Just Like You
I'm just like you.
Maybe not the you that you're experiencing today. Maybe the you of some years ago, maybe the you of some point in the future. I may be dumber than you or smarter than you, at some point, have darker skin or speak a different language. However, the things that make us different, really, are considerably fewer than the things that make us the same.
I get up every day and drive to a job. I like my job for the most part -- the people I work with are smart and know what they're doing, and the few problems we have are very rarely ones we created (I made a minor screw up a few weeks ago, but I fixed that). I pay the rent, I eat stuff, I keep gas in the tank, the cell phone number rings when you call. Just like you, at some point in your life, probably.(1)
I come home from my job and spend time with my beautiful wife and hilarious daughter,(2) trying to catch a few moments of TV or have energy to be affectionate, waiting for the birth of a new baby girl. I live on a block with many other families, and I smile and wave and speak when I see neighbors passing by.
Just like many of you, I try to watch my money, but I like fried food (often take out) and I like staying up late. I've made some less than optimal decisions in the past that I still work on fixing. I wanna have better things for my family, just like you. A nicer car.(3) A bigger yard. Quiet Sunday mornings and the vigor to clown around with the ones I love.
I read the news and I shudder at the ravages of the economy.(4) I hear the squeaks and feel the vibration in the right front wheel of my car and know I've gotta get those tie rod bushings and those brakes fixed one of these days. I look at my phone and realize that even though it gets the job done, there's so much more I'd like to do and know I'm not running out to get the next big thing that'll do everything I want ... right until the day it becomes old and outdated. With every surprise and crisis that pops up, professional and personal, I keep going, just like you.(5)
Like some of you, I am driven by ambition. I've said it many times -- I want to be the Black George Lucas ... with better writing ... and less isolation ... and hopefully being thinner. In the words of The Bloggess, "I'm constantly scribbling on notebooks and napkins and my own legs and when I physically make myself stop writing my head gets so full it literally feels like it's constipated. And it's not even constipated with good sh** like poetry and kick-ass ballads. It's all jumbled stories about Cyclopses and why stealing toilet paper is good for America." I have a story in mind -- epic in scope, intricate in the details, and a tapestry rich enough for me to license and create for the rest of my life.(6)
Just like you, I get frustrated. Just like you, I get tired.
Just like you.
At this point in most interesting stories, something big happens. Michael Douglas gets a freakin' sweet rocket launcher in Falling Down. Larenz Tate starts looking at guns in Dead Presidents. The lead character makes some grand gesture or some momentous decision and charges the story in a dangerous new direction, often involving pulling triggers and body counts.
However, I'm just like you. Our stories are rarely that dramatic. I start looking for things I can do from home -- asking about agents and studios who need someone to write coverage.(7) I mentally push back the date I can get that new phone, wondering how long it'll take used models at lower prices to pop up on eBay. I set the computer aside when the five-year-old wants to tell me about something in her room that I probably helped pay for. I look for hidden bottles of cocoa butter or expensive pre-health-care-dustup Whole Foods salve to rub on a pregnant belly on the seventeenth hour awake for that day.
Just like you, I choose family. Like many of you, I choose solutions.
Like all too few of you, I choose joy.
I could have been dead probably twenty times over, from stupid stuff I did or from overambitious socio-political posturing. A slip of circumstance could have had me convicted for so many things, staring at some ugly guy named Ray Ray instead of this. Turn a different corner, and I could be covered in scars, reaching for pistols instead of tomorrow, every single day.
So how am I doing?
How am I? Really?
Man, life is good. I can't complain.
Just.
Like.
You.
Playing (Music): "Whatcha Say?" by Jason DeRulo
Maybe not the you that you're experiencing today. Maybe the you of some years ago, maybe the you of some point in the future. I may be dumber than you or smarter than you, at some point, have darker skin or speak a different language. However, the things that make us different, really, are considerably fewer than the things that make us the same.
I get up every day and drive to a job. I like my job for the most part -- the people I work with are smart and know what they're doing, and the few problems we have are very rarely ones we created (I made a minor screw up a few weeks ago, but I fixed that). I pay the rent, I eat stuff, I keep gas in the tank, the cell phone number rings when you call. Just like you, at some point in your life, probably.(1)
I come home from my job and spend time with my beautiful wife and hilarious daughter,(2) trying to catch a few moments of TV or have energy to be affectionate, waiting for the birth of a new baby girl. I live on a block with many other families, and I smile and wave and speak when I see neighbors passing by.
Just like many of you, I try to watch my money, but I like fried food (often take out) and I like staying up late. I've made some less than optimal decisions in the past that I still work on fixing. I wanna have better things for my family, just like you. A nicer car.(3) A bigger yard. Quiet Sunday mornings and the vigor to clown around with the ones I love.
I read the news and I shudder at the ravages of the economy.(4) I hear the squeaks and feel the vibration in the right front wheel of my car and know I've gotta get those tie rod bushings and those brakes fixed one of these days. I look at my phone and realize that even though it gets the job done, there's so much more I'd like to do and know I'm not running out to get the next big thing that'll do everything I want ... right until the day it becomes old and outdated. With every surprise and crisis that pops up, professional and personal, I keep going, just like you.(5)
Like some of you, I am driven by ambition. I've said it many times -- I want to be the Black George Lucas ... with better writing ... and less isolation ... and hopefully being thinner. In the words of The Bloggess, "I'm constantly scribbling on notebooks and napkins and my own legs and when I physically make myself stop writing my head gets so full it literally feels like it's constipated. And it's not even constipated with good sh** like poetry and kick-ass ballads. It's all jumbled stories about Cyclopses and why stealing toilet paper is good for America." I have a story in mind -- epic in scope, intricate in the details, and a tapestry rich enough for me to license and create for the rest of my life.(6)
Just like you, I get frustrated. Just like you, I get tired.
Just like you.
At this point in most interesting stories, something big happens. Michael Douglas gets a freakin' sweet rocket launcher in Falling Down. Larenz Tate starts looking at guns in Dead Presidents. The lead character makes some grand gesture or some momentous decision and charges the story in a dangerous new direction, often involving pulling triggers and body counts.
However, I'm just like you. Our stories are rarely that dramatic. I start looking for things I can do from home -- asking about agents and studios who need someone to write coverage.(7) I mentally push back the date I can get that new phone, wondering how long it'll take used models at lower prices to pop up on eBay. I set the computer aside when the five-year-old wants to tell me about something in her room that I probably helped pay for. I look for hidden bottles of cocoa butter or expensive pre-health-care-dustup Whole Foods salve to rub on a pregnant belly on the seventeenth hour awake for that day.
Just like you, I choose family. Like many of you, I choose solutions.
Like all too few of you, I choose joy.
I could have been dead probably twenty times over, from stupid stuff I did or from overambitious socio-political posturing. A slip of circumstance could have had me convicted for so many things, staring at some ugly guy named Ray Ray instead of this. Turn a different corner, and I could be covered in scars, reaching for pistols instead of tomorrow, every single day.
So how am I doing?
How am I? Really?
Man, life is good. I can't complain.
Just.
Like.
You.
Playing (Music): "Whatcha Say?" by Jason DeRulo
FOOTNOTES:
(1) = I'm well aware "eating" is harder to come by in, say, Sudan or in desolate corners of Colombia. If they're living long enough to see they're different from somebody else, they ate something. I'm working a simile here, people!
(2) = Maybe your kid's not as entertaining as mine. Maybe your wife's uglier. Or vice versa. Doesn't matter. Well, the chance that your wife's better looking than mine, or that your kid's funnier, is pretty freakin' unlikely, but for argument's sake, let's assume a statistical possibility there. For your sake.
(3) = Especially today.
(4) = You may not read the news, but when even Lil Wayne raps about it ("...and honestly, I'm down like the economy ..."), the word is clearly getting around.
(5) = ... because if you hadn't, you'd be dead, or in a shelter somewhere, and not reading this blog.
(6) = Oh, you haven't heard? You haven't checked out my first novel or bought a copy at Amazon? Haven't read the second novel either? Well, the new project, a graphic novel deal with Stranger Comics (and the new fantasy title from Sebastian Jones, The Untamed is in October Previews and comic shops in December) will hopefully have some stuff I can show shortly ...
(7) = If you know anybody, I'd love for them to contact me, my ability to read, comprehend and analyze quickly is the core of my weekly comic book reviews, more than six years strong.
posted by Hannibal Tabu, The Operative at
2:10 PM
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