To the Rescue

Some of the following story may be embellished just a bit.

You know the saying "the camera adds 10 pounds",  I believe there should be an addition to that stating pictures posted to Facebook add another ten.

In an effort to lose two of the three chins I have, I decided to make a concerted effort to lose 18 pounds. That is 9 pounds a chin. The best way to lose weight is a combination of diet and exercise.

Almost every day, I take my lunch hour and run between 3 and 5 miles at very nice township park close to my office. The park has various paths of different distances that circle, cut through, criss-cross and interweave the playground, soccer fields, pavilions and small preserved wooded and grass nature areas. The largest paved path circles the perimeter of the 100 acre park with a lap distance of 1.2 miles.

I think I recently posted about how I have been running with Vibram Five Finger Shoes which causes a few stares and a few questions from other people at the park.

On very cold days I also wear a Balaclava , long dark parts and a long sleeved dark running shirt. Some days I look like a ninja with iPod wires dangling out of my neck.

About a month ago I went on my lunch time run on a very cold but sunny say. I was making great time with my first mile at an 8:15 pace. I ran past the main pavilion and started to make the first turn that headed towards the nature areas. About 10 yards ahead of me I noticed a big bunch of keys in the middle of the path. Without missing a step and keeping pace I gracefully swept up the keys in my right hand. I knew someone would be in desperate need of these keys. I figured I would get back to the parking lot and see if anyone was missing keys. Or I could hit the panic button on the key fab setting off the alarm and wait to see who would claim the large heavy key filled ring. It was cold day so the park was not that crowded.

I made the second turn on the outer path which tucks behind some tall grasses and clusters of trees. This part of the track also dips down off of a small knoll for about 150 yards. This is only part of the track that is not visible from the main park. I looked up ahead and noticed a blond woman, about 50 years old, walking towards me. She had a worried look on her red face. Her hand was placed across her upper chest and she was clearly out of breath. I held up the keys and yelled, "DID YOU LOSE YOUR KEYS?"

She nodded.  A faint look of relief replaced the wrinkles on her face. As I ran closer I realized that the woman was Marion from my office.

I slowed down and handed her the keys. I started to run in place.

"DO YOU WANT TO RUN TOGETHER?"

She shook her head and gave me a perturbed look.

"C'MON, LET'S GO. YOU CAME OUT HERE TO RUN, RIGHT?"

I nudged her elbow and made her turn in the direction I was heading. She resisted. Her eyes went wide. I gave her a funny look and realized that since I had my Balaclava on she did not recognize me. This is what she saw.

I quickly removed the mask. Her look went from worried to perplexed to embarrassed.

"C'MON LET'S RUN. WE'LL FINISH UP OVER BY," I turned down the volume on my ipod, " THE PARking lot."

She turned and started to jog with me. We ran about fifty yards when she started to cough and wheeze. She sounded horrible. Red blotches bloomed from her cheeks and tears filled her eyes.

"I can't do this." She rasped, sounding like an old lady who had smoked for 60 years. She stumbled.

With lightning like reflexes I reached out and steadied her preventing her from falling. I slowed down and asked if she was okay.

"I...can't...breath." She choked out.

We were at the point on the path that was the furthest away from the parking lot. I stopped running.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Marion explained, between huffing and puffing, that she too was running on the path but was overcome with an asthma attack. She started towards her car when she realized she lost her keys. She had to backtrack to find them. She then started to panic because she was alone, couldn't breath, she was the furthest point away from he car, and was in a spot where no one could see her if she passed out. She was happy to see me with her keys but did not know who I was. Besides the balaclava, the tighter running shirt and pants and my muscular physique must have thrown her off. When she discovered it was someone she knew she was embarrassed.

I escorted her across the fields and made sure she made it back to the office.

Basically, as I like to tell her almost everyday, I saved her life. I was like a superhero, mask and all.





I have tried a few different websites to monitor my diet. The two I liked best were SlimKicker and Lose It. My wife Lauren is having great success with Lose It (she has worked off about 20lbs) and that is now my preferred calorie counting site. So far I am down 1 chin.

Heroes and Villains

"Look how cute you all look." the train conductor said. She flashed a big toothy grin. "You are all wearing matching orange shirts."

"Thanks." I smiled back at her. "We are heading downtown. The orange will make it easier to keep track of each other."

"Oh. Where you heading?"

"To the comic book convention." I replied.

Maxfield, Wyatt and I found some empty seats on the SEPTA train. I used the train ride to prep the kids on what to expect and what to do in case we get separated. I explained that a comic convention would be filled with lots of cool stuff, there would many distractions, but no matter what we all had to stick together. I wrote my cell phone number on a pieces of paper, placed the paper in their pockets and told them if they did get lost that they could get someone to call my phone.



Not an orange shirt to be seen.



As we stood in line at the convention center someone else commented on the matching orange shirts.

"It is so I can easily spot them in a crowd." I answered. "I chose orange because no one wears orange to a comic convention."

"How's that?" he said.

"People wear red and blue super hero shirts and black Goth-y things to these events. Aquaman is the only super hero that I can think of to wear orange. And no one wants to be Aquaman." I answered.

Max and Wyatt seemed to be enjoying themselves. We met Colleen Venable the author of Guinea PI (g) comics, who was very nice and personable. We discussed the orange shirts and how I picked the color so the kids could see me and I could see them. I joked how I dress them in bright green for Fourth of July Parades. We talked with the artist and writer of Lazerman comics. We visited many booths, like the Garrison Carida, a very cool  Star Wars themed charity organization.

We even stopped by to the see the Bat-mobile, which Wyatt recognized from the 1960's  TV show that airs on the cable channel the Hub.

We made our way through aisle after aisle looking at cool super hero stuff and collecting free comics, trading cards and other things. We saw the Mystery Machine from Scoobie Doo and the General Lee from Dukes of Hazzard.We stopped every so often so I could take pictures of the kids. We entered the area where celebrities were doing meet and greets and autographs.  Adam West, Burt Ward, Adam Baldwin, Jon Schneider, Billy Dee Williams and countless other B and C list stars from shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Firefly and Star Gate were in various sections with lines of fans snaking in and out of the booths. It was very, very crowded.

I stopped at an intersection of rows trying to look at the floor plan map. I wanted to get out of the crowds. I turned around.

"Max, Wyatt we are going to go this way." I said pointing to my right.

Only Wyatt replied.

It took me about 5 seconds to register that I was only looking at one orange shirt.

"Wyatt, where is Max?"

"I don't know." he said.

I looked down each of the four rows at the intersection. I did not see one orange shirt. I called out Max's name. My voice did not carry far. It was dampened by the huge crowds around us. My heart started racing. I looked in the booths of action figures near us. No orange shirt. Crap. I grabbed Wyatt's hand and I started to move up and down the aisles. No orange shirts anywhere.

Should I stay put, hoping he comes back to where we got separated? Do I go look for him? Do I scream his name louder? I grabbed my phone to make sure I could hear it ring over the noise of the crowd. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of an orange shirt. I pushed my way through the crowd. As I got closer I saw it was someone wearing a General Lee "01" shirt. Who the hell wears orange shirts to a comic convention? I ran back to the intersection. A few minutes passed and I tried to calm myself down by telling myself that Max was just at a vendor's booth looking at comics. But then as I looked around the creepiness factor hit me.

People were walking around looking like this...

or like this. Creepy right?

About 5 maybe 10 minutes went by (It felt like 30 minutes) when I decided to just go up and down the aisles. I pushed through the crowds yelling his name. Nobody stopped to help. People were annoyed I was yelling too close to their ears. I was flabbergasted. With all the super hero vibes going through the place you would think someone would have stopped to help the panic stricken screaming man in the orange shirt.

As I pushed down the second aisle I caught a glimpse of an orange shirt sitting in a booth about 30 feet away. I stood on my tip toes trying to look over the heads of the crowd in front of me. I felt Wyatt's hand slipping from mine. I held Wyatt closer as I nudged past a few more people to get a better look for the orange shirt. There, sitting on a high stool in the booth of the ECW and WWF wrestling diva Dawn Marie was Max. I caught my breath.

Max hugged me and I could tell he was scared. I could also tell he was mad at me for losing him. I had a lump in my throat.  Dawn Marie stroked his hair and tried to calm him. Dawn Marie explained that Max approached her and another woman volunteer and said that his dad was lost. Dawn suggested he sit in her booth while the volunteer went to the main office. Dawn told me that Max did the right thing and not talk to anyone until he saw the volunteer.

"BILL MEAKIM. PLEASE REPORT TO DAWN MARIE'S BOOTH." boomed over the loud speakers.

I stuttered a thank you to Dawn for taking care of Max. She noticed the orange shirts and mentioned them. I explained my idea of how I wanted the kids to stand out and how it apparently failed. I noticed Wyatt was staring at Dawn and her, uhm, muscles. She had, uhm, rather, uhh big muscles and she was showing them off.

"BILL MEAKIM PLEASE PICK UP YOUR SON AT DAWN MARIE'S BOOTH." echoed through the convention hall again.

Dawn offered to let us sit in her booth until Max and I calmed down a bit. I declined. Wyatt continued to stare.  People were lining up to get her autograph and I could tell Wyatt was on the verge of saying something about her outfit. I thanked Dawn again and made a lame joke about how she was a real super hero to me. We walked away a few feet to let the lines form at her table. I asked Max why he did not use the phone number I gave him. He said he could not find it. With Max and Wyatt safely at my side, I started laughing at the situation. I took a quick picture with the camera knowing that no one would believe me.

A muscular Dawn Marie on the left. 

As we left the convention I heard my name over the loud speaker another 3 times. I felt like such the bad guy.

Me as a villain. Wyatt took this picture.

Kissing Daniel

Warning: Some of the mental images the following post may invoke may be graphic and not suitable to all readers. Reader discretion is advised.


I have big thighs. I get this from my mom’s side of the family. One of the problems with having big thighs is that I tend to chafe. I tend to chafe in the groin area. What causes the chafing? Well it is a combination of friction of my inner thigh rubbing against the seam of my underwear or shorts. Often times, moisture in the same area, can cause me to chafe even more. Some people refer to the chafing as a sweat rash. It is hot down there which is where the term hotter than balls comes from. Now that I am running I have been getting more chafed, like really, really bad. Running causes me to sweat as well as it increases the friction in that particular area. The moisture from the sweat causes the underwear I am wearing to become more heavy and clingy and also more abrasive. This then causes me to chafe. It is a bad case of diaper rash for a lack of a better term.

Another big chafing scenario is when I go to the beach. The moisture from going into the ocean as well as getting sand stuck in my trunks has caused me some of the worst rashes as well as pain I have ever felt. Combine that with the walk to and from the beach it feels like I have sand paper scraping my grundle. Usually by the end of the walk home I have the gait as if I had just rode a horse for a few hours. It would be so bad I would then spend the next day smelling like baby powder and Desitin. The rashes I have gotten from the beaches would be so red and bumpy and painful and inflamed that they could ruin an entire week vacation.

This curse of chafing also affects other members of my family.

During our family’s big July 4th/Mom’s birthday party, I overheard my brother Dan talking to a few of my other brothers. As often is the case when you grow up with 7 other boys the conversation switched to the topic of balls. Not baseballs or soccer balls or basketballs but, you know…balls.

“I swear” Dan said to Jimmy. “You will want to kiss me after you try the new shorts.”

“Really?” someone else asked.

“Yeah. I now wear them all the time under my swim suit.” Dan confirmed. “I have not had a rash since.”

"Are you talking about preventing monkey butt?" I asked.

"No. I am talking about the sweat rash you get at the beach." Dan said.

I was intrigued by the conversation and I asked Dan what he was talking about. He told me he bought some new moisture wicking underwear, the kind that athletes use, and that he wears them under his swim trunks. The underwear wicks the moisture away from his groin and it has dramatically reduced any kind of chafing he would get from his walks to and from the beach. Dan called the underwear his junk protectors. He then told me I should get a pair and try it since I was going to the shore the following week.

“You will not believe how much better you will feel.” Dan said. “You will want to kiss me for me telling you about this underwear.”

Now my brother Dan is not one to just give out unsolicited advice. I mean maybe he will tell you about a new tool he recommends or that he discovered better bourbon, but to suggest new clothes is just not his (pardon the pun) style. Since he was so adamant about the new underwear I purchased a few pair for my trip to the beach.

I bought the boxer brief style which were a little smaller in size than the boxer briefs I am used to wearing. The material is made with “moisture wicking technology” (I have never worn underwear with technology in them) and has a stretchy-spandex kind of feel to them. The smaller size, the tight fit and the stretchy fabric made everything look a bit bigger, which, I gotta admit, I did not mind. The smaller size, the tight fit and the stretchy fabric made me feel like I was wearing part of a superhero costume, which, I gotta admit, was kind of cool.

I wore my new underwear to the beach every day while I was on vacation. Let me tell you this is the best underwear I have ever worn. I did not get one rash. I wore them one my runs, no rash. I wore them in the ocean and in the sand, no rash. Half way through my vacation I called my brother Dan to thank him for the advice on the underwear.

"Dan, the next time I see you I am going to kiss you." I said.

"Was I right about the shorts or what?"

"I love them. Not a single rash. I wear them everyday."

"I told you." Dan said.

"Not only do I not have any chafing but when I put them on I feel like I am putting on a superhero costume, and for that, well Dan, when I kiss you I may even give you some tongue."


UPDATED 7-28-10
I purchased my awesome underwear at Sears and bought the Structure Brand. (make sure they are the moisture wicking kind).

Learning to Ride

When Maxfield turned 6, back in March, Lauren and I gave him a new two-wheel bike without training wheels.

Max smiled, then turned sad and said, "But I don't know how to ride this. It is too hard."

I told him all the encouraging things a boy needs to hear from his father in an effort to get him to try the bike out. He refused. The bike has been sitting in our garage, untouched, for two months.


Over the past few years I have written here on Poop and Boogies about my fondness for the author Brad Meltzer. Looking through my archives I have written one , two , three, four, posts about him and his books. Stalking the man for the past few years has made us somewhat Internet friends. We follow each other on Twitter, we exchange emails every now and then, we're like pen pals.

Brad Meltzer has a new book, Heroes for My Son , coming out May 11th. Brad's publisher sent me an early copy of the book courtesy of Brad. Being pen pals with Brad has its advantages. Heroes for My Son is different from anything Brad has written in the past, such as his suspense thrillers, The First Counsel and Zero Game. Heroes for My Son is a collection of stories about real life heroes whose virtues and talents Brad wanted to share with his son. Some of the heroes are famous, names and stories that everyone knows like the George Washington or Dr. Martin Luther King. Some of the heroes are not so famous and their stories need to be shared, like Miep Gies or Norm Borlaug.

Brad Meltzer writes a short synopsis of each of the heroes in the book, but his take on the heroes is not the typical straight forward re-telling of the heroes story. Brad gives each hero his own personal touch which makes the reasons why he considers them heroes so much more interesting. For instance, what makes the Wright Brothers heroes is not necessarily the fact that they were the first to fly, but the fact that they knew they were going to fail several times before they got it right.

Heroes for My Son is a simple and easy to read book but don't let that fool you; the depth and power behind each story is truly inspiring. Each story can and should be read to everyone in the family. It is a great book and I highly recommend it. The day I received my copy of the book, last Wednesday, I read a few of the entries to Max and Wyatt before bedtime. The one entry I read was about the Wright Brothers. I explained to my boys how the Wright Brothers were the first to fly. I then read Brad's words about how every time Orville and Wilbur went out to test their flying machine they brought extra building material because they knew they would crash. I never knew that little tidbit of information and it fascinated me.

"Crash and rebuild. Crash and rebuild. But never, ever give up." I read from the book.

Maxfield and Wyatt giggled at that line.

The next night they requested I read more from the Heroes for My Son but they wanted me to read about the Wright Brothers again. So I did.

Last Friday, April 30th, I went home for lunch. Lauren, with broad smile, told me to ask Max what he did that morning. Max told me that he rode his bike. I looked to Lauren for confirmation. She smiled, nodded and whispered so Max could not hear her, "I was so proud of him I started to cry."

Lauren and Max told me that they went outside and Max decided it was time to ride his bike. In the beginning he was very frustrated because he kept falling. Lauren said she did not even really help him at all and that Max wanted to do it all on his own.

I was a bit taken back because I just missed out on a milestone moment in my son's life. I always pictured that moment as me running alongside of him, letting go of the seat and Max peddling his little legs, riding by himself, as I cheered, arms raised in a V as he rode away. I was and still am jealous that Lauren got that parenting moment.

I asked Max how he did it. He told me, very excitedly, how he rode up and down our driveway, across the front walk, then up and down our neighbors driveway. Max told me he was not nervous. He said he crashed many times but he kept getting back up and tried riding again.

"Just like the Wright Brothers." I said.

Maxfield beamed back at me and said, "Crash and rebuild. Crash and rebuild. Just like that dad."


He then smiled and we went outside to watch him ride his bike. It was all a blur. Not because it went by so fast but because I watched him through tears that formed in the corners of my eyes. I blamed the tears on allergies. Apparently I am allergic to my son growing up.

Marketing Super Hero and Sausage

There has been some debate in various blogging circles about the approach marketers and advertisers take in working with bloggers. Many bloggers, some more than others, write/complain/mock on a regular basis about how they can't stand when and how marketers will write them asking them to pitch certain products.

Continue to rest of post click here.

Illustrator

My favorite book when I was a little kid was(a series)called Henry the Explorer. I really loved the story, which I would try to act out each week, and I loved the illustrations which I would try to copy using a box of Crayolas. As I got older my interest switched to comic books, which I would also try to act out but I had an easier time trying to recreate the images of the super heroes using colored pencils and paints.

For the longest time the only thing I wanted to be when I grew up was a cartoonist or illustrator. This is one of the covers to a comic book I created with my friend Bob when we were 8 or 9 years old. We went so far as to make up our own comic book company.


I was the Black Archer and Bob was the Silver Swordsman*. We also tried to act out the adventures we planned on drawing. There was one time where we used Bob's dad's hunting bow to shoot arrows at each other to see if we could catch them. It didn't end good, but it didn't end bad either.



Even as an adult I still have dreams of being an illustrator. This is as close to that dream job that I ever got.


Last summer I met Eric Wight, author and illustrator of Frankie Pickle and the Closet of Doom. My kids loved the book. I bought a few copies to give as holiday presents to other kids I know. I thought it would be a good idea to get one of those kids an autographed copy. I knew Eric lived in my area so I emailed him to see if I could meet up with him to get some books signed.

A few days later (this was early December) we met for lunch. We talked comics, books, Brad Meltzer and much more. I would like to think that Eric enjoyed our conversation as much as I did but I was the stalker and he was the stalk-ee, so maybe he did not. We did discuss his latest Frankie Pickle book, which Eric was nice enough to bring me a preview copy.

I brought the book home and read it to Max and Wyatt. Even with half of the illustrations missing (preview copy and what not) they both loved Frankie Pickle and the Pine Run 3000. Max loved it so much that after reading it for the 10th time he sat down and wanted to draw images from it.

I felt, I don't know, I guess proud would be the word that my son was doing the same kind of stuff I did as a kid. I just hope he gets his mother's artistic genes.

Frankie Pickle and the Pine Run 3000 hits the stores Tuesday February 9th. If you have kids or know kids go out and buy it. It is a great read. I can't wait to get a "finished" copy.

As part of my 5 year blogging milestone I am going to give away two copies of Frankie Pickle and the Pine Run 3000. For a chance to win one of the books, leave me a comment telling me your favorite childhood book. I will pick two random winners (out of a hat). Please only one comment per person. Even if you don't have kids you should enter because I am sure you know a kid who would like this book. I will stop taking entries as of Friday February 12th. Hell I may even stalk Eric and see if he will autograph the books for you.

*The Black Archer© and Silver Swordsman© are Copyrighted to William and Bob 1978 or 1979-ish. Any use their names or likeness or recounts or rebroadcast of this blog post without proper written consent from the NFL or Greatest Comics Company is strictly prohibited by taste.

Greatest Gift Rerun

Every holiday season I am always amazed at how my parents could pull off Christmas. There were 9 kids. That’s a lot of presents for Santa to deliver.

Christmas morning was always a whirlwind in our house. The night before, my parents would arrange the gifts in piles under the tree with each of our names on our designated pile (We still, to this day, joke about who had the biggest piles of gifts, FYI- Jimmy). We would all come down the stairs at the same time, sit in front of our pile and my parents while sipping their coffee and tea watched all of us open our gifts at the same time. There were 11 of us in a small family room tripping over each other to see what Santa brought for us.

I always tried to keep my wish list reasonable after I found out that my parents were acting as Santa’s agents. I knew they had a lot of mouths to feed and they always did their best to provide us with nice Christmas gifts. But one year, the only thing I wanted cost $60.00. I was willing to fore go all other gifts if I could just have this one thing.

You see, in 1982 I was 12 and I thought I was a budding comic book artist. The only piece of equipment I would need, to be the next Jack Kirby, was a drawing table. I knew that sixty bucks was lot of money at that time. I did not have high hopes of getting the table because I also knew that I needed socks, gloves, a hat and probably a new pair of Tough Skins.

When I came down to the tree that Christmas Morning, I noticed that there were a few gift boxes with my name on them. I was a little saddened that there was no table waiting under the tree but I knew that it was a lot of money and understood that things were tight. I opened the few gifts (gloves and socks) that I received and I sat and watched everyone else open their much bigger piles. I guess I would have to wait to create the next Spiderman.

As I sat and listened to my brothers “Ooohing and Ahhing” over their gifts I heard my mother, not raising her voice or anything but just a normal tone, say “Bill.”

I turned to look at her (and I know this sounds totally cheesy, but I will never forget the smile on her face) she smiled and nodded her head towards the back wall. I followed her eyes. There it was, a giant box, leaning against the back door. I jumped up and ran over. I tried picking the box up but it was too heavy. I spun it around so I could look at the picture on the front. A drawing table.

I was ecstatic. I turned around and looked at my mom. She had a devilish grin on her face. I guess the table was not with my pile of gifts because it was so big. I also think that my mom wanted to see my reaction to actually getting the gift. With so many kids opening gifts at the same time I am sure it was difficult to see everyone. Or maybe she was just letting me sweat it out.

I never did become a great comic book artist. The only drawing I do now is MooneyAngelo stuff. I kept that table until I was 27. It is still one of my favorite gifts. Ever.


This was originally posted on 12-5-05. (thanks Sci Fi Dad for seeing the date error.)

Neighborhood Watch

This morning, as I walked to my car, I a folded flier tucked behind the flag on my mail box. I scanned the street to see if there were pieces of paper sticking out from other mailboxes. I thought it strange that my mailbox was the only one to receive some type of solicitation in the middle of the night.

The flier is from my township's Neighborhood Watch Program inviting me to volunteer. Part of it reads "volunteers patrol our neighborhoods on foot...between 8 and 10 each evening." It also states that "volunteers assist the police department" and that "training will be provided".

It did not say anything about them providing uniforms or costumes, which is okay because I am sure Lauren will make me something if I join.

I am going to need to take a break from the Internet and blogging for a few days while I work on my utility belt.

What kind of weapons should I make? What kind of superhero name should I give myself? Help me out.


While I am gone try these other cool blogs.

The Bloggess

Fadkog

Homefires

Creative Type Dad

Sci Fi Dad

Honea Express

the Meanest Mom

BHJ

My First Car.

My first car was a 1976 Ford Granada which was the color of rust and gray primer paint. It's two door body was practically made of rust, compound putty and wood filler. I bought the car, a month before I turned eighteen, for 300 bucks. The lady who sold it to me told me it needed some work. I made sure I had some extra money to pay for a paint job but I knew I would need to do the sanding and repairing myself.

The first repairs I made to the body were to ensure it would pass state inspection. I patched all the holes in the driver side floor and made sure that the roof stopped leaking. I tore out the largest areas of rust on the exterior and filled them with mesh wire and putty and Spackle. I covered the front of the car in a coat of gray primer. As a joke, but also because I knew I was going to do more work on the car, I spray painted black bats on the doors to give it the Bat-mobile feel.

I drove the "Bat-mobile" around for a little while, fully intending to finish the work on the car, until I was in an accident. While cruising down Route 309 another car clipped my front bumper on the passenger side. There was no real damage except that my bumper stuck out about a foot and half on the driver's side. I knew the car would not pass inspection with the bumper jutting out so I stopped working on the car.

One day my dad asked why I stopped the work and I told him about the bumper. He laughed and told me to pull the car into the driveway, angle across the front yard and back up so that my car was perpendicular to the driveway with the drivers side facing the street. My dad then got into his station wagon, backed up the neighbor's driveway across the street, looked both ways and then gunned it. He crashed his car into my car. Right on the bumper, pushing it back about 18 inches and almost perfectly into place. I drove the Bat-mobile around for the rest of the summer, knowing I would complete the paint job before I drove it to the community college in the fall.

A couple of weeks later my passenger side window shattered. I stopped working on the body of the car because I needed to save up and buy a new window and window motor. I used a trash bag for a window for the rest of the fall and most of the winter. Most people at the community college ended up knowing me from my one window Bat-mobile. I was the kid who marched to the beat of his own drummer and people could not help but be curious. Soon I was more social than studious and I did not do well at school.

I decided I would have to get a job and I applied for a position at Prudential. I told myself if I got the job I would get my car painted. If I was going to be working in an office and acting professional I would have to get my car to look professional. I got the job. I drove the Bat-mobile to work everyday. I replaced the window with money from my first paycheck. People who pulled into the parking lot at the same time I did every day, recognized me as the kid with the Bat-mobile and they would call me Batman. They were curious and would ask questions. Most people appreciated that I was a different and that I "would actually drive around in a car like that". I liked the attention I was getting. People knew who I was.

I was doing really well in my position at Prudential and the department manager seemed to like me and was putting me on the fast track for promotions. One of the reasons he liked me was due to the fact that many people throughout the building were familiar with me. He could not quite put his finger on it but he liked my "networking". He liked that I "thought outside of the box". He did not realize that I did not network, people just talked about me and the car and when they could they would ask me about it. I did not think outside the box, I just did not care what others thought of me.

The department manager caught wind of the Bat-mobile and called me into his office in May of 89. He explained that although it did not matter to him what kind of car I drove, if I were to move up in the company I may have to travel and he asked me what type of impression would my car leave on clients. My answer was that I would introduce myself to clients as Bruce Wayne and I would tell them that I fight crime at night. He did not seem to get my joke and I then told him I planned on changing the car in the next month or so.

June of 89 Tim Burton's Batman hit the theaters. It was wildly successful. It was now cool to like Batman. In one weekend my car went from being a cool, hip, conversation piece to being a fad. In one weekend I went from being a free thinking, different, quirky, cool dude to a trend follower who was a little too infatuated with a movie. People stopped asking questions. They stopped looking at me like I was cool and started to look at me like I was weird.
I drove the Bat-mobile for a few more weeks when the engine seized. I don't think the car could handle that it was no longer cool.

Saving Body Parts

Lauren and I were talking about the boys playing with their toys.

"I was playing with Max and Wyatt, with their guys, and I was amazed that they just want to keep smashing the guys together."

"I know. Wyatt's fingers kept getting hurt."

"I guess it is a boy thing. Bill, can you do me a favor?" Lauren asked. "When a toy breaks, just throw it out. You know, if it is broken beyond repair."

"Sure." I said.

"I keep finding broken toys."

I know. I have habit of saving all the broken pieces. Then I forget what they go to and I hold onto them. I end up carrying the pieces in my pockets for days hoping to discover what they belong to. As soon as I throw out the little piece, the very next day I realize what toy it went to."

"Well, for now on, just throw the stuff out." Lauren said.

She then added, "Tomorrow I am going to go through their figure box and look for all the miscellaneous body parts."

This is a picture of the current contents of my pocket...

...and miscellaneous body parts.