I'm not sure if a lot of people will get this if they're not into comics, but hopefully it'll be poignant enough for a mass audience. not that the 2 people who will read it can be considered a mass audience, but still, I said I would write more and so here I go.
So, anyway, yeah, I read comics, and consequently don't date very often (or, perhaps more accurately, very well.) For years, I've sold off a large portion of my collection, usually when a movie of that character came out, only to have it build back up, since I usually go to the store every week. I'm not usually into buying old ones, but keep up with new stuff, of course. And I'm not one of those people who spends $60-70 bucks a week, either. Usually $20 per visit is my max. Still in "hobby" area.
Recently, I started selling off even more of my collection, even the old ones I was saving for a rainy day in the hopes that they would one day be worth tons of money. Old (well, twenty-five years or so) Spider-Man comics. Old Avengers that I bought at R & R in Whitman when I was really young and I just wanted to get a little history lesson. Even recent stuff that I bought, read, and decided I would probably never read again. Not a lot is off the table these days. Mostly the few good things from the last decade and stuff that is pretty worthless anyway.
A quick look at my recent ebay history shows this: Dark Avengers (Full Run) #1-16 for $21, Fatale #1-5 (Full Run) $24. Red Robin (Full Run) #1-26 for $47.51. Secret Avengers #1-12 for $11.51. That doesn't include the individual ones (old Spideys and Avengers) I sold for less that $2.00 each, or Amazing Spider-Man #319, which apparently was in less-than stellar condition and the buyer asked for a refund. I gladly gave it, but he didn't have to be such a wanker about it. Plus, a few trade paperbacks on Amazon (adding up to a grand total of about $20.) I've also sold long runs of Iron Man and Spider-Man recently, but eBay only lets you look back for 60 days.
Point? I'm still flat broke! These things that I was saving for a rainy day? Well, it's pouring, and I'm still getting wet. I guess soggy, old comics don't make for much of a rain-hat.
Mixed metaphors aside, it kind of makes me sad. And not in a "Gee, I wish I had more money way," or because I feel like I made a bad investment, because comics as an investment are definitely a terrible idea. More because this huge part of my youth, and my life now, is sort of a waste. Even the stuff I read now I've pretty much forgotten about it ten minutes later, so the idea that I get a lot of enjoyment out of it is not 100% correct. Comics are mostly something to eat over my Corn Flakes.
At least Corn Flakes are still enjoyable.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Fenway Park: A Life
Every Bostonian knows the Red Sox suck right now. But at least we do have something to be happy about: the 100th anniversary of Fenway Park. (Unless you've been living under a rock, it'sthis weekend.) As a long-time fan and as someone who has been to the place many, many times, I thought I'd write about it a little.
I attended the Open House they had the other day, and despite it being packed with people, it was a great experience. We walked the Green Monster seats, went though the press box, walked in some sections that I'll probably never sit in, and generally soaked in the atmosphere. The line for the dugout and stuff was really long, but honestly, I never pass up any opportunity to go into Fenway Park, so just being there was enough.
The thing is, no matter how disappointing the team is, Fenway is a place unlike any other. Yeah, you could say it's just a place to watch baseball (and hockey, and see concerts...) But there is no place to watch baseball like it in the universe. I would like to think if I was born in Pittsburgh and was a Pirates fan, I would still like Fenway Park. And it would be easy to complain about the cramped seats and the poles blocking your vision, and the high prices and disgusting restrooms. But even I can't do that, It's Fenway. That is part of its character. It's like in life and relationships. Nobody is perfect, and accepting someone for who they are is part of being in the relationship. Fenway is not perfect, but you accept the faults as part of the place. If not for these things, would it be the same? Okay, maybe the high prices can go, but the rest? No way.
Over the last 30 years or so, I have some great memories of being in Fenway Park. I remember sitting in the bleachers for my first game, and really expecting a home run up there. I remember the second game of their big winning streak in 1988, when Kevin Romine won the game in the bottom of the ninth with a home run. I remember watching the roided-up Oakland A's take batting practice and just launching balls over thw wall and onto Landsdowne St., and I remember my favorite player at the time, Jose Canseco, signing an autograph for me, and almost getting crushed agaist the wall by home plate getting it, but I still have that card. I remember the clinching game in 1995, when literally 35,000 people erupting in unison when Jeff Reardon got the final strikeout. I walked out of class in college to go be an extra in John Travolta's "A Civil Action," which was filimg at fenway. The scene was eventually cut, but it marks the only time i got paid to be at Fenway. (Man, I would have paid them.) The epic night in September 2003, when I was 11th row for Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. Then, probably the greatest game I've ever been to, Game 1 of the 2004 World Series, an 11-9 red Sox win en route to their first Championship in 86 years. Coming off the huge comeback against the Yankees, the place, the whole city, was perhaps never more alive than it was that night.
When I saw Springsteen there in 2003, it was like being in Mecca. Even Bruce, a Jersey-ite, felt the energy of the place. Before playing "My City of Ruins," he said, "There aren't too many places when you walk into, and even when it's empty, you can feel the soul of the city,... it's one of those places that's always full." It's not just a place to watch baseball. It has a spirit, a soul, a life. It is the last ballpark, and it is one of the few places that hasn't been given a ridiculous corporate-sponsored name. Fenway is a piece of history, and it's a really cool thing, baseball fan or not, really, to be a small part of that history. Even if it's just by being there.
I attended the Open House they had the other day, and despite it being packed with people, it was a great experience. We walked the Green Monster seats, went though the press box, walked in some sections that I'll probably never sit in, and generally soaked in the atmosphere. The line for the dugout and stuff was really long, but honestly, I never pass up any opportunity to go into Fenway Park, so just being there was enough.
The thing is, no matter how disappointing the team is, Fenway is a place unlike any other. Yeah, you could say it's just a place to watch baseball (and hockey, and see concerts...) But there is no place to watch baseball like it in the universe. I would like to think if I was born in Pittsburgh and was a Pirates fan, I would still like Fenway Park. And it would be easy to complain about the cramped seats and the poles blocking your vision, and the high prices and disgusting restrooms. But even I can't do that, It's Fenway. That is part of its character. It's like in life and relationships. Nobody is perfect, and accepting someone for who they are is part of being in the relationship. Fenway is not perfect, but you accept the faults as part of the place. If not for these things, would it be the same? Okay, maybe the high prices can go, but the rest? No way.
Over the last 30 years or so, I have some great memories of being in Fenway Park. I remember sitting in the bleachers for my first game, and really expecting a home run up there. I remember the second game of their big winning streak in 1988, when Kevin Romine won the game in the bottom of the ninth with a home run. I remember watching the roided-up Oakland A's take batting practice and just launching balls over thw wall and onto Landsdowne St., and I remember my favorite player at the time, Jose Canseco, signing an autograph for me, and almost getting crushed agaist the wall by home plate getting it, but I still have that card. I remember the clinching game in 1995, when literally 35,000 people erupting in unison when Jeff Reardon got the final strikeout. I walked out of class in college to go be an extra in John Travolta's "A Civil Action," which was filimg at fenway. The scene was eventually cut, but it marks the only time i got paid to be at Fenway. (Man, I would have paid them.) The epic night in September 2003, when I was 11th row for Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. Then, probably the greatest game I've ever been to, Game 1 of the 2004 World Series, an 11-9 red Sox win en route to their first Championship in 86 years. Coming off the huge comeback against the Yankees, the place, the whole city, was perhaps never more alive than it was that night.
When I saw Springsteen there in 2003, it was like being in Mecca. Even Bruce, a Jersey-ite, felt the energy of the place. Before playing "My City of Ruins," he said, "There aren't too many places when you walk into, and even when it's empty, you can feel the soul of the city,... it's one of those places that's always full." It's not just a place to watch baseball. It has a spirit, a soul, a life. It is the last ballpark, and it is one of the few places that hasn't been given a ridiculous corporate-sponsored name. Fenway is a piece of history, and it's a really cool thing, baseball fan or not, really, to be a small part of that history. Even if it's just by being there.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
A Year Later...
On March 24th, 2011, just about a year ago, I wrote this post regarding being hospitalized for severe anemia. If you don't feel like clicking over, the gist of it was that it was so rare that someone be that anemic and still walking, that they had no idea what was wrong with me so did not send me home. It was also the first of many House references on this blog.
Point is, that was a year ago, when everything basically went to shit. Like, really severely down the crapper. I was hospitalized for most of April and May, give or take a few days when they thought they had fixed me, and then spent June going in for infusions, being treated by a visiting nurse and treating myself with antibiotics that I injected into a PICC line dangling from my arm, which went nicely with the portable gunk-catching chest tube I had dangling from my side. Like a purse that matches your shoes, eh?
But that was then, and this is now, and yesterday at about 3:00 (after a rough day), I decided to buy a ticket to see Bruce Springsteen at the Garden, a few hours before the show actually took place. I think that's a pretty good illustration of how I'm feeling now as opposed to a year ago., or even a few months ago.
Bruce, first of all, was incredible. I've seen him live several times now, in different venues and different incarnation (solo, Seeger Sessions, Fenway, etc.) and I think that last night's show may have topped them all. I mean, the dude is in his early-60's (truly, as he sang in Thunder Road back in 1975, he "ain't that young, anymore."), but he can still go. Hell, I was tired near the end of this three-hour show last night, and I wasn't putting forth nearly the same effort he was. The cool thing is, I don't know how he is in other cities, but he certainly seems to love Boston (he did kind of get his start here back in the day), and Boston certainly loves him, so I'm not sure which came first, but he seems to add a little spice to his shows when he plays here. Sliding across the stage, crowd-surfing, running all over the stage... I can't even do that, no matter how good I'm feeling. It was, as one fan put it on facebook, "a religious experience."
And so it was, as just a year ago, I could barely breathe. I am still on a small dose of steroids, and a "kidney vitamin," which I'll probably have to take forever because my kidneys were permanently scarred, but last night, for the first time in awhile, I felt like my old self. I woke up yesterday thinking it would be an ordinary Monday, and ended it with an amazing Bruce Springsteen show. I feel like that could have happened to me five years ago, but not in the last year, certainly. Physically, I have felt okay for awhile, but it took a little longer than I anticipated to get back mentally. So long that I didn't really even know that I wasn't there yet.
But now, I know I am. Thanks again for the inspiration, Bruce.
Point is, that was a year ago, when everything basically went to shit. Like, really severely down the crapper. I was hospitalized for most of April and May, give or take a few days when they thought they had fixed me, and then spent June going in for infusions, being treated by a visiting nurse and treating myself with antibiotics that I injected into a PICC line dangling from my arm, which went nicely with the portable gunk-catching chest tube I had dangling from my side. Like a purse that matches your shoes, eh?
But that was then, and this is now, and yesterday at about 3:00 (after a rough day), I decided to buy a ticket to see Bruce Springsteen at the Garden, a few hours before the show actually took place. I think that's a pretty good illustration of how I'm feeling now as opposed to a year ago., or even a few months ago.
Bruce, first of all, was incredible. I've seen him live several times now, in different venues and different incarnation (solo, Seeger Sessions, Fenway, etc.) and I think that last night's show may have topped them all. I mean, the dude is in his early-60's (truly, as he sang in Thunder Road back in 1975, he "ain't that young, anymore."), but he can still go. Hell, I was tired near the end of this three-hour show last night, and I wasn't putting forth nearly the same effort he was. The cool thing is, I don't know how he is in other cities, but he certainly seems to love Boston (he did kind of get his start here back in the day), and Boston certainly loves him, so I'm not sure which came first, but he seems to add a little spice to his shows when he plays here. Sliding across the stage, crowd-surfing, running all over the stage... I can't even do that, no matter how good I'm feeling. It was, as one fan put it on facebook, "a religious experience."
And so it was, as just a year ago, I could barely breathe. I am still on a small dose of steroids, and a "kidney vitamin," which I'll probably have to take forever because my kidneys were permanently scarred, but last night, for the first time in awhile, I felt like my old self. I woke up yesterday thinking it would be an ordinary Monday, and ended it with an amazing Bruce Springsteen show. I feel like that could have happened to me five years ago, but not in the last year, certainly. Physically, I have felt okay for awhile, but it took a little longer than I anticipated to get back mentally. So long that I didn't really even know that I wasn't there yet.
But now, I know I am. Thanks again for the inspiration, Bruce.
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