Death: The Ride

digresssmlOriginally published January 8, 1999, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1312

Why do you climb into a rollercoaster?

I’m not talking about tricked up rides at Disneyworld or Universal or other theme parks, where the excuse can be that there’s other stuff to see along the way (the Jurassic Park ride, for instance, features several horrifying drops, but is “worth it” because of all the cool audioanimatronic stuff that’s part of the ride.)

I’m talking about the big ol’, high speed, turbo-charge, ain’t-nothing-there-but velocity roller coaster, hurtling along the rails, screeching as metal clutches onto metal. What is it about the swiftness of the ride that is so attractive? Is it the ear-shattering clacking of the wheels? The howling of people around you as they shriek in adrenalized terror? What’s the big attraction?

Face it: It’s the risk. You know it is. The risk generates the thrill.

Six Months Later

Six month ago as I was lying in bed, flat on my back from the stroke that I had spent hours denying was happening, I said to Kath, “Put it up on my website.” I was in no shape to do it myself, so I dictated a quick statement that she typed verbatim (prompting one Internet genius to comment, “He can’t be too bad off; he’s typing on the Net.”)

For some reason, I honestly had no idea that it would take off. But it did. Within fifteen minutes it was on Bleeding Cool, and that was because Rich Johnston received three dozen emails during the intervening time.

From that point on it was all over the place. Every board everywhere, it seemed, was determined to spread the news. One áššhølë—just one—declared I had it coming. Otherwise there was an outpouring of support, prayers, etc.

Then followed ten days in the hospital, the first few of which Kathleen was informed that eighty percent of people who have this particular type of stroke tend to die, and she might have “tough decisions” to make. When I didn’t happen to do that, I then spent five weeks at Brooks Rehab hospital in Jacksonville, where Ali, my physical therapist, busted ášš to enable me to learn how to walk again. When I first arrived, the plan was that I’d leave in a wheelchair. By the time I left, I was using a cane.

Now, months later, I am done with physical therapy and next Tuesday is my last occupational therapy. My right shoulder still hurts and my endurance is not remotely what it was, but I am working to return to normal. It continues to be a long path, but with the relentless support of my wife and friends, at least I’m able to walk it.

PAD

Kath here-We would like to thank everyone for your help through this, for lack of a better word, adventure. We couldn’t have done it with out y’all.

This will be the last of these entries. I started with daily updates and then went to weekly and finally monthly as things kept getting closer to normal. We do still have a long way to go but we have made it this far and it is nice to say that after 6 months Peter is pretty much back to normal (or pre-stroke as the medical people are saying).

We still have a lot of doctor’s visits in our near and far future. It just has become a part of our lives. But these visits give us the information we need to continue his recovery and rehabilitation.

Again y’all have our thanks and gratitude.

Kath

The Bureau of Overthinking Things

digresssmlOriginally published January 1, 1999, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1311

People often ask, “Where do you get your ideas for the weekly grind of But I Digress?” That’s not the most often-asked question I get. The most often-asked is, “Who the hëll do you think you are?” But a close second would be the one stated above. The answer is: lots of places. One of those places would be the Bureau of Overthinking Things, a think-tank in Oyster Bay which specializes in dwelling upon matters that are of little to no consequence. They then send out news releases to subscribers, and we in turn make what use of it we desire.

I’m ashamed to say that I’ve used these reports from time to time if I can’t come up with anything on my own, and then passed that work off as something that I myself had developed. But the guilt has become overwhelming, and I’m afraid I have to confess to it. And before you hold me in too much contempt: Hey, at least I’m coming clean about it. Certain comedians have built entire careers on the Bureau’s releases (right, Seinfeld?)

And so, whenever the Bureau sends out something that I think might be of interest to our rather skewed little sensibilities here at BID, I’ll simply run the release as is, properly credited, so I no longer feel like such a hypocrite.

Bob Kane’s Creations

digresssmlOriginally published December 11, 1998, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1308

With the passing of Bob Kane, I thought I’d indulge in some memories of the character most associated with him, namely…

Courageous Cat.

Okay, not really. But boy, do I remember Courageous (as I date myself to such a degree that you can measure it in radioactive half-life.)

Marvelmanic, Part II

digresssmlOriginally published December 4, 1998, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1307

 

A PETER DAVID FILM

MARVELMANIC

(conclusion)

Jack and Rose gasped and threw themselves back against the wall, unable to take their eyes off the spectacle of hundreds upon thousands of spiders. They were skittering along the ceiling, a black mass heading toward, presumably, safety.

Jack watched where they were headed, turned to Rose, and said, “If the spiders are going that way, it’s good enough for me. Come on!” He grabbed Rose’s hand and pulled, and the girl needed no further urging.

Marvelmanic, Part I

digresssmlOriginally published November 27, 1998, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1306

 

A PETER DAVID FILM

MARVELMANIC

The owner was not happy.

The collision had jolted him from his sound sleep. It had been a serene slumber, for he had had his usual pleasant dreams. It had been dreams of his ownership of the Marvelmanic, the biggest, most powerful of its kind. He dreamt of others looking on in amazement, Marveling at what he had constructed. He was the king of all there was, he was the surveyor of a world that looked upon him with awe. He reveled in adulation, he foresaw new towers of power that he would climb and from there he would look down upon all those whom he had left behind. They admired him, they feared him, they sought to be like him and all the while knew that they could never begin to match his greatness.

And there were the headlines, the headlines he was always boasting that he would achieve, headlines that he was constantly seeking. Headlines describing his latest, greatest triumph—whatever that might happen to be. He was determined that Marvelmanic was going to give him opportunities for newer, even bigger headlines. Full-page banners, crowning him as the new king of entertainment, touting his empire…

All very pleasant dreams—until the sudden, massive thud, followed quickly by a grinding noise evocative of a thousand coffin lids opening. It sent him tumbling to the floor, and, once he pulled himself together, he yanked on a robe and headed to the command center.