When I was a boy (Uh Oh. Here we go again with another in Mel’s series of meandering memories) my grandfather ran a junkyard just east of the town where I was born. You probably didn’t need to know this, but it does explain quite a bit about me. Each visit to his dump was a bit of adventure and I remember the distinct smells of the place (rusting metal and cattle from the pasture across the road) and the sound the merchandise made as I rummaged through and over piles of stuff. I once took a girl there for family meet and greet. I was, after all, a stupid young man. Having a relative “in the business” meant lots of  freebies. One thing I became a connoisseur of was second-hand comic books. My grandparents gave me crates of them, dating back to the 1950′s and ’60′s. There were a few super hero titles in the stacks, but many were classic Harvey books (Ritchie Rich, Casper, Wendy). My favorites were the piles of macabre books and I learned to read with classic science-gone-wrong titles like Killdozer, Swamp Thing, and Ghost Rider. As if to keep me on the path of righteousness, there were always Evangelical comics mixed in, usually published by the Spire company. Generally they were biographies, such as the Billy Graham Story and (inexplicably) The Tom Landry Story. Many were condensed comic serial versions of full length books from Spire’s heyday (The Cross and The Switchblade, Burn Baby Burn, God’s Smuggler and The Hiding Place). I’m not ashamed to admit that I spent hours reading the biographical comics and still find myself reading mostly about the lives of famous individuals. The comics didn’t end up hurting me too much. No, it was when grandpa started giving me boxes of ’70′s Redbook and Good Housekeeping that I slid into the abyss. I started down the path of baking William Conrad’s favorite meatloaf and getting fondue tips from Dyan Cannon, then I began the life of an adolescent hoodlum.

The New York Times, the paper that doesn’t resemble a comic book no matter which way you hold it, ran a story today by George Gene Gustines on the growing popularity of comic book publisher Blue Water Productions ( http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/29/fashion/29comics.html?partner=rss&emc=rss ) The company has found success in publishing multiple lines of biographical comic featuring influential individuals and positive role models for young people. Many of the subjects I understand and would enjoy reading about. The Sarah Palin book would be wonderfully interesting and a refreshing antidote to her self-penned biography. What an action packed comic that would be as we turn pages and see her shooting animals from a helicopter, or fighting a giant salmon. Lady GaGa’s book doesn’t carry a lot of weight since her videos and live appearances are better than anything a comic artist could conceive. Lindsey Lohan would make a great comic heroine, especially as a rags-to riches-to-rags/ fight-the-man story (better yet, just rehash Steve Martin’s The Jerk as a comic book). In October, Blue Water plans to publish an Olivia Newton-John comic book. Big hair and all. At least the proceeds, if any, go to charity.

Darren Davis, Bluewater’s president, insists at the conclusion of the Times article that there will be no Heidi Montag-Pratt comic book, or biographies of other reality TV stars. Aw, C’mon! Jersey Shore’s Snooki is a walking cartoon herself. Tell me that the publishing world isn’t waiting for Snooki and The Situation to join other mutants with weird tans and misshapen torsos to fight New Jersey’s evil Governor Jon Corzine. Now that’s a comic book. You can purchase these wonderful (and mercifully short) bio-comics at your local Jo-Ann Fabrics store. No comment on that one.

Some months ago the blog received angry e-mail comments over a post about Grace the Beagle and her inclination to sit happily underneath a dryer vent. In light of our desire to provide a quality blog, we went out and hired the cheapest animal health and wellness editor we could find. As it turns out, he’s really expensive, what with all the dinners and manicures we’re on the hook for providing him with. Nevertheless, we asked our new Pet Life editor, Sparkles Poulet, to answer some of the recent questions from animal lovers who’ve read/stumbled onto Spatula In The Wilderness. Without further ado, here is Sparkles with answers to questions from the mail bag*:

CC@Sabathia wrote: Dear Spatulas, I’m wondering if my 3 year old tabby, Mr. Morton, is gay. How can I tell for sure?

Sparkles: C.C., I assume you’re referring to the Times story from earlier this week about the mating habits of the  Laysan Albatross? The real question should be “Is Mr. Morton fabulous?” What have you done to accentuate Mr. Morton’s fabulous nature? When you take Mr. Morton shopping, what does he like to look at? Does Mr. Morto n eat just any food, or does he turn his nose up at all that isn’t fabulous? What about television? Does he give you that certain whispered purr when it’s time to change the channel over from COPS in favor of What Not To Wear? No C.C., your tabby isn’t gay, he’s a superstar in the making.

Minka wrote: I taught my lab Dyna to read and now she won’t stop going through my mail. In fact, she’s looking over my shoulder now. What can I do?

Minka, darling? You need to look at the glorious bright side in this situation. Have Dyna sort the junk mail (bills, jury duty form s)  from the delicious mail (scented letters, shoe catalogues)and put them into separate piles. After that, sweetie, get yourself a boyfriend and leave Dyna with life’s dirty work. Can she run Turbo Tax for you? What about reading for your job? She’s your best friend, girl, and you’ve got to accentuate all that this dog can do for you!

WOW Matt wrote: How do I train my dragon? For real?

Let me see, Matty…you’re probably 12 or 13, right?  Trust me. This question will take on a whole new meaning for you in no time.  BTW hon, Did you love the Dragon movie? I’m dying to see it.

Josephinetheplumber wrote: I have such a crust crush on Cesar Millan, The Dog Whisperer. Where can I get in touch with him?

Ditto that, Josephine. Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to give out his digits anymore (or call him myself. sigh).

Carny writes: I am interested in a career in veterinary journalism. How did you get started as Pet Life editor for this blog?

Craig’s List.

Blank@Blank writes: Should I adopt a pet, or just buy a Chia Pet?

Golly, Blank, it sounds like you’ve given this some thought! Okay, it doesn’t, but that’s the kind of thing I’m expected to tell people who email questions. Let me answer this way. Cue dramatic music. Lights down, please. I was once a lonely man and not the ultra fabulous Pet Life editor writing to you today. I adopted a Chia lamb, but it didn’t love me back. Cold to the touch. I gave it hair cuts and it just sat there. So, I made to-die-for salads with it’s hair. Alas, there was no spark, no relationship. A real pet is warmth, and unconditional love. Is there anything better than that (and don’t say Chia salad)?

*Apologies to the late essayist James Thurber for stealing his famous bit.

3/15/10

One of the themes of the Spatula blog has been reporting the joys of my daughter’s first grade homework assignments. The very idea of even having first grade homework is a little foreign to me. After all, I really wasn’t assigned much of anything at that age. I was responsible for making it the mile and a half to school and returning (although my parents were kind of vague on that part) each day. Most days I’d wind up hanging around the Mighty Midget liquor market, scoping out Wacky Packages, and then hightail through the adjacent cemetery to make it to school on time. Homework would have been a lot to ask. Her current assignment involves writing down how school and life are different than they were thirty years ago (when I was supposed to be in school and not at the Mighty Midget). The differences are striking. For starters, if my parents had been able to locate me with global positioning, there wouldn’t have been a running phone dialogue between my elementary school principal, the convenience store clerks and themselves.

I was fascinated today by the lead story in the tech section of the New York Times. Apparently, there are a growing number of people who want to be found. More precisely, monitored and tracked.  Jenna Wortham has a feature story called Telling Friends Where You Are (Or Not). Wortham writes about the emergence of “checking in” at this past week’s South By Southwest conference in Austin, Texas.  Beyond Twitter (and way beyond Facebook, which our seven year old told us was “so last year”) is the trend toward constant positional updating to a network of friends, via services like Foursquare. Checking in is a way of telling everyone exactly where you are at all times. In many ways it promotes a sense of security. For example, the way many people first heard about Facebook was in 2007 during the violent rampage on the Virginia Tech campus. Now, if a system like Foursquare had been popular, that would have just added another level of “I’m okay” reassurance to a horrendous situation. Call it the OnStar revolution. You never travel alone in this day and age.

I may invoke my Grandmother’s technology cut off on this one. Grandma told me once that she was halting the march of future information convenience in her home with the VCR. She didn’t want to hear about personal computers or e-mail. The CD player was too much. Nope, the VCR would tape the Young and The Restless and that was a good place to stop. I like to still believe there are wide open spaces on this planet where I can shuffle off to in peace. As much as I love seeing electronic progress, there is still a six year old in me that just wants to schlumph over to the Midget and hang around for a little while without telling anyone. Then again,  I blog my every thought and sneeze. Who am I kidding?

The New York Times ran a piece this morning about the adoption by Pennsylvania (and 25 other states) of a standardized test to measure the readiness of high school seniors for the world  after graduation. The tests have been widely criticized for lobbing enough softball questions at potential graduates to only weed out the very dumbest. Needless to say, I wouldn’t have passed such a test. The end of my high school years came with a mutual agreement from both the teachers and myself that there was no benefit from my continued presence in classes. I was 26 at the time. The principal even gave me a ride up the hill to the Kalamazoo State Mental Hospital, and exchanged me for several students with a little fire in their eyes (no telling who set the fires). I am curious about the type of questions on these tests, which the Times makes no mention of. If I was administering the testing, questions might be posed such as:

1. If Johnny has two apples, Mary Jean has three oranges, and Reynaldo has a bowl of macaroni, how much food do they have?
2. If a Greyhound bus leaves Toledo at 8:00 p.m. with 57 passengers and an Amtrak train leaves Baltimore at 3:30 p.m (empty) which will get to Westpoint, Georgia first?
3. You have 32 hamburgers to flip in 12 seconds. What is the best angle for your spatula?
4. Define the term “casting couch.”
5. Define your understanding of women.

Answers: 1. Reynaldo is diabetic and has dropped his macaroni making it unusable. Mary Jean shares her oranges with Johnny, but he dresses all the fruit in wigs and ultra-suede outfits, and refuses to eat any of them, because they’ve replaced the family he never had. No food available.

2. The train arrived at 8:05 p.m, EST, despite the engineer’s crack addiction. We’re still waiting for the bus.

3. Just try not to hit yourself in the head with the spatula and you’ll have a long, storied career in burgers. Or end up a middle-aged blogger.

4. The casting couch is an alternate career route, although most schools refuse to acknowledge it as a legitimate form of cooperative education.

5. If you have an answer for this question, your readiness for college (and beyond) is off the charts. Congratulations, smarty! http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/12/education/12exit.html?partner=rss&emc=rss