In Defense of Superheroes

An article came out recently that posed the question, "Should Batman die in the new movie, The Dark Knight Rises?"  The author went on to state, "Batman’s death would be the only satisfying conclusion to this trilogy..."

Really?

Now admittedly, I'm a comic book geek. I collected them as I grew up and am ever thankful that my older brother collected them in the '70's, because that allowed me to read them later when I was able. Friends and family still come to me when they have questions about comic book superheroes and I've even incorporated some of them in lessons plans as a teacher. So it's safe to say that this is a genre that I know something about.

But that's not the reason I think killing Batman would be a bad idea.

In the world of comic books, characters rarely stay dead very long. There's a reason for this. People don't want these folks to die (obviously, since some most of the well-known superheroes in history have "died" at some point or another - in some cases, multiple times).  Death is something that we deal with on a daily basis in real life. Comics provide an escape from that reality if only for a few pages. Same with movies. It's the adventures, the trials and tribulations of these characters that keep people coming back for more. I'm not saying that the Batman franchise - or any other superhero franchise for that matter - needs to go on and on ad nauseum. But it doesn't have to go to the other extreme and kill the hero either. You can just stop making the movies.

The author goes on to write, "Tragedy in film helps position the moral compass of society, exposing the natural vulnerability and flaws of people through on-screen characters. To see misery unfold unrelentingly on screen or in text is one of the greatest forms of catharsis we can experience." Utter nonsense.  Real life itself provides that.  That's part of why people go to the movies, especially to movies about iconic superheroes, to disconnect from that for a while. People know life sucks already, they don't need to be reminded of that in these stories. They go to see the hero face the challenge, get beaten down or be pushed past their limits and fail again and again, only to finally succeed because of their perseverence and dedication to an idea or a cause. They're meant to inspire us, and remind us of the potential good in people, going back to the very first issue of Action Comics.




We see injustice, moral ambiguity, blatent disregard for the public good every day of our lives. Just turn on the news or buy the newspaper - it's rife with stories like this. But these other stories, these "superheroes", they remind us that there's more than that. And at the very least, they communicate the idea that we're all in this together, that we shouldn't give up hope, and that we should look out for each other. 

Given that, how can killing one of these characters that stand for these very same ideals, be a good idea?

Thirsty?

“The strongest principle of growth lies in human choice.” – George Eliot.

Mayor Bloomberg wants to take away a choice.  It's that simple.

While it may seem trivial to criticize a proposal that will prevent sugary drinks larger than 16 ounces from being sold, it does illustrate an example of choices being taken away from citizens. He says that he wants to push this ban in an effort to tackle the obesity problem in NY, which seems noble enough in principle.  After all, some of his previous bans obviously were created for the common good.  A decade ago, smoking was banned in bars and restaurants – fair enough.  I’m a cigar smoker myself, and I totally understand that it’s not fair to subject others to a vice that I happen to enjoy, especially one that will, at the very least, make their clothes smell – not to mention the obvious health detriments. But in that instance, something I’m doing is directly infringing on someone else’s life or experience.

And I get it, you know? I understand “looking out for the public good” and all that, but where does it stop?  Where’s the line? It might sound like I’m making a mountain out of a molehill, but again, it’s not so much what is being prohibited, as it is the idea of a choice being taken away. Personally, I don’t buy drinks as large as 16 ounces – especially if I’m not near a bathroom.

Look, Mr. Bloomberg (like he’s really reading this), I appreciate you wanting to come across as someone who cares about the health of others and are so concerned that you propose to remove certain “unhealthy” choices from our daily lives.  But wouldn’t a leader prove their point more by setting an example rather than taking away someone’s right to choose? You were on the right track in 2008 by requiring food providers to publish calorie counts on menus; you didn’t pressure them to remove things you felt were “unhealthy”. I mean, live a healthy lifestyle yourself, promote and attend community groups that seek to educate people about eating better and working out (and invite the press to get it on public record so that it pops up every time someone visits Google or Yahoo or MSN, etc.), create public awareness campaigns, paper the city with “healthy lifestyle” posters like these:

  

But don’t presume to act like a scowling parent to the people who put you in office ten years ago (and helped keep you there, incidentally). I mean what’s next on the list then, the pastrami sandwich at the Carnegie Deli? Stickball? A bedtime, perhaps?

The High Road

Every once in a while in life, you run into situations that may leave you frustrated, angry or even exasperated. It’s during these trying times, that I believe one should try to rise above the situation and take a more enlightened approach.  After all, we are – for the most part – an intelligent civilization, fully capable of being cognizant of it’s reaction to stressful situations and other people.  Why should we debase ourselves by letting our more primitive, often irrational, reactions take over?  It behooves us, as sentient beings, to express ourselves in a manner that befits our standing and set an example for future generations, that they might learn how civilized people respond to less-than-desirable moments in our lives. 

As such, and in keeping with the ideals postulated above, I composed this little poem after going through such a situation the other day:

Ode to the Motherless Asshole Who Hit and Dented My Parked Car

Up yours, you classless prick.

May you someday find,

This offense paid in kind;

And a stray dog’s ass may you be forced to lick.

Same sex marriage

President Obama recently came under attack for publicly supporting same-sex marriage.  One of those very public attacks came from Bristol Palin.  She said, “In this case, it would’ve been helpful for him to explain to Malia and Sasha that while her friends parents are no doubt lovely people, that’s not a reason to change thousands of years of thinking about marriage. Or that — as great as her friends may be — we know that in general kids do better growing up in a mother/father home.”  - Right. Because Bristol Palin just totally exemplifies that ideal.

And I don’t mean to pick on Bristol, she’s got enough problems as it is just being her.  There are so many others around the world who have taken umbrage against same sex marriage.  Religious groups (and religious fanatics – there’s a difference), “supremacy” groups, politicians (both left and right), and so many others have openly spoken out against this issue.  As different as these groups are in lifestyles, political and personal beliefs, as well as religious views, many of them find themselves in agreement when it comes to this.  People who under ordinary circumstances wouldn’t spit on someone from an opposing group if they were on fire, in this case find a cause that unites them, this is their common ground – speaking out about the “evil” of gay marriage.

I always find myself asking the same question, “If it doesn’t affect you and yours, why do you care?”  I mean honestly, what difference does it make if Joe marries Jack, or Jane marries Sally?  What impact does it have on someone else’s life?  I don’t know about anyone else, but there’s none on mine at all. It’s not going to change the fact I still have to drive around for a half hour every night to find a parking spot.  It’s not going to change the price of bread and milk or (God forbid) gasoline. It’s not going to keep my kid from playing in the park or my wife from watching the Jersey Housewives.  So if all those things will remain equal for everybody else as well, then why can’t gays enjoy that same equality together?

Some folks stand on their “biblical soapbox” and preach “God’s word” about how homosexuality is an abomination. You know, the bible states a lot of things and it calls several things an abomination or a sin, and even lays out the penalty for people who partake in these abominations and sins; especially in the Old Testament.  I think a lot of people who quote those passages and claim that “God hates fags” and that “it’s Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve” and all that garbage, forget sometimes that if you want to go down that theological route, there’s a part two to that book.  One that talks about loving your neighbor, treating others as you would like to be treated.  Oh and it even talks about casting judgment and doling out punishment, by the way.  Let’s see, there’s something about “casting the first stone” and “removing the beam from your own eye first.” 

Seriously, there are so many other real problems to worry about, and people are wasting their time focusing on whether or not someone they may not even know can get married to another of the same gender?!  I guess Forrest was right, stupid really is as stupid does.

An Anecdote

Today I woke up early, which is usually the case due to my son, but in this case, I got up to go to my Alma Matter, St. John’s University.  You see recently I applied to a job that asked me to produce my college transcripts. A few years back, I had ordered a few of them in the anticipation that such a request was unavoidable, however I never counted on how often said request would actually occur.  As a result, hoping to avoid the hassle of the inevitable traffic and irritating horn-blowing that a trip to this part of Queens would ensue, my wife and I spent the better part of last night (again, our son allowing) searching for a copy that I said was, “definitely in the house, I even remember seeing it by the desk recently.” Our desk is usually hidden underneath a mountain of letters and post-its, and after a quick search, I figured that I wouldn't have put something so important in that paper wormhole.

Sadly, we had no luck finding it, even after we searched those hidden areas leading to the fourth dimension which are usually located underneath sofas and/or behind that cabinet you brought with you from your mom’s place. I came to the conclusion that I had sent out the last copy and hadn't bothered to re-order another.  Knowing that our considerate, nearly-3-year-old would have us up in a few hours, we decided to call it a night and I would go to St. John’s the next day to request a cop of my transcript.

After getting past the usual 5:30 am wake up call which my son seems to extract a seemingly Bond-villain like laugh from (no cat though), I found myself rather zombie-esque-like, driving towards St. John’s.  Following the security guard’s instructions, I parked five miles away from where I needed to go and when I finally got to the Registrar’s office, I was told that I needed to fill out a short form, travel through Dante’s Inferno (fitting, seeing as how I was at a Catholic university), promise my next born to the Student’s Financial Office and was then instructed to make the trip back up through Hades and present my receipt to the Registrar’s office.  After they managed to re-re-confirm that I was in fact, the official, corresponding person who had requested to obtain a copy of my transcripts - thus thwarting any nefarious terrorist-camp attempt to obtain any knowledge of my undergraduate Liberal Arts degree information that might seem relevant to their cause – I finally received confirmation that my transcripts would be mailed home.  I asked if I could get them right then and there and was told that the best they could do was overnight them to me and that I would get them by noon the next day.  I foolishly queried, “Well if you can get the transcripts to me by noon tomorrow, and it’s already past noon now, can’t you just print and hand them to me while I’m here?”

And so I found out, this is how self-flagellation was born.   

In any case, I had to leave empty-handed and so I’m expecting my transcripts by noon tomorrow.  The funny part?  After I got home (no small task if you’re looking for parking in Astoria these days), I laid down in bed to relax for a few minutes and forget about everyone and everything that I had come across or dealt with that morning, and my wife walked over to me, holding an envelope in her hand. “What’s that?” I asked.

“Your transcripts,” she said. “I just found them on the floor under our desk.” 

I think they made sitcoms like this back in the 70’s.

A guy walks into a bookstore...

Not too long ago, I went to a Barnes & Noble store to buy a book for a friend.  When I got to the counter to pay, I asked the bookseller to please giftwrap the book.  He asked me which wrapping paper I wanted and after I picked it out, he proceeded to wrap it and pleasantly tried to make “small talk” by asking me, “Is it a present for somebody?”

Now before I go any further, I just want to point out that I have a tendency to be somewhat sarcastic, bordering on obnoxious, and it’s gotten me into trouble over the years – with family, friends, women, employers, strangers, you name it.  Sometimes, I can’t help it.  I’ll find myself in a situation where something happens (either to me or someone around me), or somebody says something that seems to invite a comment, and before I know it, the words come flying out.  However, sometimes the tone comes across wrong and the person (or persons) may feel insulted (admittedly, in a few cases, this was the intent – but those comebacks are usually reserved…well, for assholes quite frankly). 

There are moments when I’m trying to be funny – and yes, there is such a thing as trying too hard and it’s always obvious and that’s when I should just shut the hell up. I mean, if you have to try that hard to come up with a punch-line or witty comeback, then you should just let it go.  Besides, it won’t be long before another opportunity presents itself.  I think that a lot of people do sometimes try too hard and it all comes from the same place - that cringing time of the day or night when the perfect (at least, perfect to you) comeback springs to mind but the moment has already passed and you wish you had said it then.  I think that people hate those moments so much that they wind up trying too hard other times. 

See with me, I grew up watching comedy classics.  Performers like George Burns, Milton Berle, Bob Hope, Abbott & Costello, the Marx Brothers (Groucho in particular), just to name a few, always had me glued to the TV when they were on.  I guess because they made me laugh so much, I admired them and wanted to emulate them.  Of course as I got older, I realized that what I was watching 1) couldn’t really be duplicated, and 2) probably shouldn’t be.  While there are many stories of these performers sometimes reacting comically to a real-life situation (one of my favorites is when Groucho Marx was in a store and a couple approached him and told him how much they loved watching him insult people and the husband asked if Groucho would insult his wife. Without missing a beat, Groucho said, “Sir I’m surprised at you, with a wife like that you ought to be able to come up with your own insults.”), not everyone appreciates that kind of humor.  In a movie or TV show, people choose and pay money to watch a particular individual or group make them laugh.  In real life, most people just want to get through their day without having to deal with a lot of smart ass comments. 

But again, sometimes I can’t help it and like I wrote before, it has gotten me into trouble.  Once, for example, I was dating a girl who really had a passion for animals (clearly, since she was dating me – see what I mean?  Even I’m not immune) and couldn’t stand people who hunted for sport.  I mentioned that I have family members who actually do hunt and we eat what they catch.  She took great offense to this revelation and said, “Well, if I ever meet them, I’m gonna give them a piece of my mind!”  I replied, “Are you sure you can spare it?”  Strangely, she never returned my calls after that. 

So it is something that I’m aware of and something that I’m working on.  I do actually try to catch myself before saying something that really isn’t necessary and kind of only serves to amuse me.  After all, you really need to tailor your conversation to your audience and surroundings.  Even if you are trying to make someone laugh, you still need to be aware of that in order for it to work.  When I was younger, some former employers had told me that I should be more “mindful about the wise-cracks” and for the most part, I have been while at work (of course I’ve slipped now and then, but I do make the effort).  Outside the workplace is another story, but again, it depends where I am.  I have learned that it’s one thing to joke around like that with your family, friends or others who have known you for a while, it’s quite another when it’s just some kid trying to do his/her job and isn’t getting paid nearly enough to put up with or deal with some (slightly bitter) smart-ass who’s watched way too many Marx Brothers movies; and I’m aware that sometimes, it really does get old and played out.  So when this polite Barnes & Noble bookseller asked if the book I bought and had asked him to wrap was a present for someone, I said, “No, I want to surprise myself with it later.”

It’s a work in progress.

One Year Later...

Anybody have a rabbit’s foot?

I know that everyone’s got troubles, but just hear me out on this.  In one month’s time, March of 2011 to be precise, I managed to find and slip on the only piece of ice left in New York City and broke a bone in my elbow, had two car accidents (in the first one, someone rear-ended my car while stopped at a light, and the other time happened three days later when someone plowed into the back of my car, which was parked in front of my apartment building), I lost my job, my then-landlord was ripping us off, and I was told that my son needed to have tubes put in his ears to help with his constant ear infections. 

And just as the month was ending, just in case we felt that as bad as things were, maybe they weren’t so bad, my wife found a large lump on her breast.  Shortly thereafter, we learned that she had breast cancer. 

WTF, right?  That’s what I thought.  Well, that and I thought that we must’ve really pissed somebody off in a previous life (if this “cosmic, spiritual recycling” thing actually happens).  So, off we went to see her primary care physician, oncologists, breast cancer surgeons, the lady that reads tea leaves, all that stuff.  We were told that chemo would be necessary and that we would need to take our kid out of daycare as kids have a tendency to get sick a lot in daycare (even if they aren’t displaying any symptoms), and we could not afford to take the risk of her getting sick, since the chemo would lower her ability to fight off colds and infections. 

First of all, to prepare for chemo, she had to have a port surgically implanted just below her collarbone (to make it that much more visible) so that they could just “pop” in the needle when she would go in for treatment.  The day she had this done coincided with a job interview that had taken me a good three weeks to secure.  I got to my car, drove the 45 minutes to the job site and politely waited.  The first interview went so well that the person decided that I should meet with a few others.  A good sign, I thought.  I met with her two assistants, lovely ladies who were very thorough in detailing what would be expected of me should I join their ranks.  After that, I met with the supervisor’s supervisor.  Then I met with that person’s assistant.  I’ll spare you the roster, but I wound up meeting literally every single person that I would ever interact with at the place.  The custodian was an especially nice fellow, as was the lady in the cafeteria.  Throughout all this, my wife was having surgery and I only had a brief window of time to check my cell phone in between interviews (ultimately, I didn’t get it; in the end even though they told me how much they liked me and how well they thought I would fit in their environment, they decided to go with someone that had some more experience – I took them off my Christmas card list).  So my son is at my in-laws place, my mom had taken my wife to get the surgery done and I was stuck on the BQE watching some guy in the car next to me belt out his rendition of “Mr. Brightside” like he was on American Idol .   

Thankfully the surgery turned out ok and my son managed not drive my in-laws crazy (I’ll get into more detail about him in another post).  Now all that we were waiting for was for chemo to begin.  Joy.

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen anyone go through chemotherapy, but it’s really a humbling experience, to say the least.  Once a week, we would arrange for someone to stay with our son while I drove her to the hospital in Manhattan (don’t get me started on parking; my butt still hurts) and sat with her while she had this stuff pumped into her system.  I gotta give her credit, I don’t know if I would’ve been able to tolerate what she did.  It’s kind of a stupid thing to say, but I’m not sure who chemo is hardest on – the one getting it or the ones that have to watch them go through it (it’s a stupid thing to say because the answer is obvious; it’s always hardest on the person getting it).  Here was this woman I had known for the better part of 5 years - dated, gotten married to, argued with, made up with, picked out furniture with (ok, she did that part), had a child with -  going through this incredibly horrible ordeal and there wasn’t a single damn thing I could do about it.  I got to watch, that’s it.  I got to sit there, flip through some stupid magazine while this vibrant, strong and beautiful woman turned a type of pale gray, lose her hair and get physically and emotionally drained and sick with every treatment that passed. I think the worst part for her was not being able to interact with our son a whole lot.  He obviously couldn’t understand why mommy wasn’t able to play with him as much as she used to and why he would sometimes have to spend a night or two at one of his grandparents’ homes.  Not that this was a cake walk for me either (God, I hate that expression), but I hated seeing them go through this.

Add to this, the dismal luck I had in securing a job.  Yes, the economy was bad and all that, but still, I couldn’t help but feel somewhat ineffectual at my inability to find employment.  I had plenty of interviews and they all seemed promising, but I got a lot more, “We’ll be in touch” responses than I cared to get.  I had never had a problem with this before but it seemed like times had changed since I had been out there.  Granted, my experience is somewhat varied.  I’ve worked in everything from construction, to customer service, to event planning, and even substitute teaching, but it seems that people were looking for more specific skills.  I was starting to feel like a kind of jack-off of all trades if you’ll pardon the expression. 

However, we kept going forward as you have to in these situations.  I mean, “if you’re going through hell, keep going”, right?  When I wasn’t sending out resumes, I was trying to keep the house in order and take care of the kid.  My wife would rest as much as possible and try to keep her spirits up.  Once we moved (as I mentioned earlier, our bitch of an ex-landlord was ripping us off and left us with no choice; I’ll get into that one in another post as well), things seemed to settle a bit.

I’m happy to report that towards the end of 2011, after her chemo was done, we were told that she was in remission.  I can’t even begin to describe what hearing that felt like, not even gonna try.  The doctors were all very happy with all her results and they quickly scheduled her surgery.  Of course, this was another nerve-wracking experience, but it was made all the more easier by our family members who waited with me while the doctors were working on her and our friends who called/texted to check in.  It’s true what they say, you know?  It’s during the worst phases of your life that you see who your friends really are, who really cares about you.  There were people who I considered friends who were nowhere to be found throughout all this.  People who knew what was going on, knew both of us and never bothered to ask about her progress.  I suppose I should be glad about their absence.  After all, it’s their absence that showed me who they really are.

In any event, it’s now a year later and she’s done with all her treatments (5 weeks of radiation followed surgery).  It’s been a life-changing experience for both of us.  Humbling, really.  Looking back, being out of work at the time that my wife was going through this was sort of a mixed blessing.  I was able to go to all of her appointments and take her to her treatments and make sure the baby and the house were taken care of.  It brought into focus all the things that are really important in our lives and helped me to put aside or even discard the things that aren’t. 

She’s still recuperating, I’m still looking for work, and the baby is…well, a toddler at this point and going to start nursery school soon. We’re not sure what’s next, but after the year we’ve had, we’re pretty sure we can take it.  Rabbit’s foot notwithstanding.