CCLVIII - what makes a comic great

I love comics. Comics are that incredible interlace between action, expression, contemplation and speech, filled with colour, hand-drawn authenticity and freedom to draw, whether within or without the panel or filling the entire page. That wow moment when you hit a "centrefold", that action scene, or the beautiful, leather-and-mesh femme fatale drawn entirely across, even to the extent of pull out pages, I mean, that's comics. They come from an older time, too, and being drawn and filled by I think the quirkier characters and artists of the 70s or 80s, it feels like something precious handed down by an older generation of flat-out rebels: men who hated villainy, hegemony, smallness, and instead celebrated manhood, the strength of women, the underdog, the street champion against all odds. What makes a comic great? I think it's to do with the fact that it's immediately brought to your attention, opening a comic book, that there is something great in this world that has to be overcome, and the person you're reading about is just the person to do it, in his or her own way. And obviously, comic books are about the very, sexy, women.

I have a favourite comic character, the Batman. It's very simple why I like the Batman. The fact is, he doesn't have any super powers, but he uses his god damn brains to fight crime, and his will. Yes, sure, he has money, and Alfred, but you might think that he's still the Batman regardless. And come on, the villains he has! The very best, the Joker. There isn't a better villain. He's not exactly the anti-thesis of Batman. He's simply himself; he's out there to embody madness. Batman, in contrast, embodies something more concrete; he simply doesn't tolerate crime. Some say, Batman is an outlaw. I think that sort of misses the point. He has a moral compass which is 99% within the shape of the law, and the things he does in that other 1%, he regrets, I promise you. In some ways, he plays the Batman with sorrow. The Joker's glee, if you were to put it that way, is not really the point, it's just a symptom of his being the Joker. He doesn't need to entertain anyone, or even himself; he's past self-reflection. That's the incredible, magnetic thing about the Joker. He's a pure madman. How should I see it? It's like if you woke up in a dream world and you could do anything with absolutely no consequence or moral implication. Nothing. And you decided to say the hell with it, and you did whatever came to mind, all day and every day. That's what it means, I think.

I started with comics probably with Asterix and Obelix. I loved the Romans! They're so military and yet so frightened of Obelix. After that it was probably a bit of Vampirella, a tiny bit of Marvel. I'm not a Marvel fan, I'll be honest. I can't suspend my rationality enough to be one. The modern movies are too much, too. I sorta prefer the tragicomedy of the older films. I liked Sandman, I loved Watchmen on the second reading. League of Gentlemen was OK (in some ways, come to think of it, the Invisible Man is like the Joker in that he can do anything he wants and almost nobody can stop him). I don't own Superman, X-men or Spidey. I'm more of a thinking comic guy I guess; I like it when it's less explicit what's going on.

I also have this comic guy I like, he writes Achewood. Onstad. There's this other guy, Chris Ware, but he's a little bit too down for me. Achewood is it, though, to me it's basically the Simpsons of comic books. Thank god for Ray and Beef! They have to be the greatest comic book partners of all time. Ray is a completely un-selfconscious richboy fatcat, and Beef is basically a deflated balloon whizzing spirals on its way down, unless he's doing IT stuff or talking about a car, in which case he transforms into one of those geeks on Mythbusters. Onstad's thing is very obscure conversations featuring personas from history. Beyond the panels, he's gone through family, breakups, life, business, sadness, and still he gives and connects with his fans through the comics, now on Patreon. It's really good.

Again, what makes a comic great? I think consistency, and character. When I open a comic, recognise the stuff, the parts played genuinely, and the wow effect from the art, interpret the facial expressions, try to imagine what's unsaid, I think that's what makes the whole comic thing great. That's why, honestly, I don't think that comics make great movies, although they can make decent ones out of the comic characters. (Having said that, the old animated Batman series was incredible.) A comic is simply a series of panels. Once you change that, it's no longer a comic in the sense of what that concept is. The deliberacy of the snapshot by snapshot thing is gone, with all its subtext and subtlety. I like that, a lot.

CCLVI - no longer small

You are no longer small. I am hardly worried about you in the sense of you being a tender, squishy little baby. Naturally, you have the run of the house, and your reach startles me sometimes. Around me you are hardly ever worried; you can play quietly and blissfully. I am glad that you know this. You mumble certain things in almost-words, so I am sure that you will quite enjoy talking to me. Already you enjoy certain liberties in the way you bathe, eat, change, the toys that you like to hold on to, the chairs that you like to sit on. 

Of course, I think that you are very cute. But that is not the main thing I think about when I think about you. Actually, I think that you are very interesting, and I like to try to understand your expressions. It is usually one of mirth or curiosity, and simple determination. You repeat simple words such as Up when you are climbing, and Mine when you are holding things and I request to hold them. It's very good. You are quite an active toddler, and your little round tummy doesn't slow you down. It feeds a little giddy laugh you make when you're extremely entertained.

No, you are no longer a baby. It's just one more little step for you into being a child. I hope you won't mind my being a little correct-or once in a while. I think it's what makes you happy with me, that you know my tendencies to be strict, and short of that almost anything goes. Well, that, I suppose and my ability to almost completely disdain mobile devices. God help those who can't put them down. Anyway, for you, that will be in future. Don't worry.

Sometimes when you are sad or hurt, I tell you, quiet, baby, quiet. I hope you understand; that's the best I can do. I don't intend to mollycoddle you. I don't think you need it. And it sounds too ironic when I do it anyway. Ironic means to be in contrast to what it appears to be. You'll probably understand it soon enough with me. I think most people either like it or dislike it intensely, depending whether they're smart or their stupid. Well, I shouldn't say that. You'll judge for yourself, I suppose.

CCLV - KL

KL is a lot nicer than I expected. Of what I've seen, it's cleaner and more modern than Ho Chi Minh. I would have to say that its affluence, at least on the outward side of things, at the very centre, is comparable to Singapore. But that would not go very far in describing the city. It is crowded, and doesn't have clean streets. But you can tell that it matters to them. I suppose, as in any big town, that there is a vast multitude of young and old doing menial things to keep the city sane. I hope they are not overlooked.

Anyway, you can say that KL is maybe 20 or so years behind us, in terms of what one sees from the bus and from walking the hustly bustly markets. I suppose things are cheap and living isn't too dear. There's a lot of hobby and craft on the side, a lot of room and time for it. Maybe you can say that those kinds of folks aren't grafters, but who can judge how a man or woman wants to do his or her own thing? You can't. 

I hope they think of education as precious though. You can't, and I say this with my own prejudices, but you can't provide a comparably wealthy life for yourself and your family without education. That's not saying very much, of course. It's empty by itself, and you have to fill it in with your own determinism. I guess some folks are perfectly satisfied being in first or second gear their whole lives, and think about it only later (again, with the prejudices). What am I, in fourth gear? Come on, now. Those sultans of swing were doing alright, thank you very much. I think what it takes is for a rising tide to lift all boats. Malaysia deserves it, Vietnam deserves it, etc. We were lucky, that's all.

Being a tourist is like being a little bitch. You see this, you say that, you laugh at this, you buy that. Thank god, we have a lot of Melayus and Mikes. So we blend in. But it's obvious we're here to have a good time and spend money, so thank god, we blend in. But I guess that's South East Asia, and certainly KL, everyone comes and goes, and blending in isn’t so much being x as the other side is ok with y. Hanging out with the cabin crew boys, you can see they have their own prejudices, young and old. But in general they are polite and proper, and not too bitchy. In a way, I'm glad I'm both with them and not with them, if that makes any sense. A quiet memory or two, y'know.

Football, football. We had a guy come in, phew, what a dude. Extra black, his belt. Coral, in fact. And such a sweet man too. But the truth is that he smacked a guy for kicking him, had to sit, and we lost the game after. I was so happy on Saturday, sitting down with the dude, basking in the comfort that we were playing good, going for gold. Touching distance. I have only one wish that I could do different this whole weekend, and that's I would have grabbed the other guy first and, well, shielded him. Anyway we couldn't get it done after that, no air in our balloon. I didn't even feel sad that we lost, and another team, or two, danced. It was clear. 

Anyway, I had fun, and I'm old enough not to feed sad. I feel bad for the lads that didn't get to play often. That's on the manager, not on them, 100%. I should tell them that next time. I appreciate all the lads, man, even the guys we scuffled. Not playing much, we've all been there. Well, that's that, unfortunately.

CCLIV - twinkling

I would have liked to write about you more regularly, if only to let you know that I am on occasion a passable writer, that I think about you often, and finally, I suppose, to give you a sort of running commentary on how you are becoming bigger. I guess none of those points are in serious danger of being overlooked. But I hope you enjoy these entries. One must leave behind something.

You have a funny little forward tilt when you want to advance. It smacks of a simple, confident determination, however innocent, or impulsive, it might otherwise seem. But I am convinced that you are a lot better at vouchsafing that little head of yours than me. I know, and was often told, that I used to have a lot of bumps on my forehead. Perhaps I was just a little more excitable than you. You patter along very ably now, on very strong little legs and tush. Indeed, you seldom prefer to hold on to my hand when walking through the MRT underpass. What a joyful little walking gallery it is, with long, running escalators, good airflow, and passers-by who gleam (I should say "beam", but for some reason, I prefer "gleam") so ardently at you. (It's funny I notice too that other children are a little wary of you; well, I suppose, any other toddlers.) But for now, you seem right at home. I like that about you.

Your verbal injunctions could take a little refinement. Lately every round fruit is an apple, you get what bowls are, but sometimes you say gar or something else. Well, your whinging is top-notch, I must say. I wonder where you learnt that. And the funny thing about you is that when I give you an instruction, perhaps not what you were keen to hear, you sort of have a little gumption, and take a little stand for yourself. You end up smacking something or other with your hands, yelping little 'ay's back at me, or throwing out some object you get to hand. Well, we probably have to work on that a little.

You are a very carriageable weight. 10.8, I'm told. I am happy when I carry you. You understand very well when it is time to go out, and when you are a party to the going out. Sometimes you go and stand near the door, pawing at it, of course you also look at me and whine a bit. But I guess that you know, with me, chances of you going out are very good. A clean diaper, carry pouch, shoes, umbrella. I'm the going out type myself. I hope we have many chances to do so.

A few months ago, I put you to bed most of the time. Lately, you get annoyed when it's me. I find your complaining quite funny, actually. Partly you are tired, and partly you want mama. Well, once you settle, grumpily, that it's me, it's just a matter of letting your tired little voice run down, and letting the nice little bed do its thing. A feed, cool air, and you're going to sleep. I suppose it's because I'm sterner with you, and not so coddly, that you get grumpy with me. But I believe that sternness will come good. In any case, I'm not worried one bit about your grumpiness. In time you'll be laughing with me, your hilarious little baby girl laugh.

See you later, bobo!

CCLIII - One year

I wonder if waking up without seeing someone right above your cot is unpleasant. I suppose sometimes it is. Yet sometimes, I'm told, you will sit there without making too much fuss. I think it's good for you to sit by yourself for awhile. I guess it comes naturally to some, when they're a little older. But you, being you, like to see what's going on, and little sounds immediately draw your attention. And you know where to look to see us. So I suppose your curiosity challenges your quiet observation. You are not that quiet. In fact I think you are assuredly boisterous. It is becoming more difficult to hold on to you for too long.

You have reached 10.1 kilograms. I promised to get you a slice of cake. We will see what you are able to eat, I guess. But cake is cake, so possibly you will devour it. Your belly is compellingly big, and firm. Quite muscular, in fact. I don't really know baby physiology, but I suppose it has to do with your little guts. There is a lot of soft, chubbiness in your bum bum and thighs. It's fantastic. But I like your chin and cheeks the best. They are big and pillowy.

You sorta prefer to walk now to crawling. I think most people do, but it gives you great pleasure to stand and touch things. Naturally, you love touching things. You are very busy. Boxes, in particular, may not be left alone with their contents. Perhaps some of your teeth are still on their way, and you like to chew small cardboard boxes. I suppose there is no great harm in doing so. Anyway, what you like to do is to hold on to something with one hand, and then explore everything with the other hand. I suppose it is easier to manipulate objects by focusing on one hand. But you can smack things with both hands at the same time.

The next big thing, and I suppose what I hope is best, is language. You roughly understand what 'come' and 'no' and 'quietly' and other sounds like laughter and cooing mean. Sometimes you repeat the sound, like once out of twenty. But anyway, once you get the hang of it, life becomes a lot more interesting. Of course, it will be annoying at the same time when we tell you what to do and what not to do. 'Patience' is one of those really frustrating words. Extremely counter-intuitive. We will see what we can do. 

I wonder what you think of when you look at me. I hope, as a big buddy. I am a bit of a talker, an explainer. I think you'll come to like that. If I don't know something, I will tell you. There is great value in that principle. Language is not easy, but it can be poetic, pleasingly elegant. It can also be nasty and brutish. When you are tired, when I am tired, we will revert to what we know best. I hope that we know the good best, rather than the mean and unpleasant.

Happy birthday, kid. You're doing swell.