When Good Mutant Surrogate Father Relationships Go Bad

Alternate title: “Scott, He’s Just Not That Into You.”

For those who have been following the correspondence between the increasingly-estranged Cyclops and Professor X (you can find it all by clicking on the “Cyclops” link on the left), as you can see in Dark Avengers Uncanny X-Men Utopia #1 things are getting downright Freudian.

Coming soon, part 2 of my True Blood piece and your vote decides – Groovy Superhero: Douche or Not Douche? Fortunately, we’re using a Diebold voting machine, so if things start looking ugly for me in the polls I can always just hire my nine year old cousin to hack it.

Also, Rokk’s statement has inspired me to take a moment to say that I have been nowhere near as prolific as I set out to be when I signed up with the Revolution. I can’t change that fact, I can only do my best to improve it from here on out, and while I’m not one for excuses I might as well explain the main reasons:

1) I’m suffering from what started out as a terrible finger injury, which hasn’t respond to treatments; rather it’s grown into a hand, wrist, and finally, all-the-way-up-to-my-funny bone injury. After testing my nervous system (I don’t want to talk about it – let’s just say you spend an hour with the electrode lady, then she sends for the needle guy), there are no more options. I’ll be staying in this condition for a few months, after which they start with the bone saws and the painkillers and I don’t even want to know the details. As long as they give me the really good stuff, I’m cool with it if it fixes my arm. However, if anyone knows how to get on the Bucky Soviet super-soldier arm waiting list, please let me know.

2) This is going to sound very out of character – but if I come off as goofy most of the time, it’s because when I’m blogging, I’m being myself, no-holds-barred. I mean, unless I’m pretending I’m Professor X or something. So here’s my other side: My beloved cat and best friend for the past 19 years got quite sick, and I set up a cat medical center at home, thinking I could save him because up until recently he was very healthy – you wouldn’t have thought he was older than eight. He was feisty, playful, and every time I took him to the vet all the other cat owners would stop and admire how beautiful his shiny black fur was and ask what I was feeding him. He passed on, and I’m sure he is someplace where the clouds are made of salmon, and when you get tired of killing the many birds and playing with the never-ending ball of yarn, you can go to the sitting room and claw at some chairs. He is survived by his brother, my other best friend of 19 years, who is depressed and grieving and LOUD and I’m doing my best to cheer him up.

I don’t mean to come off all maudlin on a happy New Comics Wednesday – but I feel like you guys deserve to know the truth and my kitty deserved the tribute.

You should start seeing more posts from me soon. Unless I start renting Lost DVDs. Besides – as I love to hint – the distinction between my posts at Groovy Superhero and my posts at the Revolution will soon mean very little. Now go theorize and rumor-monger, my friends! Bwah-ha-ha!