Kay Buena's Blog

    When Betty Jane (Notorious music critic, companion, and  a 58 year old doll, with a proclivity for mischief,  mayhem, and mystery) first came into my life , she was almost too pretty to be taken seriously.  Oddly enough, though — as it is for us all, her beauty was really internal, and was in the eye of this beholder.  But above all else, Betty Jane was clever, with many other virtues besides the serious look on her face. Besides her classic beauty, she was the smartest of all my dolls.  What I remember most was her wardrobe.  It was extensive, coordinated, and she had  two  pairs  of shoes. As did I at the time.   My mother had made all  her clothes while I was in nursery school, and Mom found the little “dolly trunk” at a local toy-store in Fairborne, Ohio, where we lived at that time.  The trunk was a treasure, but no longer with us.  It served her well when we had it, not only to keep her wardrobe together, but it appeared many times, having many a nefarious purpose, including hiding another doll’s corpse during the “adventures of Foxie and Betty Jane” that my brother and I cooked up in our ‘yout..’

     I’m not very sure about what happened to her hair, which is to say : I rememberize¹her hair when she was new as being long and blonde.  I do remember the unfortunate hair cut and dye job ( done with grass sheers and mercurochrome) that I do believe  was my own work.  But now that she is once again in action, her hair looks worse that arey an egret, and I was determined to change what had been done (by me) to help my old friend and equal in the food chain of this household. So I started her make-over with the hair.  Always a good choice.  “You can’t tell a book by looking at the cover,”  but a doll with a mangy old rotting wig will just plain turn off a tornado.  It also looks really bad and sad.  Fortunately, I possessed a strange hair piece that made my own mangy pony tail appear (then blonde) a whole lot better than  the reality of my own said  “-do.” 

     So, I took my trusty pinch-nosed pliers and ripped that wig right off her plastic, egg shaped head. (“Oh,ouch, the internal injuries… etc.,”  exclaimed Betty Jane, but her expression remained stoic. That’s one thing that’s really great about having a doll with a straight face.  They generally don’t change moods.  (“yow, ouch”)–Even during painful events.

     When she came back into my life in 2005,  her hair had gone over to the dark side, and she still had her awkward posture and “baseball-hip”. (There is an injury many a baseball player has, in which the thumb is shoved into the relatively large synovial cavity of the first metacarpal joint. The  corresponding inflammation in the thumb from catching a hard ball with the thumb is liable to be followed by abscesses in the forearm from extension of the inflammation along the continuous synovial sheaths.  The particular synovial anatomy of the hand (in that the thumb and little finger, for what ever reason the Lord made those fingers a tad anotomically different from the others ) is such that the fluid can be forced from the one swelling to the other, under the ligament.  (Not that you needed to know that…).  But in Betty Jane’s case, her baseball leg had been shoved into her torso (ouch ) during an explosion prepared by my much admired brother, who was a pyromaniacal kid back then.   But I am in digression as usual; the hairdo problem with Betty Jane, must have happened in 1952, as I got her in 1951, when her contenance was much too pretty for out door work. 

      As it is now “Gray Slop” or Winter in Austin, I tend to look forward to the ridiculous and semi-improbable duties I get to perform, such as just last month,  some one else, besides myself,noticed that my  own hair-do was ‘in a yellow alert mode’, too — as the gray of my hair became a seasonal liability, a camouflage for disappearing into the scenery.  Sort of like a hunter with no red vest… Who cares if I go bald?  No one would notice except Charles.  However, going blond if gray, is one Hell of a lot easier than going gray from blond, as I remarked in the past.  Charles looks forward to these times when I am Not remarking anything at all.  That’s why I get to tell you these stupid stories (however true they are) as even HE  cannot withstand the test of time when the rubber meets the road or when a jabbering idiot is in 4th gear, even if that jabbering idiot has an artistic flare for detail. (‘Wonders will never cease’and after all, God is in the details) ha ha. 

     Betty Jane is not as fond of the Christmas season, as some of us are, in that it is her request to be boxed after thanksgiving.  Yes, she still closes her eyes when she sleeps, even though I performed cataract surgery pre-holiday ,this last year.  I tried to restructure the color of her eyes, and succeeded using fancy artsy, two-ended extra fine markers for the iris, a black perminent marker for the pupil and topped that off with some clear nail polish applied with a tiny brush in a thin coat.  The eyes have it.  All I need to do now, as I also fixed her hip problem by yanking the little plastic leg out of her torso, with great precision…is work on her wardrobe (she has one pair of underpants with Monday written next to a flower. )  That part could take a while, however you may enjoy the tale of how she achieved that base ball hip. And I will post her picture now that she is once again too pretty to go outside.

     Chapter 2 in Betty Jane’s Makeover to be continued ,until whenever Charles can’t stand to hear me (Otra Vez) .  Probably tomorrow.

We will have to wait on the picture of Betty Janes’s new look, as she has refused to cooperate. Hopefully, tomorrow –on that too.

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(1.) Mance Libscomb, “rememberize” in his introduction to “Smile on, smile on Harvest Moon”; DVD

     Once in the line of duty, *”Betty Jane”, my childhood’s favorite doll and clever female detective, associate of the master crime fighter of yester-year “Foxie” (see Betty Jane’s laundry day, where she “unplugs” that box thing (my old Dell Computer) and hangs up her wet laundry all over it’s parts and portals, for the tale of her reappearance in my life and consciousness.)  Although, she was basically an anarchist and my very most favorite doll, she was most insistant about  following proper protocol, amd intolerant of idiocy or things with no purpose.  She took great offense at the obviously offensive “modern Radio”, (I meant to offend you with that tedious word play) that she heard on one of those random Mp3 like programs coming from the box.   This “modern millennium ,” in her humble opinion, “sucked, big time.”

      Where was the music she craved to hear?  And what was this crap she heard when she came back “in there” , to the current time, when beside my computer in the down stairs Work Room, she once again took control? Perhaps the whole purpose of this music was to make one’s  rubber band break,  head and limbs detach and become one with the chaos of the in this junk room; if so, it ‘s working.    

      This music  was not a soothing, restful, spiritually satisfying  addition to the ambiance, that, in her* ever modest opinion, was craved.  But, I was so happy to have “Betty Jane” in the ” here and now” to discuss or repeat unnecessary truths. Having her here again was more or less a “freeing” experience to what-ever and which-ever direction things flew, as little is of no consequence to us both when we are quite busy.  However, all had changed in the absence of her participation and she was none too pleased with how this happened, regardless of mine or anyone elses wishes. In fact, the concept of the word Random, pissed her off , most assuredly.  And lets face it , yawls; ain’t nothing really too dang “random,”  that was ever picked out by this blankety blank computer, no how.   It occurred to Betty Jane that real music, involves the very human personal offering  by real live musicians (People not machines). And even letting that idiotic box-thing pick out what was to be played seemed, well…just wrong, in many ways.

     And music is something that everyone relates to, in their own way, with their own ears, a very personal  choice that has been made by the listener, for his or her needs at the time,  however dusty, germ infested, mold infested the needs or ears of said listener may be. But what she heard now, did not make her feel good.  And when  any doll or person does  not  “get” the locals’ music being played (particularly when it is being played constantly in one’s newly awakened and transferred assignment) all dolls and people tend to feel alone, maybe totally alienated from life, and truly sad.  Lets face it, right next to that Box thing which that old lady stares down for many a moment, next to Betty Jane’s person was a grown up and over the hill version, she thought, of who could be my former little girl and playmate (that would be me to whom she refers here) but who knows?  She could be an actor, that happens too.)   We are both a little “old-time” for that  music being offensively played here in her space, as far as musical history is concerned. Hasn’t she noticed this?   So, whats the point?:   Who needs that?   What we don’t need in this junk room, is something that makes you feel bad or out of it.   No way! It’s bad enough as it is. And incidently, what’s with all this “junk…”  Perhaps her “geezerly former little girl” had become  one of those hoarders, like that old lady who we used to visit in Arlington, Virginia, who had piles of newspapers and old bottles and cans in moving boxes lined up through out her house.  Role models, they’re  every where.  Too bad this dang geezerly former little girl didn’t get  transfered long ago.  All this extra stuff would be long gone,if so.   but who knows?  Time, however many days, months or years we were dis-involved together, had really changed her little girl, Caroline U. Hiney Hine.   

  Regardless of one’s surroundings:  What we want  here and now is music that’s up-lifting and familiar, that is like a warm bath on a very hot or cold day, or when we put on freshly ironed clean clothes and are prepared for the possibility of the Queen of England’s visit for tea… Frankly she was “antsy” in these surroundings. as it is said, ” who ain’t, ain’t worth knowing”. (1.>)

     She, Betty Jane, was used to the greats: Chuck Berry.  Little Richard.  Muddy Waters.  Hank Williams.  Ernie K Doe.  Ike and Tina;  (lets face it, there is an extreme difference in AM radio from the years 1951-2005 when she popped back into life.  But fortunately for her, that old lady was a familiar spirit, and she had the good sense  to play her entire collection of Koerner, Ray and Glover,which lasted about 2 hours.  Much better.  (“shake it on down” Dave Ray….) These acceptable three  musicians  are very good, and appear to be obvious maniacs -harmonizing in that magically rambunctious fugue- like rendition ( that they did in their ‘yout’) and it was Just the thing.  That’s a comforting experience for all.  We (Betty Jane and I) share an intense regard for the lyrics and cadence of language.  I feel a  sad presence now.  It  must be because Betty Jane fears she is “homeless” to some extent, as the usual music and havoc  going on in the here and now is beyond redemption. In that she surly doesn’t belong here; where the inevitability of  depression, stress, and sheer frustration, builds up in such a big way, in such a big silent and strange  house, until someone inevitably flips their lid.  Said Betty Jane: ” who needs this here?”

    By the by, the secret to a good one-on-one relationship is, often, simply making sure you take turns blowing one’s top.  Do that in such a manner as to make sure the “flip out” does not happen in duality; but if it does, it is best that the “two head explosions” not happen at the same time. Things get messy, but that’s the way it goes, life.  and all that.   OK.

   As has been Betty Jane’s and my experience, when the  “lid is flipped’, this is best described as a nervous breakdown, or can be so serious as to be suspected of being a sociopathic fit;  when what’s really going down, is merely  that ones temper is  completely lost.  The cadence is broken, and attention spans differ, no question about that;  It is normal to express your self when you  need something or someone badly and all you get is the side of a box.  I don’t care what your circumstances are or who is running the show.   Even if they look like her little girl, Caroline U Hiney Hine, it is possible but not probable that that person is she who once was that little girl.  But little girls come and go, and in this family those little girls have come, and gone, and went way over the top, and beyond the great divide for some time, as a great tradition never needs to  change, but that does not matter here.   And It is always really hard to remember a name, if It’s way too long.   Who does?   Not this doll, but some instinctual voice is telling Betty Jane that this old hag is indeed that playfully fair kid that was hers in the first place.   Sure it is.  Oh, and her little girl would answer to “Shorty Mentally.” (S.M, for short) as she was frequiently also addressed as such. 

      But whomever she is or what she was called, perhaps finally she will begin to realize she has responsibilities, that she is NOT the only person in the world.  Maybe these thoughts or  actions of a disconcerting nature, could transulate our feelings into familiar experiences that we have shared?  This is a difficult thing to do, however it is possible. The years seem just across the street when old familiar eyes connect  after a period of rest and reflection.  Like 55 years, is nothing when paired with the stone age, or when Jesus walked the earth, that was long long long ago, in a land far away. (And perfect ?  Her little girl(geezer that she is today) she aint.  Even Betty Jane “recollected” what happened to that old boy in 33 B.C.)  But we all know that.  No need to establish given facts if you believe and are patient. However 2005 years after Jesus’ birth in some way leads up to now, and fantasy is not an accepted “given” in some people or dolls. (2.)  Not everyone would know or understand this girl – doll relationship thing, anyway.  However, she will, if that really is my little personage, Caroline U Hiney Hine, of the given Jungle.  So I, the every wise and honest Betty Jane, said plainly: ” Hey, Shorty Mentally, what’s wit dis dang musack?”  Her former little girl just  focused on her old doll with her mouth open in supprise for a very long time.

     If I can just reach over and hit that “Esc” key on that new fangled typewriter, that will undoubtedly cleanse the pallet.  It is important to gain the attention of the aspergian idiot connected to this here box, with out question, before one’s point can be made with a facial expression or even an exclamation.  Betty Jane squinted her glassy eyes, and pursed her very red lips.  This is a simple procedure that can be done by anyone with the nerve to interrupt one of these fiends, so don’t try this at home unless you’re really on good terms with the computer user.

 Ah, hah! That worked: what a shocking experience, however one with results.  And look who She brought here for me to meet? :  James Brown, the hardest worker in show business, and “he feels good” too.(although he is a tad repetitive.)  So Betty Jane and James Brown had excellent company together and I am sure, will be engaged in many an odd and amusing adventure as one can imagine them to interact.  Click on the picture above for a closer view.  Notice how nice and clean Betty Jane’s clothing is today.  All is well.  Well, except for that box thing was annoying the absolute ravings out of both Betty Jane and her new friend, James Brown. 

      I noticed the plug had been pulled out of the wall when next I went down to observe their progress.  Good play, yawl… Next adventure?  who knows?

AS ever,

KayBuena  of the here and now

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(1.) I said that, Caroline Abbitt Sauer  AKA     Kay Buena (who done dreamed the impossible dream one too many times.)

(2.) Betty Jane sprung into action and verbalization in 2005, after a somewhat lengthy hiatus.  She came into my life on my 4th birthday, some 35 years ago–(just kidding..Lord help us all, it’s been 58 years ago when Betty Jane arrived !aaaahhhhhhhggggg…)

Betty Jane is the kind of doll that most kids can tell is a doll to “play with” and not just look at.  My mother gave me the dubious and questionably intelligent Betty Jane, on my 4th birthday.  At first with her long blond hair and a surprised look, and prim red serious smile, I took her to be the kind of doll  you look at, but was not the all together trusted friend she became.  Even though she was given to me in her own traveling trunk and with a decent wardrobe (encluding a Coat and boots, handy those’  back when  we lived where it snowed and seemed miserably cold in the winter…Where were we?  North Carolina ?, who knows… ) that my mother had made herself on the Singer sewing machine we had back then. Actually I remember how pleased I was with what was the nicest gift ever .  Though she seemed  somewhat aloof, in that manner that makes any doll too fancy when it’s new.  However, upon further examination and extensive hours spent in her company, I found her to be extremely smart, having a proclivity for solving the most heinous crimes (much like Perry Mason’s Della Street), with her wit, wisdom and logic…  three things that most 4 year old kids lack, big time. So she was ever so valuable an addition to our household back in the early 1950’s. I was a little girl then, happy but hyper, and I had an older brother, who refused to play dolls, as was his choice.  Because we moved so much, and friends came and went, my brother and I were closer than most siblings, both in age and as playmates, simply because he and I were the only kids constantly available.  So we compromised, an unusual even for sure, as we began to grow and become aware of literature and plays (this was before we had a TV, for the most part.) But radio and no TV really helped with our imaginations, and before too long my brother agreed to “play” with me and my dolls, under the given fact that all my stuffed animals were boys and all dolls were girls (my department.)  But the star of the show, and the most clever and strong of the lot was “Foxie”.

keep in mind that I am 60 years old and that I still have Betty Jane.  Foxie recieved a Military funeral years ago.  She and I once again became friends when I decided to put her next to my computer, so we could  again re-establish our relationship.  This was  just after I shot said computer.  If you click on one or all of the pictures, you can observe the direct hit at about 10 paces (a 22 hollow point-long rifle bullet went right fine amungst it’s horrible intrills) as the bullet hole can be detected near the middle of that old Dell, which I had for many years. This picture was taken about 4 years ago, before the birth of my Grandaughter and our sobering up around here.  Betty Jane does not approve of computers, as all one does all day these days, with one of these dang things, is sit and stare into what looks like a box to her. It is a a bizarre act, I must agree if you stop and think that over. I’m not talking about shooting that computer.  It had it coming, believe me…I’m talking about staring into it, for hours on end.  I am enclosing 4 pictures of the occassion of when she took over my study (or what ever room  that should be called now) and that particular wounded computer, to hang her panties and dress on a clothes line strung upon part of the unplugged computer that was handy. Where-ever that was. Well, this was convenient for her. While waiting for them to dry, she found a piece of velvet fabric which she wraped around herself as though it was a toga. Like I said, Betty Jane is no fool and doesn’t take prisoners.  She hadn’t washed her clothes in about 40 years, so I agree that it was high time to be doing that.  But that’s later.

      This “Foxie” Character first appeared in my brother’s plays &/or dramas, much to my mothers sad realization, when my brother and I played in her closet one day and found among her coats and jackets a real fox jacket, that’s collar was made of two entwined fox tails with a simplified fox head that clamped the collar together by his mouth. As bizarre as this seemed to us, there was no other option but to logically free foxie.  And although this addition to a costly coat was not an approved action, we some how, detached the fox head with it’s flowing tails from that coat with no mercy.  Then Foxie became the star of our shows, the man.  As he was an an obvious addition to our company of crime solving dolls and stuffed animals, or that was our excuse was back then. We ripped him off, grabed him and ran. This left the coat a torn up mess on the floor of my mothers closet, not that we cared.   Thus Foxie proceeded to star in our complex and semi rediculous stories, for several years until he was an unsightly mess, I must say…(and looking back in my memory, my mother put up with more crap from us two kids than most mothers, because my brother and I were hyperactive fiends.) Whats new there?    

 As one can imagine, Mother was not all together pleased with this arrangement, however she had a nice warm scarf that could top that jacket, so foxie was free at last, and obviously ours. “Foxie” was a combo Perry Mason, violent Soldier, and very clever crime fighting genius, who would right all the many wrongs in the stories we made up. My Brother, who thinks I’m crazy as a nit house mouse, probably does not remember Foxie and that gang of merry players.  But I do. 

So More about Betty Jane’s current critiqes and adventures will appear on this site from time to time… later, and  with pictures and drawings…..to be continued…There are many a horrible but anecdotal and much revered memories of that lot to be revealed to you ,  in the immediate future. 

So check back and notice them.

Thanks for visiting my blog and I hope you’er cool, comfortable, have your feet up and a big glass of Iced beverage.  Its  105 out side in Austin , Texas.  No lie…I guess we must have had a cool front come through last night.

As ever,

Caroline Abbitt Sauer (AKA)  KayBuena@KayBuena.com

P.S.  Ms. Buena appreciates all comments of real value or idiocy, (?) to be sent to her email account, so as to back up all the software’s attempt to clear the queue of spy-ware and spam. That should make my husband very happy. Go ahead: Tell me something, that is not obscene.

Today, being father’s day, it only seems appropriate that I tell you fine folks a bit (pun) about my Dad, Col. Charles Webb Abbitt (U.S.A.F.(ret.)), who has always amazed me in many ways: How could a person, regardless of age and other factors, be so gol darned disciplined about actually doing the things he says he will do? Once I asked him something about this, when I was in high school in Houston, Texas, as every morning he’d hit the freeway way before 7:00am.  His job was high pressured as he was involved in the design and activation of Mission Control from the start till that day of my inquisition in the  the early l960’s( first from 1956 at the “cape”, an then where Headquarters for the Space Program for the USofA moved on to Houston.) He said something to the effect of “I have no choice in the matter.”

This was a shocking answer to me, sluggard Military Brat that I had always been. But the sheer, clear, Black and white, finite answer to my estupido question, made me realize right then, that any person’s present, and future is dependent on their past. I know that is a reality seemingly dumber than a door knob.  And that I realized that- so late in life-was not a prodigy- like philosophic sign.   However, that was the time, when one of those “eureka”, life changing thoughts, satorial to my 16 year old person, was revealed to my feeble brain.  Believe me, those kind of thoughts didn’t start haunting me until my old age, when it’s way too late to change.  But here is my rational theory for his dependability and dedication for exellence (way beyond the call of duty):  My good old Dad graduated from Virginia Military Institute, back in the days when they where still being tortured and trained to be cavalry soldiers. There were no “female, women of the opposite sex,”in those days as students (his quote) to distract them, as there are now. And just as an example, all VMI students slept with the windows open, regardless of how cold it was in Lynchburg, Virginia, in that Winter. Each “rat” or freshman took his turn being the one to go close all the windows and light the fires in the winter before revelry (05:00 am. eastern time.) And all students carried their rifle on their right shoulder at all times (just to get used to that…) to class, to eat, etc.  My mom always claimed that was why his right leg was 1/2 shorter than the left one, and looking back she was probably right.  Dad went from a loving family life, not far from their family farm at 16 years old- into that Intense and really quite brutal training, and to say nothing of difficult college classes, all in one 4 year experience. (Heck, it took me 5 years to get my BFA at UT, and I graduated mostly cause they’d had it with me. ) He majored in Electrical Engineering, ’cause he found that “right interesting.” And Dad graduated in 1941, only to be sent right into the U.S. Army (no summer vacation for him). This was before the United States was officially at war, however there was a R.A.F. in England, and soon there was an U.S. Army Air Corp as well. At one point his brigade was flying gasoline to the ground troupes Under General Patton, as the Alis made progress to the Rhine River in Germany and on to crush the Nazis. All with out getting blown up to smithereens, even once.

I am one lucky “Baby-Boomer” to be alive today, considering the dangers he faced during his whole career during World War II, and the remaining dangers he continued to face  with 20 years in the Air Force.   He retired a full Colonel, and then went directly into one of the companies contracting to NASA, when it went from a Military Operation into being more the aspiration of President Kennedy’s dream of future Space Travel,and the goal of landing on the Moon.  As the military developed these possibilities, that became more of a scientific achievement, than merely the defense department’s superior weaponry and such; the Space Program became more publicly available.  many aspects of Nasa’s Space Program were non- military, and were provided with equipment and personnel using private contractors.  Upon his first retirement from the Air Force, he went to work for what was then Philco-Ford. (This was in the time frame of when I asked him that question, on “how he could keep up that pace, with-out seriously wanting to role over in bed and sleep 6 more hours ?..”.) He progressed, from the start of the space program, to more or less Administrative duties over those dudes we always saw at their desks on TV, with headphones and “computers?”…during a lift off. And he always ended up doing what was necessary for him and about 10 other guys, as well. Fortunately for us all, Dad was up to that task and hyperactivity runs in our family.

Now, when I think of him then, when he was (-20 years) my age, as well as my age in the present, I remember his hair was dark brown; and he could ward off the most disgusting teen-aged wastrel, with one glance. (That would be me at that time.)  My greatest fear was to disappoint him. And when he lost his tempter, it was rarely at me, as he had minions to monitor. (A much more likely group to capture his disdain.)

He is now 88 years old and living in Richardson, Texas, close to where my brother lives. He practices singing and playing his guitar every day,and learns at least two new songs for his Thursday night concerts each 2 week interval. Whereas, I do not practice my guitar, trying to focus on piano. ( However, whose got the time? ” ) If only I had that drilled-in discipline, and duty installed, or inherited, like there was no other choice.

 I grew up to his singing and playing guitar for me all through my youth, and to this day.  Though I’m his daughter, and alot of that musical interest  and talent stuck.  I’m the one with the “white” hair, and when we are together we look more like peer compaions, than Father-Daughter. Except for I limp, (artificially replaced hip and knee, one on each side)…And he’s able to walk a mile a day, which he does every morning.

   My Husband and I visited him on his birthday weekend, when this was recorded, it’s one of my dad’s favorite songs. Though two weeks earlier, I had dislocated my right arm, lifting something way too heavy for me, but I thought I could…and I did, only with some physical damage…which I had not considered the possiblility of happening before doing so.  But as it is said;” a bad workman, always blames his or her tools.(1)” (Those would be my thought processes, tsk. tsk.) So my guitar playing sucks, and my legs are still swollen up in this Video like they belong to Emmett Smith, and not to me from the 5 hour drive in our car, even with support hose…it’s the sitting still thats a problem, in a socially acceptable position. 

  Any hoo, This is a Gene Autry Song. It was my Dad’s childhood dream to be a cowboy, (preferably the singing kind.) Though he grew up in Virginia, we moved to Texas  and he did that too.  I miss our farm in Holland, Texas so much (along with it’s water moccasins, ants and “no-see-’em’s” gnats, and some of the nosiest mocking birds and cardinals in Texas,etc.) even though it was always in his care, (ergo; in perfect A-1 shape, of course)… it was always home.  

 If I’m lucky, I can  re-record this on the piano and not sound quite so much like a dweeb.  Hopefully, Charles Sauer (my husband) might feel up to the task of recording this, when I’m home and rested and inside the air conditioned house. It’s supposed to be 100 degrees outside this afternoon. I wonder why Dad didn’t want to live here? Oh, I remember; it’s way too hot, and that kid of his, with the white hair is a true wastrel, however entertaining she can be upon occasion. But, Dad, you’ve got to admit I’ve got good taste in music.

(1.) Read this in a Superman comic book.