Chris Ware and Keep on Keepin' on

I'm sure that everyone else has known who Chris Ware is--I'm usually a couple of years behind the times--except with 80s music, I was right there in the thick of it.
I buckled under The New Yorker's professional rate ($25!) and subscribed for 2004. This last week's was a double issue (February 16 & 23). There I was, on the MBTA Red Line heading to Alewife Station when I come to Chris' graphic story "The Whole Time." I don't care what you have to do--beg, borrow, photocopy, this 2-page story.
There I am, bundled up in my winter coat, bag slung at my feet, crying over a stupid comic.
I then went to a local comics store in Coolidge Corner begging them for anything that some person named "Chris" wrote--I made the mistake of not writing down the name...The owner asked me to describe the comic--asked me, a person that only reads Boondocks and Doonesbury. I said that they are very sad with clean lines, and he said, "Chris Ware."
Keep on Keepin' on:
I've decided that life is too short to not have dessert--calories be damned.


I have no idea who Chris Ware is. I used to be such a music geek. Then I had kids. The minute Raffi came into the house, my life as a music know-it-all came to an end. Anyone for a rousing chorus of "Banana Phone" or "Brush Your Teeth (ch ch ch chu)"? We're way past Raffi, but I'm not sure Linkin Park and John Mayer are an improvement. Top 40 Radio (and they're all named "The Party") is the bane of my auto-dwelling existence.

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