A Decade +1 of Wedded Bliss

Yesterday, Amy and I celebrated our eleventh year together as husband and wife. Which means eleven years ago, today, I was walking around Disney World in Florida. Admittedly, Amy and I don’t do a whole lot of celebrating. I think half of that stems from a monetary standpoint but we certainly did acknowledge the special date… if ya know what I’m saying!
But when I look at Amy, it certainly doesn’t seem like eleven years has passed. I look back and I certainly don’t feel old. It seems like High School wasn’t that long ago. I guess the time just tends to creep up on you.
Regardless, I could not have asked for a more supportive wife. Seems like marriages all around me are dropping like flies. Or when I see couples and all their excessive problems, it makes me cringe.
And then I thank God that we aren’t one of them.
Eleven years has passed like the twinkling of an eye and I am looking forward to countless more…

Rattling the Pillars of Academia

The magical man that is RMF wears many hats. Comic book writer. Produce Clerk. Husband. Father. Turnip Farmer. Love Machine. But now I get to add a new title to the resume.
College Lecturer.
On Monday the 14th, I was invited to the NSU (Northeastern State University) campus in Broken Arrow to lecture on graphic novels.
I know that sounds pretty impressive, like I am so locally famous that the teacher and students knew my work and sought me out. In truth, my sister-in-law was taking the college literature class. When they came to the section on graphic novels, she piped up saying, “My brother-in-law writes graphic novels.” The teacher asked if I would be interested in coming and speaking. So I said yes and the rest will be etched on the marble of academia for future generations to contemplate.
All and all, it was a good lecture. My editor/brother-in-law attended the lecture as well. He gave me an honest opinion about the feedback and the Q&A period of the lecture. All those in attendance (all eight of them) seemed to be interested and attentive, asking many questions that fed the lecture.
Ironically, I did not really prepare any formal notes. It was more of a shoot from the hip lecture that was fueled by answering questions that were pertinent to their education. Which meant I spent a considerable amount of time talking about the complexities and the relevance of comics in the main stream—even though heroes run around in yellow spandex.
Afterwards, students and the teacher came up to say how impressed they were and how I shed knowledge on the process… Which means they didn’t figure out that I am some no-talent hack that has lucked his way into a position in comic books. My fraud continues to go undetected!
[You can’t see it right now by I am tenting my fingers and laughing maniacally.]
But the ultimate sign that they enjoyed my lecturing is that they are planning on inviting me back in the summertime. Which means, I am not just a lecturer. I will have given a series of college lectures. If I’m not careful, I’m going to have to get a date book to pencil people into my schedule.
To celebrate this momentous occasion where I spoke at a Masters Degree-level college course, Brandon took me to Wal-Mart to hunt for Iron Man action figures.

Yes, there could be no bigger dichotomy between cool guy and geeky dork that the soul that beats within the chest of Ryan Foley. Look at me and tremble…

“Hope I die before I get old.” Pete Townshend, The Who

Man, how did a quarter of the year already come and go? It hardly seems possible. That is also how I feel about life sometimes. I turned around and all the sudden I was thirty-three years old. Did I really graduate from high school all those years ago?
This line of thought was brought up because the company that I work for wants us to think that they are taking care of us and are concerned about our health. I know you are thinking that they might have picked up the tab for our crappy health insurance or started affording us quality, healthy lunches free of cost. That would have been nice.
Instead they brought in a medical team to a “drive-by” wellness test. Overall, things are pretty good with me. My blood pressure and blood sugar is good. My weight is a little over but my body fat percentage is better than I expected. The only real hiccup is that my bad cholesterol is good and my good cholesterol is bad. My number on my good cholesterol is too low.
I’ve already started a switch and after the test I am now eating Cheerios on my breaks as opposed to a doughnut from the bakery. I’m also going to get on an Omega-3 supplement. And of course, I plan on taking the test to my doctor now that I finally have health insurance and go over the numbers with him.
All and all, I would say it went better than I expected. Some of the people got notes that said that they needed to get to a doctor right away. How scary is that? I wanted the tech to look at my results and say, “Do you have any next of kin for us to contact?” But I was in good shape.
Of course, when asked how my test went, I told most of the hot girls that I had only minutes to live… and then asked them if they wanted to make out. Not a single taker. Damn it.
But all and all, I was pretty satisfied.

Of course, I refused to share this information with my wife and children. Instead I came home yelling for the house to be picked up and “my dinner on the table, woman!” As is the standard fare in the Foley house. The only way they might learn of my health is if they read this blog but I monitor all their communications and website activity, so I think I am safe.

I know a lot of you pro-marriage zealots are shaking your heads and saying, “Ryan, communication is the key to a good marriage.” Whenever people tell me that, I scream at them, degrading their intelligence and genetics and then read them this passage from the book that has changed my life more than all others:

A Relevant Excerpt from Stephen Colbert’s I Am America (and So Can You!)
Dad’s got to protect the weaker minds of his wife and offspring from the burden of worry. He can’t show any signs of indecision, financial trouble, or even sickness. That’s why it is imperative that fathers never go to the doctor. They might find out something is wrong—knowledge which they could never share.* The crushing burden of stuffing emotion for decades is our nation’s number one killer of dads. Or it should be.

*A corollary to this rule is that dads should buy a lot of life insurance. I mean tons. Enough to make the cops suspicious when he dies.