January 13th, 2003


Nobody move. Nobody get hurt.

I went home from my New Years Eve debacle w/SBX and threw up in the sink. Drunk and depressed, I was deathly ill. I puked. I cried. I wanted to die.

Oh my stars and garters.

I woke up and felt WORSE. Amber colored vomit stained the porcelain. This was not the fortune cookie I wanted to crack open on the first day of 2003. I called SBX and she was on the other line. Said she'd call me back. I couldn't wait. I hopped my bike and rode over to her house in the pouring rain. I shouldn't have been in this anxious place, by myself. Feeling terrible. A monster banished from the castle. I should have been waking up next to SBX, rolling over and kissing her good morning. Instead, I was a shit heel and a bastard of irreconcilable behavior.

SBX was surprised to see me walk into her door, yet offended. We talked for a few hours, trying to fix what had happened. On the verge of breaking up, we made a truce. SBX aired her troubles with my negative and sour default. I agreed that this needed to change. Pronto. Had we broken up, it would have been a horrible shame, but worse, I would not have missed certain fundamental institutions that star-crossed lovers cling onto in times of turmoil. I would not have missed our dinner table. We didn't have one. I would not have missed our bed. We didn't share one. What we had was hopscotch security and a plethora of desires soaking in the promise of a better tomorrow. Only, I wasn't Chow Yun Fat and this wasn't a John Woo movie. I was King Kong to SBX's Fay Wray.

I rode back home in the ice-cold rain, my punishment for bringing such brittle sadness to the New Year. I crawled into bed with my cats, wishing SBX had been there with us. Instead, I paid penance. I slept, alone, intermittently. All day.

Hueston called and we spoke about anger, sulking, and happiness. I promised myself [and SBX] that I would rally better. Ignore the default to get angry at what I couldn't control and, instead, know that there were people out there who love me and have my back and that I bring solid stuff to the table. Still, it's a behavioral problem that takes long to shed and rewire. I guess the first step is to recognize the cancer before you can begin to nuclear radiate it. I looked back at what I had done last year. I didn't have it in me to survey 2002. To look back and wonder how I did what I did. I know it was really tough: going full-time freelance/working at home alone, living small/month-to-month, stepping up to the plate and scoring a dream job [thus far], dating a beautiful and amazing girlfriend in an incredibly difficult situation, meeting many challenges head on, finding a place to express on LJ when SBX's shoulder was too drenched w/her life coupled by my topsy-turvy spirits. I admitted to myself that I have some gnarly anger management issues that carry across the board, and I need to tend to them. Understand their origins and then murder them. Sarah is the stressed out single mother who works way to hard at a job that brings her no smiles. Adding my needs to that mix maximizes her resources and she collapses under the strain. I need to be a better caretaker and find the stuff that works best for "us" so that we're not just coping in separate corners. Dig? So, I've made a commitment to do just that.

A weird year, I'm becoming as fragile as I am strong. A year I hope to look back on in a decade and realize what THAT was all about. For now, I can't wake up sad again. I just can't. I wish I looked better in the mirror. Perhaps I should quit looking and just do. Let actions prevent me from typing any more of these words.


I watched the rain clog my window screen as day turned night and the streetlight made the reflecting window look like a fireplace. Later on, I ate dinner at Mike & Marie's as we flipped dials back and forth between the musical OKLAHOMA and the train wreck FEAR & LOATHING IN LAS VEGAS, which were equally surreal. M&M kept me comfortable. Quiet. Serene. I walked back home in the thunderstorm as jetlag, the massive hangover, and the epiphany to work harder at being better, crushed me like a feeble water bug and I passed out.


On Thursday, I dropped off the Euro-trip pix to be developed and bumped into neighbor Lena for a hug and hello. Got uplifting mail at Postal Plus: a CLASH 3-CD collection [The Clash/London Calling/Combat Rock], Arthur Miller's flawless magnum opus DEATH OF A SALESMAN, and my final Xmas gift from SBX: 'One Nite Alone...Live!" Prince's latest 3-CD effort, showcasing his incredible concert prowess. Hot damn.

I penciled NIGHT FALLS…2/pp15 [drew DRAGON MAN!] and got word from the Dark Horse editor kindly rejecting my HELLBOY submission for the WEIRD TALES anthology. Said every cylinder I hit was exactly what Mike Mignola DID NOT want to appear in a HELLBOY story. Golly, I'm a Hellboy GENIUS. Should've known kernels for demonic romance wouldn’t fly. I decided to turn it into an easy BILLY DOGMA story for an upcoming comic.

I had words w/SBX over the phone. She dropped bombs. Been holding back 'honest' feeling's about certain aspects of my behavior for months. Keeping a poker face about the stuff that bothers her, like how she defaults in life. Piled it on me, brick by brick. Knocked me down. Told her that it wasn’t fair to unload such a mountain on top of me. Could barely cope with the pain. Wrecked my body, mind, heart & soul. Told her about how my flight for fantasy gets beat up by reality. Purported "I can't slay a Dragon, but I can try to slay my Demons." She high-five’d me and we rung off. Walked w/neighbor Lena for a late night stroll and bumped into Gabe Soria and his pal, another chick named Lena. Odd coincidence, but that’s NYC. Ordered lame chicken dumplings and ate them. Ruffled, I went to sleep in some chain mail and a broad sword for nocturnal battle.

I woke up bruised and bloody but cracking a smile, ready to rally a Good Friday and went into Manhattan early. Scored comix and ate lunch w/SBX at the Korean Dumpling restaurant. Gave her SUMMER BLONDE by Adrian Tomine, and we had a splendid discourse. I got a call from my Marvel editor Andrew Lis, telling me he’s moving to Marvel Licensing, but will remain the editor on NIGHT FALLS ON YANCY STREET for it’s duration. I was really bummed by this. So was he. Damn. There goes the promise of a great editor and possible work after I complete drawing this 4-issue mini-series. Must hustle.

I got great pix from London/Paris trip, even though anybody with half an eyeball could see how much of a torture it was for me to smile. Louise, I’d never make it as an under-cover agent. I’m too emotional. I wear it on my sleeve like neon. I drew NIGHT FALLS..2/pp16, and ate a burger deluxe at the Donut House where Sackett Street neighbor, Amanda Houck, swung by for some company and gab.

I walked over to the Park Slope Food Coop in the nasty rain and slush, to help SBX shop for $350 worth of food and taxi it to her home, unpack, shelf & refrigerate said bundle. After she dealt with some late work issues, I shared and gave SBX the doubles to the Euro-trip pix and shared some of the better memories, making fun of my sad flaccid face. We went upstairs and got into bed but she was too tired to snuggle. She doesn’t seem to have the energy for me this week. She can rally for her job and kids but not for me. I wondered aloud if I should leave due to her rules about sleeping over when the kids are there [which is almost all the time], and that I'm only allowed to sleep over once a week when they're are there. I didn't want to blow my one night to sleep with her if she was crashing [I wanted to spend a proper romantic evening with her, and after a year of dating, I don't think I should feel like I'm pushing it] and she said I could stay if I would leave before the girls woke up. She demands a specific amount of private time with her daughters and they have morning rituals that she doesn't want me to be included in. I felt dissed. I had helped take care of her and her domestic needs for the evening only to be told that I could sleep over if I didn't invade her quality time with her kids? I felt like a shine boy. Frustrated, I put my clothes back on and told her I was riding my bike back home. The weather outside was freezing and icy, but she let me go. That seemed almost worse than being admonished for interfering with her quality time with her kids. Nothing more to spill, I left. Rode my bike in the dangerous streets; feeling like SBX just didn't care about me anymore…as if she had fallen out of love with me.

Feelings are not facts. Never was, never will be.

Woke up early on Saturday, depressed. Couldn't sleep. Again. Talked to SBX about our frustrations, swiping at those Demons, one debate at a time. Mike & Marie swung by and we walked over to Postal Plus, where I mailed two original pages of BILLY DOGMA art ["Closet Shut-In", and "No Matter What!"] to Carnegie Mellon University, where my pieces, along with a bunch of other alternative cartoonists' work will appear in a show called "Comic Release," at the Regina Gouger Miller Gallery from Jan. 18th - Mar. 21st, and then travel to three other galleries [New Orleans, Texas, & Washington] until March 2004. Got my KING OF COMEDY – DVD in the mail [which Frank Pledge spliced the ‘extras’ on] and walked down Smith Street w/M&M to window shop. We got spicy noodles at FAAN, and walked over to Court Street for more window-shopping. I scored Rudy Ray Moore’s blaxploitation movie, DOLEMITE, on DVD for $10 at Blockbuster Video [abhor that store but politics fly out the window with such a great deal], and went back home to finish penciling T2/pp16.

I biked over to SBX's home in the bitter cold and the girls [Ola-Bola & The Haze] gave me a unexpected Xmas gift that surprised both me and SBX. It was a copy of SUPERMAN #150 [from 1999] and I was floored by their generosity. It was so kind of them to think of me. I joked that I looked like Superman w/the curled hair and muscles [yeah right, if Magilla Gorilla wore a red cape!] and they semi-agreed when push came to shove. Anyway, that kind gesture warmed my heart and we sat down to a splendid SBX meal: sesame bean curd, sautéed red cabbage, and brown rice, w/red wine. We opened a few outstanding Xmas gifts [Mike & Marie got me a collection of Stanley Kubrick interviews] and played a manufactured version of Hang-Man [plastic, not paper - can you believe the lame audacity of some companies?] that the girls’ *ahem* grandmother [from Mr. Ex's side of the family] had given them. Ola/SBX beat The Haze and I with a compound word: "Sun Down" and SBX figured out my word "Zephyr" w/just an 'e' and an 'h' on the board. I couldn't believe SBX’s Sherlock skills. We watched SBX's favorite childhood movie: THE RED BALLOON, a short French film made in the 50s, and the girls were bored by it [did blue screen and CGI effects ruin everything? Do kids NOT appreciate stories?]. I was quite fond of the tale and amazed at what the filmmaker was able to achieve w/such limits. Less is more, yo. Kids hit the sack and SBX's stretched out yawns signaled our own sacking. We hit the sheets and climbed inside each other's frames and didn't let go.

Sunday morning brought a bought of Ninja style sex w/SBX so that the kids wouldn't hear the song of love. SBX insists on an open door policy because her daughters have never known a locked door in their home. Plus, none of the doors have locks to achieve such private sanctuary. THAT has got to change if I am to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Long strokes to keep it slow and good, but damn, I kept my eye on the crack in the door expecting to see two young pairs peeking right back at me in bewilderment. Wondering why their mother's boyfriend is making those funny humping motions atop their mom. With all the anxiety, SBX meets Allah and I'm too anxious to kneel before Mecca. Gotta get used to the idea that sprouts may bamboozle the fun and get on with it. That, and teach 'em to knock on a door before entering.

Piggyback dancing w/Ola clinging to me, and The Haze gripping SBX, goofing to Bonnie Tyler's "Total Eclipse of the Heart" was what we did next. We skipped and slid, hopped and bopped to the nauseating 80s love tune and laughed a lot. We made the girls bump butts to their dismay, slamming into each other occasionally. It was a great way to wake up in the morning.

Breakfast and then some errands w/The Haze yielded small talk. I suggested she help out her mom out with the afternoon chores and The Haze expressed trepidation. She told me that she didn’t like to help her mom out ‘cause she never felt it was good enough. I told The Haze that I sometimes faced the same issues with SBX and told her about the time SBX asked me to wash a pot, inspected my work, and it wasn’t up to snuff, so she re-washed it herself. I told her how my mother recently told me that she was accused of wanting to be right rather than happy, and that sometimes it’s best to split the difference. I suggested that SBX adopt this harmonious policy.

I biked home and made the decision to publish a BILLY DOGMA comic for MOCCA [reprinting short stories that appeared in anthologies and other venues, including a few new tales] in a joint venture w/my two independent publishers: Top Shelf and Alternative Comics, titled AIM TO DAZZLE.

Later that evening, SBX threw a Twelfth Night/fondue affair. The eclectic guests included: Mike & Marie, Jason Little & Myla Goldberg, writer Sheri Holman & husband Sean, SBX's best friend/therapist Meredith & husband/carpenter Jason, filmmaker Sam Hoffman & his wife, German Expressionist expert and art dealer, Andrea, SBX's next door neighbor Helen and her two daughters Isobel & Carmen, and finally, SBX's backyard neighbor, the crunchy granola - Bennett. It started to snow like in the movies and we all hung out, drank spiked eggnog and dipped cut farmer bread into a pot of melted cheese. SBX made a delicious roast chicken, salad, hors-d’oeuvres, etc. I talked to Little about his next BEE book and the future of Doubleday Book's venture into graphic novels and Myla told me she was finishing up her final draft of her next book, WICKET'S REMEDY. Mike & Marie gave me a lift in Little Man to my house and we watched The Hughes Bros. Cinematic truncation of Alan Moore & Eddie Campbell’s award winning ‘Jack The Ripper’ graphic novel, FROM HELL, starring Johnny Depp and Heather Graham. I wished SBX a good night, finished T2/pp16, read some comix, and went boom biddy-bye-bye.

Snowed all day Monday. I started on NIGHT FALLS…2/pp17, and wrote the first draft of a BILLY DOGMA story called “Little By Small,” featuring Dogma's arch-nemesis, THE UNDER-COLOR COP, in a ditty about my intimate hatred for tobacco smoke. @1PM my brother Mike and his pal Cory visited my studio for lunch and we grabbed some soup and fried rice at Ling Ling Young Young. Caught up about the 79th Street Apartment that my Father is leaving [for Easthampton] and Mike’s taking over of said tenement. I finished penciling pp17, and spoke to Marvel editor, Lis. Seems that Marvel has officially pushed NIGHT FALLS ON YANCY STREET up the schedule and the 1st issue comes out May 28th [3-days before my 36th birthday]. Which might mean that I won't be inking the 3rd and/or 4th issue/s. Fuck. I'm rallying to do it all myself. I REALLY, REALLY want to ink/finish this dream of mine. If not, we're going to try and seduce Jack Kirby's/"Fourth World" inker, Mike Royer to hop on board to ink me, which would be very cool if I couldn’t ink it.

I biked in the snow to SBX's house and she baked mincemeat pies while I updated my 2003 Date Book and laid out the first two pages of my next BILLY DOGMA story, "Aim to Dazzle." SBX helped me work out the ending to "Little By Small," which needed a better punch line. SBX invited me to sleep over, which was sweet, but I had too much work to catch up on and declined her tender invitation. We got into a tiff about how to spat in front of the kids and I split back home in the heavy snow to do MORE work. Read GOTHAM CENTRAL #2 [DC’s best BATMAN book, thanks to Ed Brubaker, Greg Rucka, and Michael Lark] and was 500 by 2AM.

On Tuesday, I revised "Little By Small" and locked in a solid ending. SBX read it and agreed. I did laundry and went to the bank [HSBC] only to be hassled. SBX signed over a check to me for $100 and they wouldn’t let me deposit it w/out her presence. They would allow me to deposit it if they could match her signature with a photo I.D., and it got me steaming mad. I proposed, what if I had beat up said SBX on the street corner, stole her purse, copied her signature onto the un-cashed check, signed it over to me, and showed off the I.D. to prove said signature? Could I THEN deposit said check? They said ‘yes.’ Fucking assholes. HSBC’s policy made no clerical sense. Fuming, I left vowing to pull my account.

Worked steadfast on NIGHT FALLS…2/pp18 and the cover to #4. SBX was to meet up with me at Mike & Marie's for dinner [Marie prepared julienne vegetables with bow-tie noodles and salad] and watch the next episode of '24' . SBX worked late, ergo, arrived late, but just in time to eat yummy grub and get caught up in the insanity of television. She split for home and I went back to my place to exhale. We were getting back on track, maybe going a little further than the station we had derailed in. Looking forward to traveling along the water to the next patch of dry land. With that notion planted firmly in mind, I actually got a good night of sleep.

Me and my big mouth.


I received mixed messages from SBX, Wednesday morning. Got a sweet voice message recorded on my cell phone telling me how much she loves me and can't wait to see me later in the evening at her pad where she was hosting a sequel to Sunday's fondue foray, even going so far as to suggest my sleeping over. Dandy. Proactive. Starting the day on the right foot. I'm digging this. Then, I get a letter from SBX, via email, accusing me of potentially undermining her relationship w/her daughter, The Haze.

Say what?

Apparently, the ‘small talk’ I had with The Haze early Sunday afternoon, re: SBX being somewhat of a control freak and the pros & cons of being happy over being right, bugged SBX so much, she confronted her daughter about it who spun a slightly different take on the private parlay.

Me and my big mouth.

Seems, The Haze doesn't like doing chores for her mom 'cause...NOW GET THIS...she just doesn't like doing chores. Who does? Full stop. Nothing more. That's NOT what we talked about on Sunday. The Haze agreed with me that SBX sets a certain standard that is often difficult to achieve and she'd rather not do it at all than to disappoint her mother. Least ways, that’s how I understood her. BUT, SBX's letter suggested that I was manipulating The Haze and using our one-on-one as a tool to argue a unique beef I have w/SBX, and maintains IS NOT a beef she shares with her daughter/s. Going so far as to claim that her daughters, especially The Haze, would NEVER lie to her. C'mon now. Get a late pass. Step. It's not like she was fibbing to get out of something dramatic. She was fibbing [a white lie is how they dub it] to save from hurting her mother's feelings. Back in the day, I did it a million times to my father, and probably a million more to my mother. Especially when I was NINE YEARS OLD. I didn't have the faculty [and barely do now] to cope with criticism, much less, CONSTRUCTIVE criticism. Although, with experience and authority, I feel I have more of a right to complain, judge, and criticize, than I did when I was a child. Ergo, my confidence to foist charges of varying degrees, seen?

Mother dog.

SBX asked that I write my response back to her to avoid certain conflict. So, what did I do? I called her. Wrong move. We scuffled on the phone for 45-minutes and got nowhere. She knew it would go down like that. I had higher hopes for easy resolution. SBX hit office meetings and I felt like dog shit. No way was I using her kid to make a point, nor was I trying to undermine her relationship with her daughter. I felt like scum. Filthy. Dirty. A cipher.

I managed to finish penciling NIGHT FALLS...2/pp18 and went to Jim Hanley's Universe in Manhattan to buy new comix. Came home and stewed. Sackett Street neighbor, Amanda, gave me a shout and I dumped my troubles on her. She got me wise and I pontificated. I called SBX in the midst of her after work party, where I was supposed to co-host, crack jokes, pour wine, eat, play, and sleep over, but instead, felt sentenced with an unresolved charge hanging over me. We agreed to table it as best we could and put on our poker faces [a face I have yet to master]. So I biked over and greeted her pals, which included: Lori & Doug, Tracy George, and Dan Tucker, whom I like, each and every one. The relaxed atmosphere, stoked fireplace, and easy banter, made me relax and glad I had swung by. But, by the time they all split and I was washing late night dishes sans a kiss or a hug from my finger pointing gal-pal, I got fed up, losing the poker face, and churning static. And there I went, throwing New Years resolutions of managing anger issues to the wind and hurling verbal fisticuffs at my lady, who was having a hard time with me. Home was to be my eventual destination, so I cut to the chase and did just that.

Thursday morning had me at the art table earlier than usual, mono fixating on THE THING and his dilemma's over mine. NIGHT FALLS...2/pp19 was coming along just fine when I had another little epiphany and wrote SBX an email regarding the bigger picture:

"My dear--

Mulling over your recent criticisms and concerns -- especially when it comes to raising your kids, and asking me to back you up across the board and zip my lip when it comes to making any kind of major influence [until I have proven myself and am organically granted more influential power], is starting to make more sense to me than not. As you pointed out, I didn't grow up with the best examples of parenting yet I strive for purity in people, and that causes conflict. Encouraging emotional and intellectual growth in a body, no matter how big or small, can often backfire on me depending on individual sensitivity, comprehension, situation, and experience. My radar seems to glom over age and status, and I forget to take those things into consideration when talking one-on-one. I have a whole lot of learning to do when it comes to raising kids [especially girls] and I want to take your lead, yield to your intelligence and instinct. The excited leader in me tends to jump off the roof before there is a net below and I do that a lot. I'm given an inch and I take a foot. When raising and hanging out with your kids, I want to make sure there are nets everywhere.

I've been hit hard with a mountain of criticisms and concerns since we got back from Paris, and it's hard to swallow it all and make constructive sense. Please bear with me and give me some rope. I love you madly, and want all this to work so the only laundry we're airing is made of cloth."

SBX called shortly thereafter, in-between office meetings, to thank me for seeing the light. She was upset that it took turmoil to settle dust, but that we could probably work anything out if we so desired. Couldn't argue that.

Later on, I went over to Mike & Marie's with some chicken in black bean sauce from Ling Ling Young Young and watched INSOMNIA, starring Al Pacino, Robin Williams, and Hilary Swank, directed by that new kid on the block, Christopher Nolan, who did MEMENTO. The movie was well crafted and fairly compelling. No great shakes. Although, because Pacino's anti-hero was struggling with heavy guilt, conspiracy, and Alaska's 24-hour sun light, he couldn't sleep for 6-days [ergo, the title of the movie] and his physical prowess and cognitive skills deteriorated badly. Pacino's performance of this decline was so well achieved that it reminded me of 70s reggae; slowed down temper cooling vibes that rock you like a baby and put you down like a horse with one lame leg. I found myself getting drowsy just looking at Pacino act tired. Give that man an Oscar nomination! I laid out the rest of "Aim To Dazzle," and read some comix before the sack was crushed by 175 pounds of dead tired flesh.

On Friday, I reworked my new BILLY DOGMA comic, AIM TO DAZZLE into a 32-page pistol-packing mama! I needed to draw a cover and 7-pages of NEW material to complete the package so I could have something handy for this years array of independent comix shows. In 2002, I was hawking my 2001 effort, OPPOSABLE THUMBS, and I felt emasculated. Weak. I wanted to have something NEW to hawk and that's why I'm doing double-time to get this baby off my brainpan and on the map. I spoke to DC editor Andy Helfer about doing a LEGENDS OF THE DARK KNIGHT. Says he's booked solid, having spent approximately $200,000 on 14 stories. Damn! I had a good twist on BATMAN by way of 12 ANGRY MEN and his Rogues Gallery. I put a call into and left a message with BATMAN editor Bob Schreck. Also, Helfer told me that his book DOOM PATROL is getting cancelled, which is really too bad, it's my favorite DC comic. We plan to meet up next week to discuss future work. I'll bring Bertozzi along

@1PM, I biked over to SBX's home to let in the CRATE & BARRELL guys so they could replace her splintered wooden table that weighs 900 pounds. SBX appreciated the favor and this allowed for kudos. Duly knighted, I took my Excalibur and ordered some rice & beans on the corner for lunch and rode back home to--


Tell me I didn't just see what I saw. Throw some water on my cheek. Smack me in the face. Do something. Quick. I did NOT just see a 90-year old couple waver back and forth on a street corner, ready to fall into oncoming traffic, to suddenly catch themselves from certain death, balancing each other by holding onto one another’s bodies, standing upright just so they could give each other...

...a kiss?

Tell me that didn't happen. 'Cause it did.

Fingerman told me that Dark Horse was planning on doing an ALL INDEPENDENT CARTOONISTS issue of STAR WARS. Boy howdy, who I'd kill to draw BOBA FETT. So, I wrote my Croatian pal, Star Wars/SOLDIER X writer, Darko Macan, to see if he was interested in developing a quick pitch. He was out of the loop, burnt out on Star Wars proper, but told me to charm the editor. I tried just that. Pending.

I penciled most of T2/pp20 and went over to SBX's where the girls were having a sleepover party. After 2-hours of domesticity and hobnobbing, the young ones were in their bedrooms talking whatever girls of their age talk about while SBX and I pitched a tent in the TV-room and watched the eye-curling Baz Luhrmann headache, MOULIN ROUGE, a goofy concept that would have been better realized by Jean-Pierre Jeunet, the director of AMELIE [and co-director of DELICATESSEN, CITY OF LOST CHILDREN, and ALIEN 4]. Otherwise, it's a terribly corny idea that a 5th grader would be embarrassed to pitch to his drama teacher on scratch paper. I thought of splicing lyrics of famous love songs together to tell a romance musical, too -- when I was a fucking idiot!

Couldn't take the French farce anymore, we lay in bed and kissed. Kissing wouldn't stop as knees knocked, elbows tangled, and bodies buckled. So, we made the love. SBX caught the early train to La-La-Land, and I picked up my book by the night table in hopes of catching the next arrival. Lansdales, CAPTAINS COURAGOUS, is dragging. My ploy is to keep the hardcover at SBX's house and, since I have nothing at her house to do when she's in the midst of things with the girls or doing solo domestic chores, I can pick up the disappointing novel and get to the bottom of this most recent Hap & Leonard tale, one lousy chapter at a time. When really, I should be mainlining Ian McEwan's ATONEMENT or Wally Wood's THUNDER AGENTS!

Oh, and about my Father? After living in NYC all his life, moved to East Hampton on Wednesday. I guess I kind of can’t believe it.