So, superheroes are on my brain. That, and all the trailers for the new Wolverine movie all over the socials, leads me to think about my favorite comic book guy, who may or may not be a superhero. Logan. Or Wolverine. Or James Fowler. He has different names. But to me, he's Logan.
Logan's been getting a lot of attention lately. Mainly because a tall, handsome Australian man has been playing him in big-budget movies. But, that's not Logan. Don't get me wrong. I loves me some Hugh Jackman, and he does a good job in the role, as good as someone who is too young, handsome and too charming for the part can do (and who is there old enough without looking old and steely enough? There's a reason he was created on paper). I'll see the movies and enjoy them.
But Logan, my Logan, would laugh at them, if he could be bothered to watch them. He'd spit out a hunk of the cigar he'd been chewing and grimace at me with the juice dripping into his whiskers and ask if they really thought he could be tamed and kept on a leash like that. He'd call me kid as he said it and mean no irony. He'd think I was a kid. Probably an annoying one. He'd somehow seem to look down on me even though I'm four inches taller than him.
My Logan wears a white tee shirt, blue jeans and work boots. His hair and beard are wild, resembling an animal's fur as much as human hair. My Logan is the one whose finger-knives cut him every time he unleashes them and who is not stopped by that. He would definitely, not ever in your wildest dreams, Bub, don a yellow jumpsuit just because he chose to make a temporary alliance with some do-gooders who happened to be fighting a fight he also wanted to fight.
As the man himself says, "I'm the best there is at what I do, but what I do best isn't very nice." Damn straight.