The Pete formerly known as an artist

Years and years before I turned to writing as a creative outlet, back when the word "blog" was still a desperate Scrabble attempt, I thought I was destined to grow up to become a comic book artist.

In the 6th grade, I created this profane weekly comic strip called "The Adventures of Blubber-boy". It was a Superman parody loosely based off of an overweight friend of mine, who, lucky me, was a good sport for letting me ridicule him for the sake of art.

Blubber-boy came from the planet Cracktonia as an infant, his alter ego was named Elvis Rock, and he'd fight the likes of Mad Marvin (his arch-nemesis), Whops, The Troll, and Turd-Boy. Some of his powers included the super-puke, the super-fart, and the ability to absorb bullets with his gelatinous belly. It was a comic strip that featured the kind of potty humor you'd expect from a kid who religiously watched Beavis and Butthead.

Kids at school loved it. I'd xerox copies of my 2-page comic strip and pass them out to everyone in class before the teacher walked in.

"The Adventures of Blubber-boy" ran for 21 issues, ending with a 6-page climactic battle against Mad Marvin. Mad Marvin had created a giant killer robot which was terrorizing the citizens of Chicago, so Blubber-boy climbed atop the John Hancock Building and did a cannonball into Lake Michigan, creating a great tsunami that swallowed up the killer robot and caused it to short circuit.

I'll never forget what that comic strip did for me socially. When my friends got a hold of the final page, they started xeroxing their own copies and passing it around to everyone they knew, who in turn xeroxed and passed it to everyone they knew. For a good month, I was the most popular kid at Glenside Middle School.

Even the 8th graders walked up to me asking for autographs.

But I had my sights set higher than lowbrow juvenile art. I wanted to be the real deal. The plan was to move to New Jersey after high school and attend the Joe Kubert School of Cartoon and Graphic Art, then move back to Chicago to rent out an art studio downtown, then get into independent publishing so that I could have full creative control of my projects.

My grown-up wardrobe was going to consist strictly of Hawaiian shirts and I was going to wear my Cubs hat backwards and let stubble grow on my chin and eat beef jerky and drink grape soda and sit at my drawing desk while angry reggae music blasted from my boom-box. I was going to be one of those cute cartoonist dudes that certain hot chicks dig.

And yes, certain hot chicks dig cartoonist guys. I hear Matt Groening's dating some leggy dating-expert brunette.

Why my dreams never came true is a long story, so I won't get into it. But it's been 8 years now since I've drawn anything significant, and whenever I pass by a comic book shop, I always feel a little empty inside. People never stop reminding me, either. Whenever I visit my aunts in California, they never forget to look at me with pity and comment on how sad they think it is that I stopped drawing.

And of course, there's the explaining I have to do whenever I bump into old middle school or high school friends.

Last week I had a burger and a beer with Rob, an old middle school buddy. He tracked me down on Facebook a month ago and since he works close to where I work, we met up for lunch. It was good to catch up with him and find out that he got into business consulting, got married, and is expecting his first child.

"What about you, Pete?" he asked me. "Let me guess... comic book artist with a cult following, right?"

"Nah man," I answered, looking down. "I became a number cruncher."

Rob appeared taken aback for a quick second, then nodded. "You did seem a bit too well-dressed to be an artist. It's cool though. I guess that makes sense. You were always pretty good at math back in the day. Good for you."

I shrugged, then felt the need to justify my career choice. I said, "It's been fun so far. The job is stimulating, my office environment is great, I can't complain about the money, and best of all: certain hot chicks dig math geeks. Like how Russell Crowe landed Jennifer Connelly in A Beautiful Mind."

Rob nodded again, then angled his face suspiciously because he knew me so well, and knew that people never change.

He said, "So, what are you doing for attention these days?"