shoes’s once, computer chair, even before I “pat patted” it. She’s pretty smart, and knows me pretty well. This is her time. She knows the next to me is hers while I scribble.

It didn’t last long, as Mimi also knows PC and lamplight time and Cricket will eventually grab at my leg to climb.

But Bella still lays now as I finish. It’s a good chair Bella.

Cat guy? It’s what I do. Pathetic cat guy? He He. Maybe.

But, this actually fits with where we should be. You hunker with yours and I’ll hunker with mine. Family is family.

Got my carrot while trying to take a breath.

 

Hey rhyme?

What?

You here?

No.

Word rhymes head stead lost times, crimes, crimes? makes no sense, now you’re just searching words, you’re innocent right dumb nut numb of times absurd, too much a word but not quite enough that would be instead something entirely different had head been  … head … 

Lame

… but being done …

Doesn’t rhyme with anything

… with them, me, he, one, poorly done surely just one in search of a poem …

You suck

Poem are you here?

No

You guys are killin’ me, well fuck, can I at least sing a song?

Please, no

But a little ditty with a drink raised to … imagined heroes run ran ran run taking …

Lame twice

… seriously. Cant I finish?

No

Shit. I need you poem. I’m trying to build a something and rhyme just mocks me

As she should. But she’s rhyme, so condescending. Thinks she’s the ends all

Rhyme:  Shut up poem

But isn’t rhyme … and aren’t you … ?

No … yes. There’s more to it

Well how should I build this?

That’s not me

Why?

I’m poem. I’m the finished product. I can offer no other assistance just unwanted opinion

but …

No

Dammit

a catalwaysinalapaoneoncecatinahatallowmethatthispeaceasIsitthey’regoneshe’sgoneI’m  scribbling. Words they don’t come, scuffle scuffle …

Well now you’re just rhyming same words

Shut up poem! I’m just throwin’ shit …

Call me when you’re done

I kind of if like it

Poem: Of course you do

Rhyme: Oh stop, I like simple

… a scuffle’s ruffling, rustling brush to flush out that pretty thrush … to see it fly …

Keep trying

… but where to find where it lands is the question she said it’s just a bird fuck your rhyme just be mine only mine she said …

Issues this guy

Fuck you and your rhyme rhyme, time, it’s not her fault

… can you love me, statement, no question you said almost …

What? I thought

 

Poem, you’re kind of a dick ya know

What did I say about finished project?

Ahhhhhh, son of a bitch

How about we just open some windows, it’s almost spring, an air of need, fresh start indeed, fuck rhyme, just a start, no I won’t add heart for a word, too easy, but will without the word, instead, just open a fucking window. Mimi the Quirky knows, my Bella knows, Cricket the Blind knows. Man, the air… let it wash fear, near, here, past maybe with a breeze, open a window. There’s a reason why this is perfect apologize, not apologize while three who know all with laps and an open window, it’s what they do, allow, I’m miss ….

To Emily … 

Danielle … 

Maria … 

Poem:  That’s a good bit of miss

I know, it was a me. Remind me to hate you

Poem: Just sayin’. Did you finish yet? I’m waiting

Fuck you poem

 

 

 

 

Facebook – Saturday Evening March 14

After coming downstairs yesterday morning, grabbing a seat across from the couch and picking up little Spanky, the now, unfortunately, one eyed Pirate of a dog in my lap I said to Celie “Arrrggghh (pirate talk) and be alright, but after I be getting home tonight, a bit late after some time in my little studio to be a’fixin’ a few things on my latest sea shantie, I’ll be but hunkering down for the weekend”

(I stole the thought of the “be’s” and the pirate talk from a brilliant and funny story I recently read at The New Yorker. Learning The Ropes by Simon Rich. You may have the time now, so take a moment. It be well worth it).

Celie: Corona?

Me: Yeh.

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Facebook – Saturday Late Night March 14

Not making light in my last post by the way … (amend) … actually, I was … a little. Apologies. But my admitted anti-social solo tendencies are really a bonus I think, in days like these. I like nothing better than that quick, friendly, early Saturday morning conversation with the Kay or Gay who feels more like a Grace cashier at Stop and Shop but then being done for the weekend. Finished. Kaput. Over. No more people other than those that claim fur.

If I get up with my daily 7a alarm I feel like I’m running late, plus I just hate the thought of getting up at that same regular time like the rest of the week. I’ll be damned if the weekend isn’t on MY time. Even if it means NOT sleeping in, especially when cat naps could possibly be had later. I don’t make nearly enough $$ to have it feel like I have to do it again on the weekend so I like to be up by 6 with the week done by 8 on a Saturday, when I can, laundry down and thoughts aside, other than these. Can’t spend any money just hangin’ with the whiskered girls on your hip and workin’ on a few words or tunes or words on tunes while waitin’ for clean, warm underwear right?

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Facebook – Sunday Night March 15

Though getting back at it tomorrow is not something I’m looking forward to, no one really is I imagine, especially with not knowing whether we’ll be/I’ll be tripping over tumbleweeds at work or not making the paranoia worse, there is this.

A get Monday behind you and just make it home.

A Bella in her window, a Cricket the Blind on fresh sheets (been looking forward to them all day, she just beat me to it … smart cat) a Mimi the Quirky who hasn’t realized yet that I’m off the computer where she HAS to be when I’m keyboard scribbling, just to my right, always, a stink bug razing my noggin who I’m calling ‘Ralph’ for a more personalized reference in my cursings at him and that rooster who is hopefully going to a new home soon, though I’ll miss the cockle-doodle-doos underneath my ass in the mornings. They’re kind of comforting actually. Amazing feathers like fur this little guy. I’m thinking Sia could wear him on her head, just having to deal with all the pecking and scratching around of course. He his also Ok with being in the crook of my left arm as I ready garage cat bowls with my right for some dinner. 

(completely aside from all of this zoom in, if ya can, on the picture of Mimi the Quirky on my computer desk where you’ll see a holiday card from the Ulster County SPCA from around 9 years ago tacked to the wall. My Bella is in the bottom left hand corner of that card as a kitten in a stocking … just love that pic)

After coming downstairs yesterday morning, grabbing a seat across from the couch and picking up little Spanky, the now, unfortunately, one eyed Pirate of a dog in my lap I said to Celie “Arrrggghh (pirate talk) and be alright, but after I be getting home tonight, a bit late after some time in my little studio to be a’fixin’ a few things on my latest shantie, I’ll be but hunkering down for the weekend”

(I stole the thought of the “be’s” and the pirate talk from a brilliantly funny story I recently read at The New Yorker. Learning The Ropes by Simon Rich. A fantastic story. You may have the time now, so take a moment. It be well worth it).

Celie: Corona?

Me: Yeah.

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A man lies as he breathes
He says why would you trust another now
Who can you possibly trust
Now I’ve shown you what my facts is
A fascist truth sledgehammer
Nuthin’ else believe-able matters
Other than this con in this con man’s swamptown

(and a-oooh ah-oooh)

Lap dogs in orange swamplight
Here’s a lie-ball GOP go fetch excuses

Newsman, newsman
Get these facts away from me, ya know,
No one finds real truth interesting anymore

If you’ll loyalty me blind
I can be your despot chum
I can call you subject
And subject you adore me
You can call me Czar

This man original Trumper says
There can never be a never me
If there’s a never me they’ll never be
Happy in a sea of me
Where will the answers come from
If I don’t truly be-lieve
Who will I turn to when
The truth slaps me
Awake and awake
To the harsh realities
Of Moscow Mitch’s word marble hypocriteness
Hammers and sickles
Getting stocked up in the open
Along with some of the finest cossack hats

If you’ll loyalty me blind
I’ll let you kneel and kiss my ring
I can call you subject
And subject you adore me
You can call me King
You can call me King

A man late night he’s tweeting
How he’s a victim in this world
Maybe it’s a big blue meanie world
Where they’re just out to get him
And they don’t see his genius
Or see how great he his
The greatest all narcissists
Surrounding himself with nothing more than
Clowns clowns
Who dance for him like marionettes
In a tiny orange circus

He checks the mirror again
Sees Messiah staring back at him
At least that’s what the hacks say
And he so believes them

If you’ll loyalty me blind
I can be your despot chum
I can call you subject
And subject you adore me
You can call me Don

Na-na-na-na-na
Just call me king-na-na
You can kiss my ring na-na
Na-na-na-na-na-na-na
Loyalties the thing na-na
Better never sing na-na
I’ll take your everything na-na
Na-na-na-na-na-na-na

Ummmm ah-ah
Ummmm ah-ah
Better give up mind now

Ummmm ah-ah
Ummmm ah-ah
You’ll be just fine now

Ummmm ah-ah
Ummmm ah-ah
Just a matter of time now

Ummmm ah-ah
Ummmm ah-ah
Democracy dies now

If you’ll loyalty me blind

I’ll let you kneel and kiss my ring

I can call you subject

And subject you adore me

You can call me King

Facebook February 29:

Went to shoot my nephew, Jake, a text earlier but couldn’t find my phone. Did a bit of a not all that pressing search of the apartment.

Nothin’

Remembered I had done my usual run to Stop N Shop earlier, around 8a. Detectived downstairs to discover my man bag in the garage where I apparently had left it while carting in cat food, litter, seltzer, Saturday night beer (staples) and some other grocery store Steve needs to eat kinda things.

Realized when I went to shoot this text to Jake, just now, at 2:45p, that I hadn’t missed my phone for almost 7 hours.

Fucking, unintentional, glorious.

Facebook March 1:

So, after sending that text to my nephew that I mentioned earlier to let him know of my email response to his very well detailed and thought out plot/summary of a story he’s been working on (dude’s already got some chops I’m envious of) I decided to take in a flick. Me and the girls with some lap time on a lazy Saturday night.

Though I am an admitted, self professed sci fi/fantasy geek I’ve never really been one for comics and the Marvel universe or any comic book universe for that matter. I know as a said sci fi geek that that should be wheelhouse stuff and I should surrender my sci fi geek card right now but I’ve always missed the appeal. Maybe it’s the question of what super hero would you be or what one super power would you choose that I always found silly, even beyond my already willing suspension of disbelief. That is though, except for Spider-Man. I still remember, as a kid, crying at the origin story and the tragedy of uncle Ben the first time I read it. Ton of bricks. That was real to me then for some reason but I still would have been him in a heartbeat, heartbreak or not. There was a solitary but powerful loneliness to Spider-Man I could relate to. So I decided to watch the animated “Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse” on Netflix.

What an absolutely brilliantly imagined and original take on not only Spider-Man, but comic book movies in general. I can’t recommend it more highly. Even old girl Mimi the Quirky took note it seemed while trying her damndest to do innate cat stuff and block the screen. There was a lot of “Meems? … bad spot Meems … move over here Meems … that’s better Meems … no, not there Meems … right here is good Meems … trying to watch a movie Meems … Mom says you’d make a better door than a window Meems … ” and so on …

Cheers all,