Important

By now you are intimately familiar with my new habit of reading old comic books at the close of each busy day. Among the most recent delivery from Tom Franklin was nestled one about Zatanna, the superhero who is also a magician. As you can see in the illustration above, there was an allusion to Phyllis Diller in the old Zatanna comic book. This is important information that I need to relay to McNeil right away. As he is, for all practical purposes, the only person still reading the "blog," I believe that my mission has already been accomplished. But I am going to check in with him privately as well, because I also need to tell him about a double entendre accidentally (?) made by the Flash in the same comic. It is too saucy to be printed here on the "blog." Now, I am sure you will never forget the time I found an owl in an Alan Moore Swamp Thing comic book. And I know you feel as strongly as I do about the time I found out Jan Potocki thought he was a werewolf. (You know, you can "click" on all these "links" to refresh your memory of these matters.) The latter incident caused me, somewhat indirectly, to purchase a copy of Potocki's novel THE MANUSCRIPT FOUND IN SARAGOSSA from Square Books. I could almost swear I already had a copy of it at some remote time in the past, but that mystery is forever shrouded in the mists of my mellow golden yesterdays. Anyhow! This paperback of THE MANUSCRIPT FOUND IN SARAGOSSA features as its cover the very same Goya etching lovingly reproduced in Swamp Thing, bestowing the presence of its own scary owl upon the later work. Whether there is an owl in the text of Potocki's novel, I have not yet had an opportunity to ascertain. However, my happiness remains unmuted, as the coincidence allows me to inform you that one of the old comic books I read last night in bed happened to be a pre-Moore Swamp Thing, in which some punk-rock vampires used hollowed-out pinball machines as coffins. One punk-rock vampire explained the uncanny similarities between being in a mosh pit and his existence as one of the bloodthirsty undead, a monologue that put me in mind of the fear of beatniks exhibited in pop art of an even earlier era.

Look

I gave updates on this story on social media, back before I quit it like the biggest hero this world has ever seen. Somehow, though, I never mentioned it here, in the lonely spot that no one ever visits. But around 10 years ago, my dad started to spend most weekends building a car from scratch, a car that came from his own brain. I'm not sure I'm getting this across. Like, first there was nothing. Then there's a bolt or a screw or a spark plug, and eventually there's a whole engine, and then, bit by bit, there's a car around it. He just decided to make a car, and he made a car. And now (see above) it's almost finished! Furthermore, he's going to race it, an idea I can't say my mom is too thrilled about. I mean, I'm 60, so, if you think about it, you'll come to the conclusion that my parents are older than me.

The Owl of Conceit

I called it! When the 2-person book club began reading this biography of Polly Adler by Debby Applegate, I said to myself, "Jack," I said, "If this book has an owl in it at all, it will be a so-called 'night owl.'" And what do you know? Applegate gives us "night owls lingered over a bowl of matzoh ball soup." Right again, Pendarvis! You're a genius. But that's not all. After I put down Polly Adler, I picked up my nightly tonic, an old comic book. Of course you recall how Tom Franklin brought me some old comic books in the hospital, and some more old comic books when I got home, and soon I was buying my own old comic books like a deranged fiend. But what you didn't know is that Tom brought me even more old comics books after that! He's like a golden goose that keeps laying old comic books and I promise never to open him up to see how it works, as in the old fairy tale. That story taught me a lesson! Anyhow, I was reading an old comic book from Tom's most recent delivery, a story about a character of whom, like El Diablo and The Shroud before him, I had never heard. And this lively fellow's name was The Viking Prince. So this here Viking Prince meets a princess, and this here princess says, "I WILL NEVER MARRY THIS -- THIS -- OWL OF CONCEIT!" So I shut my old comic book and lay there thinking my wise thoughts. And I thought and thought, and the thought came to me that the hilarious idea of an owl of conceit reminded me of a book I read at least a few times as a teenager, a book called THE PLATYPUS OF DOOM AND OTHER NIHILISTS, and I lay there trying to remember any of the contents, of which only a salacious detail or two came back to me. I still have my copy! As you can see in the photo above, it resides on the drugstore-style paperback spinner I have right here in my home office where I type these mesmerizing words that appear before your wondering eyes like magic. Okay, now I must move on to a spoiler for one of the stupid word puzzles in the New York Times. I know people are serious about their stupid New York Times word puzzles, so if you get up every morning and do a stupid New York Times word game puzzle (not the crossword) like some kind of glasses-wearing egghead, I advise you to stop reading now. All right! Here we go. Have you stopped reading? Ha ha! You don't exist! And if you did, you wouldn't have read this far anyway. So, one of the producers of a secret project I can't tell you about got me going on this particular stupid New York Times word game puzzle thing. So, you must recall that I spent the night tossing and turning and thinking about the platypus. Not something that comes to mind often! Not to my mind. This morning, I get up and do my stupid New York Times puzzle word game puzzle game puzzle thing. And one of the answers is... TRADEMARKS OF A PLATYPUS. In conclusion, I leafed through my old copy of PLATYPUS OF DOOM and there is a cigarette ad in the middle of it. That's how it used to be! I don't think my grandfather owned a book without a cigarette ad in the middle.

The Belt of Dorian McNeil

McNeil has been following all the recent developments about my new belt with great interest. He was reminded, in fact, of certain details about his own belt, which I quote here in part: "I have this belt I wear every day. I bought it in Toronto in October 2004. It shows no signs of wearing out before the fall, so I feel comfortable saying it will last 20 years... On the inside of the belt, if that's what you call it, there was a sticker with a maple leaf on it. I guess to let everyone know who took off my pants that my belt was made in Canada. That sticker only began to fade after about 15 years, and now has completely disappeared. But the belt still looks brand new. It's like a magic belt. Or maybe as I get older, my belt gets younger." Obviously, the title I bestowed on this "post" only works if the picture had stayed young while Dorian Gray got older... which is how pictures work in real life, which wouldn't have made old Oscar much of a story. But "The McNeil of Dorian Belt" didn't sound right.

Bible Belt

I have something else to say about that belt. So, it had a price tag on it, of course, and this price tag was the size and shape of a fortune cookie fortune. When I clipped off the price tag, I saw that it (the price tag, not the belt) had a Bible verse printed on the back of it! (See also, the bottle of water that had a Bible verse printed on it.) Now, the verse was a translation from what I took to be the New English Bible or such. That doesn't cut it around here! So I'm going to give it to you from the King James Version. As everyone knows, I'm a KJV stan. "Keep my commandments, and live; and my law as the apple of thine eye." What that has to do with the price of belts, I'm not sure. Well! As long as I have you here, McNeil read a book with an owl in it. I am sure you recall that McNeil has been going through his grandfather's old books. Before he found the owl, McNeil was primarily struck by the fact that the detective in the novel he is reading is, quote, "naked a whole lot in this book - just walking around in a dead guy's apartment talking to cops and reporters and whoever wanders in. Weird." The owl, he tells me, appears in the guise of a character who "grinned owlishly." Naturally, this put me in mind of the Travis McGee novel in which someone is said to be "smiling... like some kind of owl." Once again I find myself forced to state my belief that owls do not smile or grin. What else? Oh! McNeil has an idea for a comic book about a character he has created, Professor Moon Menace. I hesitate to reveal too much about Professor Moon Menace, but his name gives you a fair idea of some of his interests.

Lightly Fictionalized Belt

I thought you'd want to know that Dr. Theresa bought me a new belt! The last time I bought a belt was 2015, as I know because I bought it to wear to the Peabody Awards, for which reason that belt was lightly fictionalized in Chapters 67 and 312 of my novel SWEET BANANAS. How could anyone ever forget that belt and all the adventures we had together, considering how I immortalized it so much? Now I will tell you something really remarkable. As I was doing the necessary belt research for this "post," I discovered that in 2008, I had made a joke here about nominating my own reflections on the subject of belts for a Peabody Award. Little did I know then that a mere seven years later I'd be going to the real Peabody Awards wearing an actual belt. In other literary news, I was reading an old comic book last night, and a man traveled back in time, where he scared off a panther with his modern cigarette lighter. I don't think it would work, but that's not the point. I just want to say that there was a whole section in my cigarette lighter book (cleverly titled CIGARETTE LIGHTER) devoted to the common narrative ploy of people going back in time and scaring people or animals with their modern cigarette lighters. This old comic book might have supplied yet another example that no one would care about. But life is filled with such regrets! In conclusion, I am sure you recall my "blog" post from 2007, about the time I lost weight so Dr. Theresa (who was not even a Dr. at the time!) took a hammer and a nail and made me a fresh homemade belt hole from scratch. Well, I've lost weight again and this time she was able to buy me a new belt. But a part of me misses the olden times when Dr. Theresa spent her days and nights making new holes in old belts like a tireless magical elf.