SuperDJSeventy-five years ago today ACTION COMICS issue 1 hit the stands. It starred a character called “Superman,” who was created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, two kids from Cleveland, OH.

About forty-three years after that, another kid from Cleveland, OH (well, a suburb called Elyria) pretty much wanted to wear Superman Underroos with long johns, boots, and a cape 24/7.

Coming Out

As I was growing up, I was, almost right from jump street out of the womb, bigger than the average human baby. As I grew up, when my doctor or teacher measured my height, I was always in the top percentile, well above the “norm.” The curious thing is that this bothered no one. Not once was I told to just act like I was smaller or slouch. I was born tall, and, hey, who cares? I just had to get pants with longer inseams than some of my classmates.

When I was a little kid at whatever age little kids are when they start picking up crayons and drawing and trying to write, and I picked up the crayon with my left hand, no one freaked out. Sure, most people are right handed, but my parents and doctors and teachers didn’t get worried or upset when I used the OTHER hand. They even let me use “left-handed” scissors when we started cutting construction paper.

And when I played tee ball? No one looked down on me for standing on the other side of the tee from my righty teammates. I even got a glove that enabled me to catch the baseball with my right hand and throw with my left! Not that a glove helped with my lack of athletic prowess, but, still, baseball glove on my right hand — no one protested like they often did in the generations before mine.

See, my mom is left-handed, too, but a little before her time and maybe occasionally still during when she was in school, teachers would try to take that crayon out of their student’s left hand and put it in the right. How awkward and just, well, wrong and pointless and stupid that was. Everyone can agree on that. Just kind of silly, right? Everyone now understands that there’s no reason a lefty has to be changed. I never had to, anyway.

Interestingly enough, I also never had to “come out” to my parents that I liked girls. My heterosexuality was never an issue. It was never something that I worried about or even thought about in that way. I didn’t have to have any tentative or awkward conversations with my pals to let them know that I wanted my penis to go with a vagina. Seriously, it just never came up. Not once. Because that’d be absurd, right? It’s just how I was born. It’s my chemical and mental makeup for some reason. Just a wacky glitch of genetics. It doesn’t hurt anyone, as I just like ladies in that manner, and if one likes me in that manner, and we hit it off, all is well. No worries. No one cares, really.

If I’d been shorter, no one would’ve minded either. Or what if I’d picked up my first crayon with my right hand and showed instinctively that I obviously felt more comfortable drawing and scribbling that way? My parents and teachers would’ve been fine with that, too, as the silliness of worrying about something like that had long since been accepted.

So, one would assume, if I’d had a predilection toward pee pees instead of vajayjays, it should be the same thing, right? I’d have gone about my life pretty much the same way, never having to make a big deal or any announcements about it. I’d just be who I was, and when I started reaching “that age” where you notice people in a different way, well, surely there’d be another boy who felt the same way, and we’d get to be adolescently awkward together and hold hands and go to the movies (with a parent chaperoning) and slow dancing at the miserable school dances and whatnot. Like anyone else, me and the fella could go steady, maybe exchange class rings in high school. It wouldn’t matter. No reason it should. Just how some folks are born.


Back In The Good Old Days…

If nowadays were like back in the good old days,  right now I’d be…

A. … sleeping. In the good old days, I could sleep in for however long I wanted after a fun night of partyin’ and hangin’ out and whatnot. My job didn’t start until the afternoon, and I’d just naturally wake up then. Back in the good old days.

B. … still working on my jetpack design. Because in the good old days, I hadn’t given up on it yet. I still thought general want and gumption, regardless of lack of funds, could beat out technical knowledge and dedication with a budget any day of the week. Sometimes the best thing about the good old days was ignorance.

C. … writing. Yeah, I’m writing now, too, but I mean writing something that would be read much more than this will. And something funnier, as back in the good old days, my funny bone was firmer, stronger, maybe girthier. Wait… that didn’t sound right. Or did it sound too right?

D. … getting brunch with friends. Just, you know, brunch. A good pancakey meal. Don’t do that much anymore. Just ate a granola cereal out of a cup because some dingus stole my bowl at work. I miss carefree brunching, money and calories and triglycerides be damned.

E. … sleeping. Seriously, I’d just like to be asleep right now. Because sleepytime is happy time.

Still, this is all rose colored glasses nonsense. It’s like what Yoda said about Luke, “All his life has he looked away… to the future, to the horizon. Never his mind on where he was. Hmm? What he was doing. Hmph.” Except maybe the back horizon, which is the past. Though I look to the horizon, too. Hm, is that applicable?

Hmph. Hmph indeed. Look, regardless of horizon or back horizon, I should be more mindful of where I am and what I am doing here and now.

And, with that in mind, I should dig out those jetpack schematics, because that might work with maybe a shinier, more art deco design and an extra fin…

TRES POWER MEN theme song


Three men with the power of TRES!


Pusherman push you!

Smasher’s gonna smash!

The Puncher punch you in the face!


(Music rocks out with a spoken word montage of their mighty origins.)

Born out of gray cubicles,

three boys learned the power of action-packed violence

and became men…


(super rockin’ guitar followed by power drums)





TRES POWER MEN created & illustrated by Doug / lyrics by D.J. / embodied on this Earth by Chad (Pusherman), D.J. (Smasher), and Doug (The Puncher)… Believe in your dreams. (Don’t even try to fight it).


Hamboning. Hambonin’. Hambonin’! It’s all I can think about lately. Just the word makes me happy. To be honest, I’ve never heard the word “hambone” in regard to anything other than the bone of a ham before co-worker Doug showed me a clip from REGULAR SHOW. This clip, though, this clip made me want to do two things: 1. Watch REGULAR SHOW. 2. Hambone.

I dunno. That clip just makes me laugh. The character designs are kinda wacky in a way that is wacky, but the voices have an easygoing tone and vibe that is fun. I dig it.

And, yeah, I hambone. Sure. I didn’t know it was called “hamboning” until seeing this delightful cartoon clip, but I’ve slapped little beats and rhythms on my belly before. I’m glad to know there’s a name for it — especially such an awesome one. Hambonin’.

Now I find myself wondering if hambonin’ could be the career I’ve been looking for during the malaise that started with adulthood. That sounds silly, sure. I mean, there ain’t no work in hamboin’… or is there?