When my publisher Fantagraphics stuck its hand out at Kick Starter some months ago, a premium it offered was a t-shirt that said “F**K You. I’m with Fantagraphics.” Only it didn’t say “**.” When I got mine, I pondered where and how to wear it. Then I found a glitter-enhanced rubber star, which I Elmer’s glued between the F and K and set forth, notebook in pocket, ready to engage the populace as an intrepid journalist interested in questions of free speech. But at my health club and pharmacy and cafe no one deighned to comment. (At the cafe I may have been over-shadowed by the fellow at the next table drawing large swastikas repeatedly on his sketch pad.) I was about to think I needed breast enlargements to attract eyes to my chest, when an Afro-American bagger at Whole Foods said, “I like your t-shirt.” Then he added, “What’s Fantagraphics?”
So many Bob Levins on the Internet; I'm the Bob Levin who writes.