Soundtrack of Life - Everything to Everyone

 Back to the super-cringe "Soundtrack of My Life" -- and, thankfully a far less sappy and grim song/story.

This is a very new addition to the list... as in, it's one that hit me like a pile of (lego) bricks just this week during this odd creative-malaise/crisis I'm finding myself in. We're talking Everything to Everyone by Everclear - a nice poppy-sounding tune, but when you pay attention to the lyrics, it's somewhat accusatory toward people who portray themselves as the victim. I think many of us fall victim to... playing the victim, consciously or not. I acknowledge that, when I'm in a certain frame of mind, I'm highly susceptible to that.

You put yourself in stupid places
Yes I think you know it's true
Situations where it's easy to look down on you
I think you like to be the victim
I think you like to be in pain
I think you make yourself a victim
Almost every single day

The song is about more than just that though. To me, it's also about losing ones own sense of identity... shifting or amending what you're passionate about, in the belief that you're "filling a need"... or perhaps "filling a niche". You forgo the self in service of the nebulous (and potentially nonexistent) "other".

I hesitate at suggesting that anything I do here (or on the air) is necessarily "creative"... though, admittedly - there's a lot of "creation" involved. When describing what it is that I do, I've often come back to the ol' rhyming Chris chestnut, "Those who can - DO, those who cannot - reVIEW." That said, reviewing/analyzing/discussing media does involve at the very least a slight measure of creativity. Even when done as poorly as I tend to do it.

I mentioned a few pieces ago that I'd done a bit of recent naval-gazing here at the site... started going down my own rabbit hole, and rereading some of my old reviews/discussions -- something I very seldom do... something I very seldom have the time to do. What I discovered was that, back in the not-so-long ago, I was a very different Chris. I was passionate, un-cynical, and was very clearly having a good time. I wasn't spreading myself too thin... the blog-hobby hadn't yet grown into the monster it eventually would. It was just something I did... every day... and, back then -- I humbly believe I was also improving every day. I was becoming better able to express myself through words... I still had some grammatical hang-ups... and still wrote in a somewhat busted New Yawk accent -- but, (in my opinion) it worked. I wasn't trying to be anything more than what I was... one voice among many... just an idiot with a keyboard and a desire to share his opinion/experience.

But eventually, that wasn't enough.

Writing for an audience (whether you actually have one or not) can cause a weak-willed individual, such as myself, to begin to believe they've actually got something to say that's worth listening to. Even as I write this self-indulgent sentence, I'm writing it FOR you... if, in fact, there's even a YOU out there! You can get so wrapped up in it, that you forget that you're "one voice among many"... and suddenly, you want to be "the voice".

Focus is so easily scattered when you're starting a creative endeavor -- or, when you're wanting to start one. F'rinstance, a blog. You want to write... about something... but what? This is where I stalled out many times. I've talked and written about how, for several years during my late 20s and early 30s - my New Years Resolution would be to start writing... start blogging. I'd get so lost in the weeds about what I was going to write about, that I'd never actually write anything. Even than, I would trick myself into thinking that I was being creative... because I was thinking about being creative. That's a trap. I mentally reframed procrastination and inaction as actually being productive.

Eventually (in early 2016) I did act (I've told that story too many times already) - and clearly, my focus was comic books. And, while comics are a niche interest in and of itself -- it (can be) a pretty wide one. I knew I wanted to discuss comics... but, what comics? Was it going to be the X-Men? Teen Titans? ElfQuest? All comics? Mini-comics? What was it going to be?

It was about finding a balance between constraint and freedom. If I became an "ElfQuest guy", well -- that's quite limiting. If I was going to become an "X-Men guy" (which, eventually came to pass) -- that'd be a bit less limiting, but still have a pretty clear set of boundaries. If I chose to discuss ALL comics... well, that's a whole 'nother kettle of fish in as far as limitations are concerned, and I'll explain that in a bit. If you're here though, you know that I chose to discuss DC Comics. A pretty wide berth of content, multiple genres, the ability to discuss pretty much every single creator ever to work in the industry -- while, at the same time, giving my work a feeling of "focus". Self-imposed rules to keep me "on task".

I wasn't trying to be more than what I was. I just wanted to write... I wanted to feel like I was contributing to the fandom... and I wanted to establish myself as a fake-ass expert in a certain subniche, while still maintaining a fair amount of creative freedom. In deciding to discuss the wares of a single company... I felt confident that I could do all that. And, for a half-decade... I did!

But then... my focus started to stutter. I wasn't necessarily growing bored of what I was doing... I began wanting to be seen as "more" than that.

I mentioned a couple'a paragraphs ago that, had I chosen to discuss the entire comics industry -- there would be "limitations" there as well. Lemme 'splain. Even in just talking about DC Comics, I often found myself with an "embarrassment of riches" in what I could write/talk about. I'd stand in front of my wall of longboxes, paralyzed -- there were just too many choices. Had I opened that up to include Marvel and the indies... I'd probably still be standing there. This goes back to the concept of procrastination-as (or in lieu of)-creation. I'd get so tangled in thinking about what I'd write about... that I'd never actually write -- while, at the same time, fooling myself into believing I was still taking part in some sort of "creative process". Fact is, if you're not creating... well, you're not creating. I've had screenplays in my head for decades now... none of it's on paper -- none of it has been written; so I'm not actually creating anything.

Where was I? Ya see, focus is easily scattered.

Oh yes, Soundtrack of My Yadda-Yadda. At some point during my "creative career", I decided I would try and be... Everything to Everyone. I wanted to be seen as a go-to guy for all things comics. It's a foolish desire... especially when coupled with my social anxiety and relative lack of ability in actually talking with other people about this stuff. And yet, I still wanted to be.

You jump through the big hoop

You play all the right games

You try to be

Everything to everyone

There's a saying among (actual) creative types, that goes a little something like this (paraphrasing): You could lay a single brick for dozens of different houses and expect it to eventually become a mansion... or, you can lay brick after brick to build a single house, and eventually it will be. Recently, I've found myself falling into the single-brick trap. In an effort to be Everything to Everyone, I stopped paying attention to what it was that originally made all of this "work". I forgot all about what this hobby used to mean to me.

I think you like to be their simple toy

I think you love to play the clown

I mean, I went from putting out a "DC Comics Discussion and Review" every day to... completely losing focus, and sometimes putting out three random comics-related pieces a day... in various formats and medias. I did so thinking that I was actually adding something... when, all I was doing was scattering the focus of what made this site "work" in the first place. And by "work", I'm not implying it was ever anything resembling a wild success... but, it was consistent -- and had a small-but-steady audience.

Consistency thru constraint is a highly underrated approach... that I stumbled upon a) by accident, and b) without even realizing it until after the fact. This method is almost certainly why I have such an easier time when I engage in a "project". It takes the "choosing" out of the equation... it allows for less procrastination. It forces me to stay on task. I feel like, when I have a project that I can focus on, my work improves... and, might even break into the realm of "decent". Action Comics Daily, Vartox Week, DC Bonus Books, X-Lapsed, X-Men Vignettes... projects like these are where kept me focused.

But, I wanted more.

I wanted to be... ya know, Everything to Everyone.

Spin around and fall down

Do it again

Thing of it is, it can be pretty obvious when someone's heart just isn't in it. At least if you're someone who wears theirs on their sleeve, like I tend to. I went back and found exactly where it was that I began to lose focus here at the site. It was just after I wrapped up Action Comics Daily... and, was pretty "straw graspy" about what was coming next. I thought it would be interesting to keep up the anthology angle... and decided to go with seldom discussed DC's New Talent Showcase. Mainstream-ish, but obscure enough to keep "on brand". But -- before actually setting digital pen to digital paper, I got stuck in my own head. I allowed myself to lose focus on what made this process "work".

I stopped and thought -- which was my first (and greatest) mistake. I grew concerned that these oddball New Talent Showcase stories... would cost me readers. I mean, readership is always a concern when you're writing for an audience (real or imagined), but -- up to this point, I'd never not written something out of fear that people wouldn't wanna read it. And so, I awkwardly contorted the project into... something pretty stupid... and something which, ironically enough, did cost me readers. If you've been with me for awhile, you might remember this... though, it's such a blip that I barely do.

Instead of nosing down into New Talent Showcase... NTS was relegated into being one-third of my "creative" output. It was to alternate with John Ostrander and Del Close's Wasteland, and these Bizarro World one-offs from a hardcover collection. Scattered focus.

As mentioned, this was not successful. And, like any fella drowning in creativity-quicksand -- I frantically reached for anything to keep my head above the surface. I actually pulled the plug on all three of these projects... something I'd never done before here at the site. I tell ya what, once you quit your first project -- it makes it all the easier to quit subsequent projects.

Now, I started writing for other people. Thing of it is... those other people weren't always interested. Sometimes they were... but, not every day. At this point, however, that wasn't good enough for me.

You know all the right people

You play all the right games

You always try to be

Everything to everyone

From there, I feel as though my "creative" output had start to callous over... my hide got tougher, my face hardened... there was less joy in what I did. There was no more "focus"... it simply became an effort of chasing the high of engagement... followed by irrational bitterness. I internalized a lot of this... thinking to myself that I was now writing what other people said they wanted... and still, they wouldn't come.

Come on now

Do that stupid dance for me

In the time between than and now, I found myself regaining focus every so often. X-Men Vignettes is a pretty good written example, while X-Lapsed is one for audio. But, even with those fairly constrained projects, focus can become shaky. I mean, I feel like X-Lapsed has become so diluted by "other stuff", it'd a miracle that anybody would actually choose to listen to it.

So, is there a point to this? Probably not... but, if you are "a creative", or a "wannabe creative" like me, maybe take this as a cautionary tale to stay true to your own focus. Do what you're passionate about... and do it often. You may not realize it immediately (or ever), but you will improve... you will find your voice, your style, your tone... you will find your audience. It may not be a large and loud as you'd like -- but they will enjoy what you do and appreciate your hard work. Don't make the mistakes I have in overlooking these wonderful and supportive people. Maintain your focus. Maintain your passion. Don't waver, don't lose sight of why you do what you do, and don't try and be Everything to Everyone.

I wonder if you will ever learn

Why won't you ever learn

Soundtrack of Life - Sweet Freedom

A relatively new addition to the "Soundtrack of My Life", Michael McDonald's Sweet Freedom wouldn't have even been included had I created this list when I first intended to. I've always thought it was a great song, but didn't really have any sort of personal attachment to it nor did it have any sort of special meaning to me. If you've ever listened to X-Lapsed, you'll know that this is the song I've been using as an outro for years now.

Early on during the run, I was asked why I'd picked this song. Usually my podcast music choices serve a purpose, ya know? Once in a Lifetime by Talking Heads makes sense as the intro to X-Lapsed, as it asks a bunch of questions... as though the asker has no idea what's going on, or how they wound up here. This very much fit the tone of my show, as a fella who had no clue about how things in these books got to this point. It's also an amazing song... might even be on my list of "perfect songs". That said, it's not necessarily a "Soundtrack of My Life" song, unless I take the full X-Lapsed context and experience along with it... frankly, at this point, I've used the show to "define" myself for far too long.

Sweet Freedom, though? Like I said, I was asked why I chose it for the outro. I believe it was my friend Jeremiah who asked during a guest-spot he did very early on in the run. I had no answer. Part of me wanted to lie and suggest that there was some "deeper meaning" to the choice... one that he'd have to figure out. You know, all of us fake-ass creative types wanna seem far more profound than we are. The truth, however, was simple... I just liked the song. I've always enjoyed what we now refer to as "Yacht Rock"... though, I didn't realize it was even considered a genre. Since around 2017 or so, upon realization that it is... a genre, I went deep down the rabbit hole. It's been one of my top stations on Sirius XM ever since. If ya don't know, and I'm sure ya do - Yacht Rock is basically soft rock from the late 70s into the early 80s. It's a bit nebulous, I guess, there are songs I consider to be part of the genre that many don't... and vice versa.

Anyway, familiarizing myself with the works of Michael McDonald (solo or as a Doobie Brother or part of Steely Dan), I was stunned by just how amazing his voice is. Humans shouldn't be able to hit high notes like that... and yet, he does. Sweet Freedom not only had the excellent vocals, but the music was wonderfully upbeat -- most Yacht Rock has a more melancholic tone. Sappy and sad rather than hopeful and bright. Sweet Freedom stood out... and I'd listen to it as often as I could... including, at least once, every single day when editing together the latest episode of X-Lapsed.

I can't listen to it anymore, however -- which, I guess makes it a kind of ironic addition to the Soundtrack?

Now comes the "why?" of it... and yeah, it has to do with my dog. Again. Sorry about that. Maybe the sooner I get it all out of my system, I can get back to "normal"?

He passed at around 1am. The afternoon before was when it became clear that he was dying. Like I mentioned a few posts ago, he had been degrading for a little while... and, his cancer had become terrifyingly aggressive. He still had the same little personality though. The things we tell ourselves when faced with the obvious... humans are pretty amazing in that way. I don't know that any other living organism can experience and exhibit "denial". He was still eating every day... though, less and less. His little back legs were wobbly. The cancer mass grew itchier and itchier -- he would scratch at it constantly. We tried putting him in the wheelchair we'd bought him a year prior... but, he wasn't having it. I tried using his inflatable donut collar in hopes that he wouldn't scratch at his face... that didn't work either.

This... oddly, only fueled the feeling that, he was still the same boyo. He was the most stubborn little thing... as it turned out, he'd remain this way until literally seconds before his passing.

Where was I? The afternoon before. I went into the bedroom to change clothes so I could head out and pick up whatever it was we were going to have for dinner. I found him sleeping in his normal spot, next to my side of the bed. I could immediately tell that something just wasn't right. Something with his breathing. I just knew we were about to go through the one thing I'd been scared of every day for the past fourteen years. I'm kind of fatalistic... always worried about death, and assuming that it's always just around the corner for the people I care most about. I'm not as concerned about my own mortality... but, if I don't get a text from the wife telling me she got where she's going -- I enter into a panic. How she still puts up with me, I'll never know.

But here we were.

I picked him up and brought him into the wife's office... just to confirm that I wasn't letting my paranoia run off with me. Unfortunately, this was one instance where I'd turn out to be right.

Our pup absolutely loved going for car rides, which I'm aware isn't all that hot a take. If these were truly his final hours, we wanted to give him one more ride... and so, we did. He was unresponsive and confused... his breathing had returned to normal... but, it was still clear that he wasn't going to "kick out" this time. He'd managed to trick us several times before -- especially in later years. We'd all but counted him out... and, he'd miraculously spring back -- reminding us that he was made of far stronger stuff than we'd ever thought. This time? Well, I can lie to myself in many situations... but, not this time.

Anyway, we loaded in to the car and just drove around. Like I said, it was the afternoon -- I'm pretty sure I was still wearing my pajamas. Eyes puffy and red. We must've been a sight. My wife was holding him in the passenger seat... we were both talking to him... but, like I said -- he was unresponsive.

We pulled up to a red light, the Lake Pleasant and Happy Valley intersection... and, I swear to you what I'm about to say is true - Sweet Freedom started to play on the radio... and his tail started to wag... the ol' happy "pug thump". Halfway through the song, he'd lifted his head up -- and for just a moment, there was clarity in his eyes. He knew we were there... he knew he was out for a ride. When the song ended, the tail stopped wagging, and his head went back down.

He'd always been a musical pup... a connoisseur of music, even. His breeder was a pianist, so he'd been surrounded by music since the day he was born. There were always certain songs that would cause him to perk up... and do the "pup head tilt". Some songs he hated as well! He knew what he liked... and what he didn't! A couple off the top of my head -- he had a love/hate relationship with the theme song to The Office. It always got his attention... it was just whether or not he was in the "mood" to hear it. The opening to Days of Our Lives was one that he always enjoyed though. It really was weird to see these reactions. And now, here's Sweet Freedom being forever linked to his final moments.

Throughout the evening and into the night, there were a few more cognizant moments... but, none like during Sweet Freedom. I swear, during the couple of minutes that song played -- he was "back". More aware and alive than he'd been in days/weeks at that point. I think it was probably the last time he really "saw" us.

For this reason, it's now part of the Soundtrack of My Life... and the one song on it, that I can no longer listen to. At least not right now. Maybe when I'm in a better place... or more at peace I can add it back to the rotation... remember what it "gave" to me, rather than focusing on what that day took.

I know these can't be pleasant reads -- and, I know strangers on the internet couldn't care less about a dude crying over his dog, when they likely came to this site to hear me talk about how Rob Liefeld can't draw feet and how cool 1st Issue Special is. So, sorry about the change in tone -- and thank you for reading, if you still are.

Soundtrack of Life - Til I Hear it From You

Back when I was doing the From Claremont to Claremont program, I had this idea to include odd bits of flavor into the mix. Rather than it just being an eight hour non-stop comics discussion, it would become a 12 hour comics and "other stuff" discussion. I was working with a slew of co-hosts, each one focusing on one title. I thought it would be interesting to add some "getting to know you" type stuff -- part in attempt to attract engagement, part just because I thought it would be a good time. I really had some grandiose plans for FCTC... thought it would be far more successful, and be around for a long time. It was not... and is not.

For the first episode, we included a rather boilerplate "Tell me your history with the X-Men" bit... which, stood to reason. For the second, I literally swiped a page out of Marvel's Bullpen Bulletins -- and conducted the same interview Marvel would put their editors thru back in the mid-80's "Pro-File" segment. For the third episode, I tasked the fellas with putting together what they'd consider to be the "Soundtrack of their Life". Songs that either meant a lot to them, or that exemplified a profound moment in their lives. As with the first two episodes, I would provide my own answers during the final closing segment.

Since Episode 3 is incomplete (what's done IS available in segment form), and at this point -- very likely to remain that way, I never got the opportunity to share mine. I did create one though. And, hey -- why not share a song or two from it here?

Today's song, off the "Soundtrack of My Life" is Til I Hear it From You by the Gin Blossoms (1995). A song that I'd always dug -- I feel like the Gin Blossoms are a highly underrated band. Well worth a dive through their discography, in my opinion. -- Til I Hear it From You was almost literally the Soundtrack of one of the tougher days I'd experienced just a few years ago.

This was almost exactly three years ago - May, 2019. It was the day that Reggie suffered his aortic dissection... or, the day after, rather -- it was the day I found out about it (that's almost another Gin Blossoms song right there!). I'm not sure I've written/said much about this day "in public" -- I know I've spoken about Reggie's passing, almost exactly one year later in May, 2020 -- but, I don't think I've told this one yet. Ehh, not like it matters -- I'm still gonna tell it now anyway.

Very early the morning of, I'd woken up to use the restroom. This was and is a regular occurrence -- happens to dudes of a certain age... and, from what I hear, it's only going to get worse. I'd never check my phone, as a) I wanna get back to sleep as quick as possible, and b) I'm legally blind without my glasses... so, it'd be a big to-do anyway. This morning, however -- for whatever reason, I did.

There was a text message from an unknown New York-based phone number. Now, here's the thing - I know almost literally nobody. I don't talk to anybody -- very, very few people have my phone number. I assumed this was either a wrong number, or some malicious attempt at getting me to click a link or something. I took a closer look, and as I rubbed the sleep outta my eyes, realized that it was Reggie's wife -- and that something bad had happened.

I didn't realize quite how bad. I saw the word "aortic", and just assumed that he had a (mild) heart attack. I was sure that by the end of the day, he and I would talk -- and, he'd quickly be on the mend -- before we knew it, everything'd be back to normal.

I couldn't get back to sleep. I didn't respond right away to the text, either. Instead, I headed downstairs -- fixed a cup of coffee -- and set about getting started with my day. If you've been following this site, this was during the time I was working on Action Comics Daily. As luck would have it, I found myself about a week ahead of schedule -- and didn't exactly need to do any writing that day. That said, I was still planning on writing something. That something was the script for the Mary Worth "Aldo Kelrast" episode of The Cosmic Treadmill -- which I'd been chipping away at for a week or two at this point.

As I sat down to start pecking away -- I decided that... maybe I should do a little bit of research on whatever an aortic dissection is. If you don't know, it's a ridiculously terrifying event... with a very scary mortality rate. It's how John Ritter died. Also, comics artist Mike Wieringo. It was becoming clearer and clearer that this might not be something that one could come back from. At least not easily.

Now, I'm a simple guy. Very analogue -- in that, I have a hard time reconciling the internet and real life as being, in many ways, the same thing. Part of me still thought that nothing had happened to Reggie... and that, later that day we'd be trading DMs like any other day. Because... the internet and real life aren't the same. Right? I'm not sure if it was my being in denial... or being just plain stupid. In any event, I was about to get a lesson in how wrong I was.

Throughout the first half of the day, I was texting with his wife, Lizzy. She was sending periodic updates... which, I wasn't able to wrap my head around. I mean, it still wasn't real -- it still wasn't true. I felt like I was, in a way, basically just "playing along" with the lie.

The house became kind of claustrophobic. Walls started to close in. Not sure if that was a result of reality setting in... or, just me being me. Either way, I needed to get out. But, where to go? I literally have nowhere to go. My only hobby is comics... and, so much of that was predicated on digging around shops looking for stuff that Reggie and I could talk about on the air. Maybe reality was setting in.

Anyway, I got in the car and figured I'd just drive around for a bit. When the radio came on, Til I Hear it From You was playing. A line from that song, if you're not familiar with it, is: "I'll just figure everything is cool, until I hear it from you." This became kind of the anthem of the day. Nothing could possibly be wrong... until I heard it from him. Does that make sense? The song played... I listened... I heard that line, and -- I dunno if it's denial or density (probably a mixture of the two), but I dunno -- it felt appropriate. It also kinda fueled my irrational bias that - if I didn't literally see it, it wasn't there. It wasn't going on. Reggie's family wasn't waiting in some hospital to find out what's going on. You understand?

My travels that afternoon took me on a loop of the city. Phoenix's freeways are literally called "loops" -- you could drive for hours and wind up right back where you started. I did pull over at a comic shop -- but, I didn't go in. I just didn't see the point of it. During that drive, Til I Hear it From You played no less than a half-dozen times. At one point, it was playing on three stations at the same time. Every time I heard it, it... it's weird, it went from providing me this odd bit of comfort... to almost mocking me. It began to get under my skin.

While nearing the end of my journey, I received another text message update. It was a long one -- so, I pulled over to check it. This was the message where everything set in. Reality, fear, horror... it wasn't the sort of news I was expecting. I mean, I'd spent the entire day trying to convince myself that "everything is cool", right?

In this message, I learned that Reggie had not regained consciousness... and, while the doctors were confident he would survive -- they weren't so sure about the return of some motor functions. Which is to say, they didn't know if he'd ever walk again. I'm almost positive there were also questions regarding brain function -- but, I can't recall any particulars off hand. That was when I finally broke down. Up until that moment, I was able to trick myself into thinking this was nothing more than a hiccup. Granted, I'm an idiot -- and, an avoidant... so, it might stand to reason. But, it was with this message that reality set in -- and, it set in all at once. Like a hundred pound weight had been dropped on my chest.

I replied... thanking her for the update... and struggling to tell her how I couldn't imagine what she was going through. I was literally without words to describe how or what I was feeling. Shellshocked and instantly exhausted... I just didn't know what to say. I mean, what couldja say?

As I headed toward the house, Til I Hear it From You played one more time. I can't hear that song without thinking back to that day. It's relatable... or at least it was, before I got that dose of reality. It was the soundtrack to a profound and painful day. "As far as I know, nothing's wrong -- until I hear it from you." used to mean something... until it didn't. Thanks for reading.

If this piece made even less sense than I usually do -- I should mention that I'm typing this up on my phone. My laptop grenaded, and I've yet to buy a replacement.