You're Not Superman, You Know


You do to much your not superman you know
Your not superman you know
Your not superman you know

Move left, move right do yo dance on the floor
We don't superman no more we just spiderman dat ho
Now watch me (YOU!)
Crank dat spiderman (YOU!)
Crank dat spiderman (YOU!)
Crank dat spiderman (YOU!)
Crank dat spiderman

- Soulja Boy "Crank Dat Spiderman"

It was in the upper 80's and abundantly sunny today in Los Angeles leaving me with a dilemma. Do I lay out poolside, read a book, and drink a greyhound? Do I head west to Venice beach, lay out, and drink a greyhound? Do I take the Dirty Whore for a ride, and then return home for a greyhound? Do I hit some balls at the driving range? Do I substitute grapefruit juice with OJ?

Dirty Whore

I opted to ride the Dirty Whore to Border's books in Westwood, the dense commercial area outside of UCLA. I was parking illegally (one of the chief benefits of owning a motorcycle is being able to park wherever the hell you want to), taking off my helmet when a kid in his late twenties passed by me.

"Nice bike," he said, nodding towards the Dirty Whore.

"And nice shirt!" he added, noting my Metropolis, IL superman t-shirt.

"You've got fucking style dude!"

Style. Heh. I've got style like my Duluth, Minnesota neighbor, Nick Angel, had style in the late 80's, anticipating the camouflage look by more than a decade. All the neighborhood kids mocked his military garb, calling him things like "Commando-Man." Now whose laughing?

While I am waxing nostalgic and losing control of this post, I'd like to remind the Youngest that when he was a boy, he had Superman pajamas with a Velcro cape. He used to run down the hallway, and when he felt the cape lift off of his back, he believed he was flying. Being his older brother, I felt it was my responsibility to let him know the truth.

"You're no Superman, you know." I told him. "Just because the cape is lifting gently off of your back due to some physics principal I cannot articulate properly does not mean that you can fly."

He doubted my explanation. He was not too young to be skeptical about things I told him, but a part of him knew I was right. There is no such thing as men who can fly. No Santa Clause or Easter Bunny. Just 70 odd years of people stomping on your dreams. Shine on, you crazy diamond!

Update: I just looked up "Superman" and Spiderman" over at http://www.urbandictionary.com/ and now I am throwing up a little in my mouth.