As I figured he would, Jack has posted the details of his son’s birth over at his Web site, just in case anyone out there is interested in reading more on that subject. He also offers up “tacky, sentimental, poorly framed, badly lit photos of the chap.”
Anne and I went to dinner last night with our friends Jack and Natalie Hattaway. We usually average one night out with them per month, and lately it seems like we’ve bumped up the frequency a bit. These evenings together are always relaxed, low-key affairs, filled with laughter and endless talk about… well, not much of anything, really, but the discussion is always entertaining.
Last night, however, felt different. Our conversation wasn’t exactly heavy but there was definitely something in the air, the same mildly anxious feeling you get as a kid when the back-to-school sales begin. You know a particular time of your life is winding down and a new one is about to begin. Change is imminent, and while the change may not be unwelcome, there is always some concern about exactly what it will mean. Last night this concern manifested itself in a reluctance to let the evening end. I believe all four of us felt it. We felt compelled to watch just one more episode of Samurai Jack, even though it was already past Anne and Jack’s bedtime. And we had to stand together on Jack and Nat’s front porch for just another couple of minutes, talking about just one more topic before we called it a night. As I backed my car out of their driveway, I looked toward their house and saw Natalie still standing on the porch. Natalie, looking very round and uncomfortable and ready to not be pregnant anymore. Change was imminent.
The change arrived this afternoon with the birth of the Hattaways’ first child, a boy named Cole. I’m sure Jack will be posting the relevant statistics soon on his own Web site, so I will say only that mother and child are doing fine and Jack sounded only moderately shell-shocked when I spoke with him on the phone. He and Natalie have Anne’s and my congratulations and fondest wishes. I’m sure the future will hold many more shared dinners and bowling games and trips to the Shakespeare festival and perhaps to other destinations as well. But I also know that things will be different now, and that makes me just a bit sad.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m thrilled for my friends and look forward to seeing their boy. I know they’re going to be fine parents and that this event will bring them much happiness. But I am also glad we managed to have last night, just the four of us, because I know there will never be another night exactly like it. Thanks, guys, for calling me yesterday afternoon…
This is one of those days when I have a lot of things I’d like to blog about and little time to do any of them justice, so I apologize in advance for throwing out a bunch of unconnected (and unedited) nuggets:
I’ve been thinking that it’s kind of a bummer to begin the holiday weekend with an obituary, so I thought I’d put up something a bit more entertaining. Of course, the odds are against anyone actually reading any of this before Tuesday morning, and if you are reading this over the weekend, I recommend that you immediately shut down your computer and get yourself outside. Follow the smell of charred beef and cordite until you find some Fourth of July festivities, then plant your butt in a lawn chair and enjoy the things that make this country great: artery-clogging meat products, microbrewed beer, and entertaining pyrotechnic devices. Or, as Apu once said, “Celebrate the independence of your country by blowing up a small piece of it.”
If, however, you are one of those unfortunate drones who is chained to the computer during this time of revelry, listening to the slow methodical drumbeat of that fat guy who lets you know when to swing the oar, allow me to provide you with some diversions:
James Lileks had some interesting thoughts this morning about film, specifically about the subjective nature of comedy, and how well (or how poorly) a film plays to an audience a couple of generations removed from the intended one.
He’s discussing one of the later Marx Brothers movies when he says:
I didn’t know what to expect from CONduit. I was looking forward to satisfying my curiosity about a large, general-interest science fiction convention, but I was also apprehensive. I feared that the con would be lame, that I would end up feeling like I’d wasted my time and money. Even worse, I feared that I would feel ashamed of myself for being associated with something so… geeky.
I was in the art gallery, peering closely at a painting of Hobbiton as reflected in the brass doorknob of Bilbo Baggins’ home at Bag End, when a sniggering, adolescent voice intruded upon my thoughts. The owner of the voice was trying to sound Evil and Menacing, but he reminded me more of Beavis than Beelzebub.
What the would-be Dark Lord Beavis said, in melodramatic, B-movie fashion, was, “I will rule your world with fear and pain, heh heh heh.”
He paused for dramatic effect, then added, “Pull my finger.”
So the terrorists are coming, eh? That’s what the Department of Homeland Security is saying today. Intelligence chatter indicates something big is scheduled for later this summer, maybe involving chemical or bio-weapons. Isn’t that just swell?
A number of friends have achieved or will be achieving some significant goals this month, so a round of congratulatory back-slappings is in order for the following individuals:
I’ve run across a couple of interesting items today that I’d like to share, both courtesy of Mark Evanier. Evanier is an interesting guy, a Los Angeles-based writer who has worked in television (notably, he penned for many of the Saturday morning cartoons that rotted my brain as a kid) and comics (he was apprenticed under the legendary Jack Kirby and is a friend and colleague of Sergio Aragonés). He is also a Las Vegas enthusiast, amateur historian and unabashedly sentimental nostalgic. He’s the sort of guy I would happily call “friend,” if I could finagle some way to meet him, and his frequently-updated blog is on my daily hit list.
Anyway, the first thing Evanier directed me to was a fantastic New York Times op-ed piece by Michael Chabon in which he discusses the nature of the teenage mind, the reason why teens seem to be drawn to the Darker Side of entertainment and art, and the folly of trying to protect our children from the uglier aspects of life. As someone who read a helluva lot of Stephen King, Robert E. Howard, and other violent fictions while growing up without suffering any ill effects, I tend to agree with Chabon’s logic. This is a literate, thought-provoking piece that I highly recommend to anyone who has kids or who cares about freedom of expression. And, incidentally, if you haven’t read Chabon’s novel, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, do yourself a favor and pick it up immediately. It was the best fiction I read last year.
The other item of interest is a personal essay by Evanier himself in which he remembers his childhood hang-out, a Los Angeles drugstore where he bought comic books, discovered his first girlie magazine, made a friend of the proprietor, and first felt the sting of losing a place that really mattered to him in the name of “progress.” I found this essay very moving, and it evoked my own childhood memories of buying comics off the rack in a drugstore that has long since been torn down. It’s a good piece. I hope you enjoy it.