tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70608772440965161822024-03-13T04:02:16.141-07:00Notes From the PlaygroundWaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.comBlogger195125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-76555457332110262552023-02-15T05:51:00.000-08:002023-02-15T05:51:15.815-08:00Eulogy<p>Some people have asked me to post what I said at Dad's funeral. I know that I added a little while I was speaking, but in general, this is the script.</p><p><br /></p><p>Dad was born on June 3, 1919 on the same piece of land he lived on for the rest of his life.</p><p>He was slightly younger than Prohibition and slightly older than women’s right to vote.</p><p>He met my mother while they were both in grade school. She said that she knew when she was six years old that she would spend her life with him. They got 93 more years together.</p><p>He learned to drive in a Model T when he was twelve years old. He was still driving as of this past Christmas. I can’t prove it, but I believe this means that he drove for a longer period of time than anyone else who ever lived.</p><p>He worked on the family farm and helped build many local roads.</p><p>In the late 1930s and early 1940s he played guitar and mandolin in his Uncle Clark’s band, which he told me were called the Phillips Family Band, and sometimes The Back Porch Boys. They played local dances and competitions where he met country western stars such as Big Slim the Lonesome Cowboy, and a very young Grandpa Jones. I found this out just last year. We watched Hee Haw together every week when I was a kid. You would think at some point he would have said, ‟Hey, I know that guy.” Twice they won competitions that allowed them to play on the main stage of the Wheeling Jamboree.</p><p>He played baseball for a number of local teams, primarily Nineveh, where once, in a single game, he hit a single, a double, a triple, and a home run. He remained a Pirates fan until the end.</p><p>In the 1940s he joined the US Military. While stationed in California he was awarded the job of driver for Lieutenant Milton Borcherding, who he served with for the duration of the War. He landed on Omaha Beach, drove a Jeep across Europe, helped hold the line at Saint Vith at the beginning of the Battle of the Bulge, drove across the bridge at Remagen, and smoked cigars with some Russian boys at the Baltic Sea north of Berlin in the last days of the War.</p><p>He was a great ‟dog man.” This doesn’t mean he was a werewolf. Let me explain... He raced Field Trial dogs. He bought King, his first one, from his father-in-law, Arnie Hamilton, and continued to race dogs until the 1990s, winning much more often than he lost. The house had more trophies than would fit.</p><p>He worked as a truck driver for T.G. Walker, then as a plant operator for Benwood Limestone Company. He retired in the mid 1980s.</p><p>He had a long life, of remarkably good health. He worked. He lived through danger and adventure. He had hobbies he loved. He had multiple friendships and a close relationship with his family. He had a lifelong, loving relationship with Alberta. He passed away in his sleep on the same piece of land he was born on.</p><p>We should all have such a good life.</p><div><br /></div>Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-4238422880542424732022-09-03T15:05:00.002-07:002022-09-03T15:55:26.172-07:00AN AMERICAN PRAYER<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">A few days ago a friend posted something on Facebook about <i>An American Prayer</i>, the posthumous Jim Morrison/Doors album. This is a significant album in my life, tied to a very specific time and place. I commented on the Facebook thread that it was the soundtrack to one of the most intense, and ultimately toxic, friendships in my life.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Five or six years ago I was experimenting with writing creative nonfiction. I had a plan to delve into some of my experiences through the music that I associated with them. The first one I did was about <i>An American Prayer</i>. Though I have shared it with a couple of friends I have been reluctant to put it out publicly. It’s fairly personal. It involves real people in my life, though I’ve changed the names for obvious reasons. This is my memory, seen through my eyes, with a little artistic license thrown in. It might not be be entirely accurate or true. It’s been forty years. I think it’s time.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Note: Lines in italics are quotes from songs, copyright their original owner.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzN2pQevwh46jRWU4i0bP_zsAkvCx_P82EmBtcQuA0l9Y3e5b8MDiL4IxvT3TxzQWMsORnj0A7NVXRBUcY6_wUtWRiQxjOcUuTGO8riLoTrCaUan2BFsCWRiHjZbm1fb3jdo3A2tSdOq2ZtXydcD3DRTZNyIAapdnVeUJ64ufThYK1nB0KUzQFIkID" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1417" data-original-width="1417" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzN2pQevwh46jRWU4i0bP_zsAkvCx_P82EmBtcQuA0l9Y3e5b8MDiL4IxvT3TxzQWMsORnj0A7NVXRBUcY6_wUtWRiQxjOcUuTGO8riLoTrCaUan2BFsCWRiHjZbm1fb3jdo3A2tSdOq2ZtXydcD3DRTZNyIAapdnVeUJ64ufThYK1nB0KUzQFIkID" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><i>Is everybody in?</i></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">It was 1984 and no one was watching. I had been out of college for a year and after splitting time between a couple of part time jobs and internships I landed my first professional full-time gig as a counselor for the Greene County Association for Retarded Citizens. I worked there for two years until adult life got boring and I escaped back to the womb of grad school. In that time I became the co-supervisor of one of the group homes.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">We were in the midst of a staff meeting in the kitchen to discuss one of our residents who had been causing tremendous chaos for everyone. He was not an appropriate placement in our system, and we were sitting at the table with the director of the GARC and someone important from the state to hash out the fate of this poor young, bipolar man with severe developmental difficulties.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">The somber conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. When I opened it there stood Dion, unannounced and unplanned for, drenched in sunshine and sweat, pupils dilated in a face more manically animated than anything I had ever seen on the resident we were discussing.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">‟Dude...”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">I’m pretty sure he actually said ‟Dude.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">‟I dropped acid and I’ve being tripping for three days!” he said, grabbing me by the shoulders. I could see fractals in his eyes. ‟You wouldn’t believe what I’ve seen! I gotta tell you about it!”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">I somehow managed to steer him away from the house and get back to the meeting. I still don’t know what things he saw.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><i>Strange days</i>.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">***</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">Dion isn’t his real name, but he was a self-professed follower of the Dionysian, so I’m going with that. He was Italian, handsome. <i>His chest was hard and brown</i>. He had a boyish quality about him that accentuated his good looks, a touch of innocence in the face of a man. His smile was a cauldron of charm. It was like that optical illusion... you know, the one that looks like a beautiful woman from one angle and an ugly crone from another. Once you’ve seen both you can never unsee it.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">Dion was my nemesis. My opposite number. The Joker to my Batman, and probably the other way around. He was my friend and enemy years before the term frenemy came into fashion. He’s the only person I’ve ever felt really competitive with. He was a narcissist, a self-destructive alcoholic, and a sociopath. An asshole, in more prosaic terms. We brought out the worst in each other in one of the only truly toxic relationships I’ve ever experienced.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">Man, did we have a lot of fun together.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">***</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">Like a lot of intelligent young men with artistic aspirations and pretentious tendencies I got really, really into The Doors. I was only a kid when they were a thing, though it’s likely I saw them on the Ed Sullivan Show. It was a Sunday night ritual in my house, one I resented because it meant I could never watch The Wonderful World of Disney. I know I heard the classic tracks during my teens, ‟Light My Fire” and ‟Riders on the Storm” if nothing else. But, in the costumes and flash of my teen rock idols I remained mostly unaware of Jim Morrison.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">There must have been a resurgence of interest in The Doors in the early 80s. Maybe it was the anniversary of his death. Maybe I just became more aware. A friend of mine had a poster in her dorm room, a shirtless Morrison with the lyrics to <i>An American Prayer</i>. She was really into it, but at the time I was diving into New Wave and some of the more accessible fringes of Punk, so her enthusiasm didn’t rub off on me. I was looking forward, I thought, and not as interested in music from the 60s.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">Dion was the person who really turned me on to The Doors. Not surprising, really. Has there ever been a bigger pop culture avatar of art and excess than the Lizard King?</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">***</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">I met Dion in college. We were the same age, but he had started a couple of years late so he was still taking classes after I graduated. We were part of the same social group, though on a small campus it was easy to sort of know everyone. As often happens with people in our lives I don’t remember exactly how we became friends. And we were friends... I think. I may have been the first person Dion ever thought of as a friend, as much as his sociopathic heart would allow friendship.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">He was arrogant. He told me that he always knew he was smarter than anyone he had ever known. The sad part of this statement is that it was probably true in lots of ways. He was easily able to manipulate people, and had no real moral compunction not to. It also meant he never developed respect for anyone. He saw them all as weaker than himself.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">I think I challenged him. In a rare vulnerable moment he told me this was true. I have an element of intellectual arrogance myself, much more so then than now. Life and experience have worn down that rough edge. Smarter or not I wasn’t easily manipulated by Dion. I called him out on his bullshit. He couldn’t get over on me the way he did others. This earned me something like respect from him. Something like respect, but probably not actual respect. In me he saw a challenge. In him I saw... I’m not sure. A dark reflection? Is that too poetic? He gazed deeper into the abyss than I would allow myself, though I was certainly fond of the view.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">Dion’s intelligence, good looks, and charm were a deadly combination. These led a lot of women into his bed. I probably don’t need to say that he didn’t respect them either. I’m still friends with a couple of these women and I can’t speak for them and the nature of whatever relationship they had with him, though one of them told me she had completely forgotten about him, which says something. I know what I witnessed over time. I saw the tears, and heard the stories of those he threw away when someone new came along.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">I worked with a woman I thought of as a friend, and though she wanted more from me I just wasn’t interested in her in that way. Our friendship ended badly and, in my youthful way of not knowing a better solution, I was unnecessarily cruel to her at the end. She told people we were dating. We weren’t. She told people we were sleeping together. We weren’t. Dion did sleep with her, and couldn’t wait to tell me. He seemed disappointed when he discovered I wasn’t involved with her.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">‟That’s the only reason I did it,” he confessed.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">Another friend told me of the time she went to a bar with him... She had one drink and the next thing she remembered was throwing up in her toilet at home.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">‟Do you think it’s possible he put something in my drink?” she asked me. I don’t know if he did, but do I think it’s possible? Yeah, I do.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">***</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">I heard <i>An American Prayer</i> for the first time at Dion’s apartment. He was surprised I hadn’t heard it and was genuinely excited to share it with me. I remember it now as a nearly sacred experience. The room was dark except for a couple of candles. There was beer and probably pot. This was something important to him and sharing it with me was, though neither of us would have used the term at the time, an act of intimacy. I understand this about music. There was a reverence to the way he placed the disc on the turntable and lowered the needle. We sat and just listened.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">Morrison’s words were invocation and invitation. He spoke of gods and their abandonment by the modern world. He spoke of sex and despair, ghost gods and young women, kings and magicians. So many things that felt oh so important then that feel a little pompous and sophomoric to my now middle age sensibilities.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">How I wish anything spoke to me in the same way now.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">Morrison recorded most of this album as a spoken word recitation of his poetry not long before he died. Years later the remaining Doors recorded music to go with it. It is unlike any other Doors album. Morrison had become the ghost god himself presciently narrating his farewell. ‟<i>I’m getting out of here</i>.” ‟<i>Did you have a good life when you died?</i>” ‟<i>We live, we die, and death not ends it.</i>” ‟<i>Death makes angels of us all.</i>”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">This was a good night with Dion. We had many. Over time he opened up to me in ways I don’t think had ever done with anyone before. He admitted he had never had friends and wanted me to be one.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">He related strongly to the Dionysian qualities of Morrison, and arrogantly claimed the god as a personal avatar. He strongly believed in the idea of cleansing the doors of perception, as the Aldous Huxley quote the band took its name from famously puts it. He wanted to <i>break on through to the other side.</i> His behavior with others was an attempt to challenge the bonds of societal expectation. Like the Beats and the Hippies he saw alcohol and drugs as gateways to this other side, even though a closer inspection shows that substance abuse more often than not clouds the doors of perception, and sometimes closes them entirely.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">Dion longed for some kind of heightened experience beyond the daily grind. But, for all his affinity for the god of ecstasy he harbored an Apollonian side as well. He loved poetry, and when not immersed in this he read philosophy, with the probably obvious leanings toward Nietzsche and Schopenhauer. There was the night he reverentially read <i>The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock</i> by T.S. Elliot to me, because it mattered to him and he wanted to share it. He would do the same with e.e. cummings, and the Beat poets. Together, in his dim apartment, we visited <i>The Wasteland</i> and slouched towards Bethlehem. This gave me glimpses into his true self and a vulnerability I’m not sure very many people ever saw. On one sacred night he read to me the poetry that no one else knew he had written. He told me the secrets of some of his hidden scars, but never mentioned the actual ones across his wrists.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">But there were so many of the other kinds of nights, the ones when I would arrive at the apartment and find him sitting in the dark with a twelve-pack high stack of empty beer cans next to him. The times we were out with friends and he would just start pushing me to see how much of his bullshit I would take. The times he tested our friendship to see if I was worthy. I called him on it, usually. A couple of times I simply left, abandoning him to find his own way home. I rarely fought back. I would simply disengage. A few days later he would find me and start a conversation as if nothing had happened. This was the only language of apology he knew.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">The height of this behavior took place one night when we were hanging out at his place with a couple of girls. We were drinking. There was music, and in my mind it is always The Doors whether that is true or not. Things were fine, until the moment they weren’t. We were in the kitchen and he pulled a knife on me.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">Dion had applied to be a summer counselor with the college Upward Bound program I worked with. He had been turned down for the job and in that drunken moment blamed me for badmouthing him to the woman in charge, which he saw as a betrayal. I either trusted him far more than I should have, or was suffering from macho stupidity. When I saw the knife in his hand I said, ‟What are going to do with that? Stab me?” Even in this heated moment I felt the need to deflate Dion’s power play. The women intervened immediately, as I’m sure he counted on, pulling us apart. I left with one of them while the other stayed behind to calm him down with sex. A few days later he approached me like nothing had happened.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">Thing is, he was right. When someone from the program asked if I thought he would be a good fit I said no. I simply didn’t trust him with the vulnerable high school kids we served.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">This incident occurred just a few days after he had shared his poetry. It was Dion’s pattern. He would let me get close, and then do something to push me away. He wanted the friendship but was afraid I would leave, maybe because he recognized he needed it more than I did. So to maintain a feeling of being in control he occasionally tried to drive me away before I simply left.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">I was not entirely the innocent in this. I saw what was happening but I kept going back for more. I was chafing at the bounds of my world at the time and was seeking something bigger as well. My closest friend and a couple of the other people I hung out with had all moved away to college, leaving my social life a little bereft. I was in my early 20s and still living with my parents. I was working but I was aware that this was a ‟for right now” type of job, but had no idea what came next. My fear was that ‟what came next” was simply more of the same. I <i>was perched headlong on the edge of boredom</i> and convinced I was <i>wasting the dawn</i>. I was more afraid of drink and drugs and rejection than Dion. Mostly I was afraid of leaving the secure womb of what I had always known. Apron strings and velvet chains, forged from love and support, were invisibly holding me back.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">I was not as influenced by the poets and philosophers as Dion. I wouldn’t find the classic writers that really spoke to me for a couple more years. At this time science fiction, and fantasy, and comic books provided the bulk of my metaphors. If I’m honest, they still do. My reading material was more pop culturally prosaic, though I maintain that if you haven’t read the comics of the 1970s you have no idea how psychedelically metaphysical and trippy a lot of them were. Through these I discovered classic mythology, and many other deeper, more meaningful works. The headier books that influenced me then are a list of the clichéd greatest hits of the hippie generation; <i>Man and His Symbols</i>, <i>Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance</i>, and the entire run of books by Carlo Castaneda </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">The Castaneda books in particular had a profound effect on the way I viewed the world. I say that now fully realizing that they are problematic in ways far beyond the scope of this conversation. Even then I read them more as fiction and metaphor than anything else. The elements of the fantastic in these ‟autobiographies” keyed in to my love of comics and all of the rest. Somehow this made them more readable and accessible to me than straight-up philosophy. At the same time I was reading a comic book series called <i>Coyote</i>. This character, based on Native American trickster mythology, was a superhero peyote trip on paper. Coyote was arrogant and foolish and funny and passionate, a perpetual adolescent attempting to understand the new, greater power he held. You know... just like everyone in their early 20s. These two sources led me to exploring a lot of Native American mythology and storytelling. I read, among other things, <i>Black Elk Speaks</i> and the more difficult anthropological work <i>The Trickster</i> by Paul Radin.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">So while Dion was wrestling and identifying with the Dionysian/Apollonian split in his nature I was more in tune with the metaphorical holy fool. Both of these ideas collided in the person of Jim Morrison. On <i>An American Prayer</i> he tells the true story of seeing a car accident when he was a child. There were, as he says, ‟<i>Indians scattered on dawn’s highway bleeding.</i>” He goes on to say that he believed that the ghost of one of these Indians leaped into his soul... ‟<i>And it’s still there.</i>” Much like with Castaneda, whether Morrison actually believed this or if it was poetic license is beside the point. He thought of himself as a modern day shaman when on stage, leading his followers on a spiritual journey. ‟<i>Give me an hour for Magic.</i>” By today’s definitions this was probably cultural appropriation, but at the time provided a powerful alternative spiritual metaphor to mainstream religious belief.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">I was looking for that, and I think that Dion was as well.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">The end of this beautiful friendship was not an explosion, as you might have expected. It died the slow death of separate pathways. I moved in with a girlfriend, someone I have known since we were babies, and applied to grad school. I spent most of the last six months before classes began with her and her children. That romance didn’t last, but she remains a lifelong friend. Dion got married, and try as I might the details of this development remain vague. Probably because I was wrapped up in my own love story. His wife was the daughter of an older woman we went to college with, and in my memory they met and got married really quickly. The obvious reason of pregnancy was not a factor. I don’t think the entire marriage lasted a year and I simply can’t put all of the pieces together.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">It was summer, the last few weeks of my stint at the ARC before moving away. I had taken a couple of my clients on a walk. We were in a nearby playground when Dion’s new wife walked by. She stopped to talk. During our conversation it quickly became obvious that she was inviting me back to their apartment for sex while Dion was away. I didn’t. I was living with a girlfriend, and didn’t want the drama with either her or with Dion. I'll always be true. <i>Never go out, sneaking out on you, babe</i>. But I can’t say I wasn’t tempted. Partly because she was attractive and sexy, but mainly because it would have put me one up on Dion. Not a very noble reason to sleep with anyone.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">I left for grad school. So did Dion, though a different one. I occasionally heard about him from a mutual friend in the same program, but in very short order Dion simply slipped out of my life.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">Skip ahead about seven years. I was living in Pittsburgh and had already abandoned the career I pursued in grad school. I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen for a while, a woman who had given her virginity to Dion. We hung out naked a couple of times before she told me she was still in touch with him. I felt hesitant, but finally agreed to a meetup.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">It was a fun-filled disaster, just like every other time. We drank, we joked, we pushed each other. It was good to see him and it was bad for both of us. Over a few short hours in a nearly empty bar I felt it all coming back. The competition, the theatrics, the darkness, <i>another night we tried to die</i>. My worst tendencies had been asleep and were quickly roused by his presence. At the end of the evening we exchanged numbers and agreed to hang out again. I gave him a fake number and haven’t heard from him since. It was an act of self-preservation.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">Over the years most of my closest friends have been more straight-laced than I. Less inclined to explore drink and altered states and sexual abandon. <i>I love the friends I have gathered on this thin raft</i>, and thank them all for providing a rock to attach a tether to. I think I have the self-control not to self-destruct, and my experiences with Dion tell me this is true. But still, the abyss also gazes.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">I’ve tried to find Dion since then, on the internet if not in real life, but he has proven elusive. I don’t want him back, but I’m curious. Did he fake his death in Paris and move to Africa? Was he eventually ripped to shreds by his Dionysian excess? Did he die in a dark room, <i>An American Prayer</i> on repeat, with a stack of empty cans and his poetry beside him? Or did he settle down, get a job, and have a family? Why does that last option seem the most tragic to me?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;">Morrison famously screamed, ‟<i>You cannot petition the lord with prayer!</i>” yet the final words we hear from him are from a prayer he had written. <i>God grant me another lifetime to perfect my art</i>. I’m not ready for the record to end, but eventually <i>the music’s over. No one here gets out alive.</i></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><i>Turn out the light.</i></span></p>Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-32733643302609514522022-04-29T18:17:00.004-07:002022-04-29T18:24:53.800-07:00RIP Neal Adams<p> Neal Adams was easily one of the most important and influential artists in comic book history. I know this because he told me that himself when we met a few years ago. From anyone else it would have sounded arrogant. From him it was simply a statement of fact. I had told my students much the same thing about him just a few weeks earlier.</p><p><br /></p><p>For a list of his credits and achievements there are many online resources, so I won’t take up space repeating them here. I want to talk about meeting him. He was one of the first comics artists whose style I was able to recognize when I was young, and one of the first artists I was a big fan of. A few years ago he flew into Pittsburgh to appear at a convention and to do a signing at Phantom of the Attic Comics in Oakland. I had the privilege of picking him and his wife Marilyn up at the airport. I’ve met a lot of big names in the industry in my life, I’ve interviewed Stan Lee, but I felt a little nervous. He was one of my first heroes. I didn’t want to just gush my fanboy geekdom all over him immediately. We had a lovely conversation about Pittsburgh as we drove back into town.</p><p><br /></p><p>Neal Adams was a larger than life character in real life. He was loud, and opinionated, and obviously felt pretty good about himself. But this was all expressed in an open and friendly manner. He was a sideshow barker – he had actually been one of these at some point in his life – and carried that demeanor with him. He was knowledgeable and passionate and talented, and as far as I could see while he was at the store, genuinely kind to everyone he met. Before the signing was over I got something signed, an art book of his I have had since I was an early teen, and got to do my fanboy gushing. I then drove him and Marilyn to their motel.</p><p><br /></p><p>Neal had some pretty out-there ideas about the world. Hollow earth and expanding planets, and a bunch of frankly crazy sounding nonsense. You can find videos and posts about this if you look. I was treated to some of his rambling theories while we drove. I don’t believe the things he did, but it was entertaining to hear first hand. I was also treated to a rant about how all hotels should have Thomas’s English Muffins instead of any other brand. Honestly that may be my favorite moment, just because it was so very human.</p><p><br /></p><p>So RIP, Neal Adams. Thank you for Batman and the X-Men that you gave us. Thank you for Ms. Mystic and Skateboy. Thank you for your tireless work for creators rights. Thank you for opening up a world of art and story to this young mind.</p><p><br /></p><p>I hope Heaven has Thomas’ English Muffins. If not, I’m sure you’ll tell them about it.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGqvpKhSChVsiexG_DbL9QT1UrGwET1UEL0MgYCPcYrzUt-mez3Oa9uLv_5TzobtAK_egKZypBqgdVRacQiYDPO1GXYf_H77DKc4AOskiM3OYcSPKTt4ASzqB6CV_kv2gag6w7UHM13YwmQqrcm-rzNEN5eiXh532zi-z2K0DDK7c04k2Ljwe1QekD/s800/POTA-NealAdams.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGqvpKhSChVsiexG_DbL9QT1UrGwET1UEL0MgYCPcYrzUt-mez3Oa9uLv_5TzobtAK_egKZypBqgdVRacQiYDPO1GXYf_H77DKc4AOskiM3OYcSPKTt4ASzqB6CV_kv2gag6w7UHM13YwmQqrcm-rzNEN5eiXh532zi-z2K0DDK7c04k2Ljwe1QekD/w413-h311/POTA-NealAdams.jpg" width="413" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Neal Adams with the Phantom crew</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p>Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-3905890058841565142022-03-06T11:02:00.003-08:002022-03-06T11:02:21.961-08:00 Big Slim<p>In a recent conversation with Dad (he’s 102 years old), I discovered more of his history with local music back when he was young. The conversation went something like this:</p><p><br /></p><p>Me: I was reading a book about old Country music. It’s one based on the Burns documentary. It was talking about Grandpa Jones getting his start in Wheeling on WWVA. Did you ever see him?”</p><p>Dad: Oh yeah... we used to run into him all the time.</p><p><br /></p><p>I grew up watching Hee Haw and seeing Grandpa Jones every week. If Dad ever mentioned that he knew him it escaped my notice.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjKn3S8C63LE57qqYAAq4QZbi9axlcmo7Bj0F3kRuJlJUCUMBoS5JudFiWA_8VkGXqeGU7IUlLtEtu4skXXQFdns2crCH2GDjPr4ieFcv4yFC64kXrODbqV4Y8k5gpW1bBXG7hkh3_gP4FMjNSa1eo8H7uDmEuvL4GWCijh-UzW3iUylno5e2N_Ku0R" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="646" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjKn3S8C63LE57qqYAAq4QZbi9axlcmo7Bj0F3kRuJlJUCUMBoS5JudFiWA_8VkGXqeGU7IUlLtEtu4skXXQFdns2crCH2GDjPr4ieFcv4yFC64kXrODbqV4Y8k5gpW1bBXG7hkh3_gP4FMjNSa1eo8H7uDmEuvL4GWCijh-UzW3iUylno5e2N_Ku0R" width="282" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandpa Jones began playing the character<br />when he was 22 years old.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p>My dad played guitar and mandolin in a family band. His mother played piano and accordion, but it was her brother Clark and his sons who were the musicians. Uncle Clark, who a I remember only slightly, was a barber in the small village of <a href="https://www.wayne-wise.com/2015/11/time-is-ghost-town.html" target="_blank">Time</a>. He played the fiddle, and his boys and my dad rounded out his ‟Back Porch Band.” Dad couldn’t remember if that was their official name, or if it was simply the Phillips Family band. He thinks they played under both names at one time or another. Dad says he mostly just chorded along, and did some singing. His cousin Ray was apparently one of those classic back woods prodigies who could play anything with strings. They played frequently at local community get togethers and fairs, participating in contests. Dad mentioned playing frequently at Golden Oaks Park near Rogersville, PA (the site of this park is near my high school and is currently where the garage for their buses is). Sometimes they got paid (Dad remembers making at least a dollar once in awhile), and sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes these affairs were contests and the Phillips Family Band was good enough that twice they won the opportunity to play on the stage at the <a href="https://www.wheelingjamboree.org/" target="_blank">Wheeling Jamboree</a>. This would have been in the late 1930s and early ‛40s. He played some after he returned from the War, but not as frequently.</p><p><br /></p><p>This circuit of small community venues was frequented by a lot of the country music stars who were getting airplay on WWVA at the time, including, apparently, Grandpa Jones. Dad says they were never great friends, but they were certainly friendly when they ran into each other. Given the rules of Kevin Bacon, this make me three steps removed from everyone in the country music business.</p><p><br /></p><p>Another country star of the time, who was never as famous as Jones, was Big Slim the Lone Cowboy, and Dad was genuinely friends with him. Slim had a radio show on WWVA and played on KDKA in Pittsburgh. He did live shows all over the area, including a lot of the small community events my Dad played at. Slim had a band, and in his live outdoor shows he would bring a horse. He did rope tricks and Dad saw him, many times, flick a cigarette out of his wife’s mouth with bullwhip (Slim a had number of wives, and did this trick with at least two of them. Dad knew his third wife. More on that later).</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgiWUJKjXPZOuHPss0iosXYCg4uUAA9EjDffg0Rd3qgjsagdki2OiCiVNKNVYwMF7RlLhLcGhsjDaWshMIbhhc903wL55gAhO6gQcCrYe-gyA2_dug2bQn3KFXfImxpTct-0yclO72ouQvceXM72FFx7tbux_D3rVO5tgOCbL4MZbkXGAQjKhl0aygG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="310" data-original-width="250" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgiWUJKjXPZOuHPss0iosXYCg4uUAA9EjDffg0Rd3qgjsagdki2OiCiVNKNVYwMF7RlLhLcGhsjDaWshMIbhhc903wL55gAhO6gQcCrYe-gyA2_dug2bQn3KFXfImxpTct-0yclO72ouQvceXM72FFx7tbux_D3rVO5tgOCbL4MZbkXGAQjKhl0aygG" width="194" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>You can read more about Big Slim <a href="http://www.hillbilly-music.com/artists/story/index.php?id=10139" target="_blank">HERE</a>. One of the things that struck me in this article is the mention of how Slim’s actual history is a bit of mystery because over the course of his career he told various stories about where he was from and what his life entailed. This struck me as funny because one of the things Dad said to me was, ‟I liked Slim, but you couldn’t believe a word out of his mouth.”</p><p><br /></p><p>Slim was also a coon hunter and dog trainer, both of which were things my dad did as well, which extended the scope of their friendship. In addition to hunting, Dad also participated in Field Trials, a national dog racing competition. This is not the greyhounds running around a track you’re probably picturing, but a far more feral outdoor in the middle of nowhere activity my dad was part of well into his 70s (which deserves a much larger explanation and a blog of its own).</p><p><br /></p><p>At some point, Dad sold Slim a coon hound for $125.00, a lot of money at that time (according to the US Inflation Calculator I just used, thats $1,458.24 in 2022 dollars). These were the days when the dogs were used for both the races and for hunting, before the two activities became more specialized. He saw Slim later and asked him how the the dog was doing for hunting. Slim told him at first he thought the dog was worthless. He was out hunting and the dog was barking on the trail, and kept circling around back to him. ‟I thought he was chasing deer,” Slim said. ‟I figured the next time he circled around I was just going to shoot him and get it over with.” Suddenly the dog started treeing deep in the woods. According to Slim, when he found the dog he was barking up a pine tree. When Slim shined his light into the tree there were seventeen coon in it staring back at him. He shot sixteen of them, but the last one got away. Best dog he ever had. He said he wouldn’t take $1000.00 dollars for him now.</p><p><br /></p><p>Can’t believe a word he says.</p><p><br /></p><p>The other story was a trip to the Kenton Nationals, or Leafy Oak as it was called back then. This was the biggest field trial in the country, near Kenton Ohio. Dad and Mom, their friends Ken and Elsie Shepherd, and Big Slim and his third wife, all stayed at the same motel. At first, when telling the story, he couldn’t remember Slim’s wife’s name. A few days later, on the phone, he says to me, ‟I think Slim’s wife was named Bebe.” Sure enough, her name was Bebe Bernard, the ‟Annie Oakley of West Virginia,” as she was billed in his act. ‟She was a whole lot younger than Slim,” Dad told me.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi3rgujU53wpQ_oZ4epR-hxCSUwuoV6iaR-Z8fhWn2dTLopXcwxMdd-LYQz9jAl722MCd_f7x8SHObUBt96BSMvtSXDn4gxRFTd4z2nRGccrJd7F_kfBz3RbckQQRDhmUZruJLAaUsEdFigzkc6qldY4UKWbC0VhF-jXKERktqTdHMiWc9W_5y09JwK" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="850" data-original-width="621" height="397" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi3rgujU53wpQ_oZ4epR-hxCSUwuoV6iaR-Z8fhWn2dTLopXcwxMdd-LYQz9jAl722MCd_f7x8SHObUBt96BSMvtSXDn4gxRFTd4z2nRGccrJd7F_kfBz3RbckQQRDhmUZruJLAaUsEdFigzkc6qldY4UKWbC0VhF-jXKERktqTdHMiWc9W_5y09JwK=w289-h397" width="289" /></a></div><br />Anyway, they all got up early in the morning and Dad, Ken, and Slim piled into Dad’s car while the women all rode together in Ken’s. They went to to the race and spent the day. Apparently Bebe got completely shitface drunk over the course of the day. Passed out on the way home in the car with my Mom and Elsie. Slim carried her into the motel room and put her in the shower in her clothes to sober her up.<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqB0i5eqSXwNMjvICoMc13FqVBxQaUWCPxCHaJd_2Fdfygaom2BJVfHz_F1vQaEjLamIFmbmYdPrf0NoidOvAEjNKS5sQ-H4DMQXiruxpAaj4_JbgQS31ioPgWJpSR1g1kUxsWcnoAnjcqLcIo12gpk1bNC8-WNT_RUv6XSNKWwgKEwiUpgbKLolZJ=s2882" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1949" data-original-width="2882" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqB0i5eqSXwNMjvICoMc13FqVBxQaUWCPxCHaJd_2Fdfygaom2BJVfHz_F1vQaEjLamIFmbmYdPrf0NoidOvAEjNKS5sQ-H4DMQXiruxpAaj4_JbgQS31ioPgWJpSR1g1kUxsWcnoAnjcqLcIo12gpk1bNC8-WNT_RUv6XSNKWwgKEwiUpgbKLolZJ=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elsie Shepherd and Mom, one of her<br />"best friends ever," at a field trial. Elsie drove<br />the car with drunk Bebe while Mom<br />tried to take care of her.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>The article linked to above said that Slim took a number of young and upcoming country stars under his wing. One of them was Hawkshaw Hawkins, who died in the same plane crash as Patsy Cline. Not to spread unsubstantiated rumors seventy years later, but Dad says everyone at the time believed Slim was Hawkins real father. I know of no actual confirmation of this.</p><p><br /></p><p>I’m 60, and still discovering fascinating things about my parent’s lives. Part of me is stunned that Dad never mentioned knowing Grandpa Jones, or if he did, me not remembering it. But then, by the time I was old enough for this to register it would have been forty years in the past for my Dad.</p><p><br /></p><p>You can hear some of Slim’s music on YouTube. Here’s one of them.</p><p><a href="https://youtu.be/pEavlT1KU7I">https://youtu.be/pEavlT1KU7I</a></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-29764703380168424322021-10-06T18:29:00.002-07:002021-10-06T18:50:48.596-07:00Fish is Biodegradable<p><span style="font-size: large;">One of my favorite musicians passed away suddenly. However, unlike Bowie or Prince, I’m afraid very few people ever heard of him. Enough that he maintained a music and recording career for forty years, but still, pretty obscure.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Pat Fish recorded under the name the Jazz Butcher. It was, technically, the name of the band he led, but as the only consistent member of said band, it was pretty common for Pat to be referred to as The Jazz Butcher. His first album, <i>In Bath of Bacon</i>, was released in 1983. He was part of the post punk, new wave, pre-alternative, college radio wave of British artists. He released thirteen studio albums, several compilations, and two or three live albums.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9-AqULDzYgs/YV5MvN-oCuI/AAAAAAAAB0Y/d7RxhrTLnAc4RTB6ZE20SMb-WJnvdvhgACLcBGAsYHQ/s560/In%2BBath%2Bof%2BBacon.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="556" data-original-width="560" height="318" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9-AqULDzYgs/YV5MvN-oCuI/AAAAAAAAB0Y/d7RxhrTLnAc4RTB6ZE20SMb-WJnvdvhgACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/In%2BBath%2Bof%2BBacon.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p><span style="font-size: large;">I didn’t hear the Jazz Butcher until 1986. I had just started grad school and moved into an apartment with a bunch of other guys. One of them, Steve, had a record collection that changed my life. That first semester I was exposed to tons of artists that I had either never heard of before, or had only the vaguest awareness of: Bauhaus, Love and Rockets, Japan, Hoodoo Gurus... many, many more. Steve would simply put on a record and it filled our days. It took awhile for some of these to really register with me, at least in terms of recognizing who they were. There was a lot of challenging new sounds, and I admit a lot of it really had to grow on me. Some of it joined the list of my favorite bands. Some of it never grew on me.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">In the midst of all of this new music, one album, one song specifically, kept catching my ear. "This is partytime, and we’re all having so much fun." But the tone of the song belied those sentiments. There was a sadness to the lyrics, as if simply partying just wasn’t enough to bring one happiness. The words were fun and ridiculous and conveyed a deeper sense of meaning than a first listen would indicate. They were, to use the title of a later Jazz Butcher album, <i>Glorious and Idiotic</i>. And, once I finally singled the album <i>In Bath of Bacon</i> out from the all of the others, I was a fan. Over the years his music became a very personal soundtrack to my life, one that I didn’t share with too many people.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">There’s a lot of silliness in Pat Fish’s lyrics. He sings about Bigfoot, and goldfish, and buffaloes, and Shirley MacLaine, and alcohol. A whole lot of alcohol. But somehow he manages to never, at least in my opinion, devolve into simply a novelty act. Given his subject matter, this was a real possibility. But he rounded his oeuvre out with a lot of more serious fare, what I once heard him refer to as ‟Art Misery Songs.” These were a mix of heartfelt ballads and social commentary.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">He played with a wide variety of musicians. David J, bass player for Bauhaus and Love and Rockets was on two of the early albums. But his most regular collaborator was Max Eider, a guitarist with a singular, jazz-influenced style. Max left the band in the mid-80s and then rejoined around the turn of the millennium. The albums released between these events were good, but something, specifically Max, was missing. It was their collaboration as artists that lifted both of them. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I saw the Jazz Butcher in 1988 at </span><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT, serif;">Peabody’s Down Under in Cleveland, and again at the same venue in 1992. As I related in a <a href="https://www.wayne-wise.com/search/label/Jazz%20Butcher" target="_blank">previous blog</a>, ‟While there I had Pat autograph the booklet that came with my CD copy of </span><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT, serif;"><i>Scandal in Bohemia/Sex and Travel</i></span><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT, serif;">. These were his second and third albums, the ones David J played bass on. At the time this was a very rare German import that I had managed to get my hands on, and for years the only way these two albums were available. When I showed it to Pat his response was something like, “Where the bloody hell did you get this? I've barely seen one of these.”</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I saw them twice more, in 2000, once at a small bar in Erie, and again the next night in Pittsburgh at the Millvale Industrial Theater. This tour featured Max and Mr. Jones, the original drummer, so of course I got both of them to sign the booklet.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img alt="Pat Fish, Max Eider, and Mr.Jones in Erie" border="0" data-original-height="392" data-original-width="592" height="237" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t3uvkSPoCdk/YV5I6kpRSJI/AAAAAAAABz8/zjOYvyh4iOMl2YOo5J9WLVcOIhJ8pvDEgCLcBGAsYHQ/w359-h237/JBCErie.jpeg" width="359" /></span></div><p><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">It took another twelve years, but I finally got David J to sign it as well.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT, serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L1R2K7ZDXJc/YV5KRu1UALI/AAAAAAAAB0Q/QzNuqO5r-y08Z-5oY0yN3FwiQe6TsJIigCLcBGAsYHQ/s963/JBC.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="492" data-original-width="963" height="235" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L1R2K7ZDXJc/YV5KRu1UALI/AAAAAAAAB0Q/QzNuqO5r-y08Z-5oY0yN3FwiQe6TsJIigCLcBGAsYHQ/w462-h235/JBC.jpeg" width="462" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Pat had a Facebook page, and few years ago I reached out and we became friends on that platform. Obviously, I didn’t really know him. But, he would occasionally comment on one of my posts, or wish me a happy birthday. He was friends with Alan Moore, of Watchmen fame, among many other things. A few years ago I reviewed Alan’s book, Jerusalem, in which he mentions the Jazz Butcher. Pat commented on my post in a very surreal, meta kind of way.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">So this feels like a loss to me. Not really personal, except for the role his music has played in my life. I’ll miss just knowing he’s out there somewhere in England, still performing, singing ridiculous songs about elephants and broken hearts.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">There’s an early Jazz Butcher song called Big Saturday, and though I forget all of the details, he told us in Cleveland in 1988, that it was cowritten by a girl he had loved who had died. He then performed the song Angels, in her honor, wherein he says, ‟It’s always Saturday in Heaven... Just one big Saturday in Heaven.” The song has broken my heart just a little every time I’ve heard it since.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT, serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://youtu.be/Cj6lU1ykzsA">https://youtu.be/Cj6lU1ykzsA</a></span></p><p><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thanks, Pat! Thanks for the music, and the laughter, and the art, and the misery. I know the devil is your friend, but what if there were angels?</span></span></p>Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-27159214701281758452020-09-24T14:20:00.002-07:002020-09-24T14:31:17.683-07:00To Bring You My Love<p><span style="font-size: large;">I remember specifically the first time I heard <i>To Bring You My Love</i> twenty-five years ago. I was visiting an ex-roommate’s new apartment. We had spent years building a friendship based on comic books and music, something that has never changed. We were hanging out in his room. He had just picked up the CD and knew I would want to hear it.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">It wasn’t the first time I had heard PJ Harvey, of course. When we lived together he had purchased all three of her prior albums, and I had seen the few videos that MTV played on 120 Minutes. While I liked <i>Dry</i> and <i>Rid of Me</i> neither had really captured me as a fan at that time. But something about <i>To Bring You My Love</i> resonated immediately. The sound grabbed my ear in a way her previous efforts had not. I probably couldn’t have told you that day that this would become one of my desert island albums, but I knew I was instantly in love.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-5-gGApLB6Kg/X2v7IhFmW3I/AAAAAAAABtg/RQTzIG692g0eHkKhzpUyxeZGfmDlsWgQgCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="550" height="400" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-5-gGApLB6Kg/X2v7IhFmW3I/AAAAAAAABtg/RQTzIG692g0eHkKhzpUyxeZGfmDlsWgQgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h400/image.png" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I don’t have the language to describe it in musical terms, and I realize that so much of what I love about it is personal and subjective. The word that comes to mind for much of the album is resonant. Polly’s voice is deep and echoing, vulnerable and powerful at the same time. The rhythms that underlie this album, on guitar as well as the drums, feel disjointed to me with emphasis in unusual places. I want to say syncopated, but my musician friends may disagree. The bass notes rumble with distortion, reverberating in the chest like a broken heart.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">But for me it is not just the sonic qualities that make the album special. Through her lyrics and imagery PJ creates a mythic landscape worthy of Faulkner and O’Connor, gothic and rural in texture. Depending on the song Polly embodies the wronged woman, or maybe an angel working for God, or maybe a woman imbued with magic who you believe has her voodoo working. There is mourning: for lost relationships, lost children, and a loss of faith. She begins the album by telling us she has laid with the devil and by the end you not only believe her, you realize it’s the devil who is in trouble. There is righteous power in her voice, a feminine power, that of the goddess. When she says ‟I think I’m a mother,” I hear her stating not a biological fact (though that is certainly implied), but invoking the Mother who is the matrix of creativity, as well as destruction.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">On that first listen at my friend’s apartment I remember saying to him, ‟I think she’s been listening to a lot of Nick Cave.” That wasn’t meant as a criticism or complaint. In addition to there being a sonic resemblance Cave, at that point in his career, had spent a lot of time creating music in a similar narrative world. For whatever reasons, this is a world that speaks to me. Some of it is, no doubt, just the movies and books I’ve been exposed to. Some of it is having grown up in a northern Appalachian home with our own folk tales of love and murder and angels and devils. It’s a world I feel in my bones.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Not long after this PJ and Nick recorded a duet version of the classic folk tune <i>Henry Lee</i> as part of his <i>Murder Ballads</i> album (the internet tells me <i>Henry Lee</i>, like many traditional ballads, has many different versions, and is based on a tune called <i>Young Hunting</i>). In the video PJ and Nick are dressed in matching black suits, emphasizing their shared traits. The video fairly sizzles with sexual tension and not long after they engaged in a brief love affair in real life. Nick managed to get a lot of songs out of it for his next album, <i>The Boatman’s Call</i> (well worth your time to listen to), while Polly, like with most things in her personal life, simply never talked about it.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/QzmMB8dTwGs" width="320" youtube-src-id="QzmMB8dTwGs"></iframe></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">This was also a period where PJ was experimenting with her stage persona. During <i>Dry</i> and <i>Rid of Me</i> she typically performed wearing basic black jeans and leather jackets, with her hair pulled back severely and very little makeup. <i>To Bring You My Love</i> was kind of her Glam period, in dress if not in content. On the album cover and in the video for <i>Down By the Water</i> she has big hair and bright red lipstick that matches her shimmery ballgown. In concert she would sometimes wear gold catsuits, or a bright pink bodysuit and gaudy fake eyelashes. Anyone who knows me knows I’m a sucker for stage costumes, as my love of Bowie and Alice Cooper and Adam Ant, among many others, attest to. The live clips from this era are some of my favorites of hers.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Ioq3-vS43F4/X2v8UF2xQJI/AAAAAAAABts/-Jm0ad2L4jsKaJT--y3VHNhgsefRHFVMACLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1106" data-original-width="736" height="400" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Ioq3-vS43F4/X2v8UF2xQJI/AAAAAAAABts/-Jm0ad2L4jsKaJT--y3VHNhgsefRHFVMACLcBGAsYHQ/w266-h400/image.png" width="266" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">From Hooligan Magazine<br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I’m sorry to say I didn’t get to see PJ on that tour. If my research is correct she has only ever played the Pittsburgh area twice in her thirty year career: once supporting Live at Star Lake (or whatever it was being called at the time), and once supporting U2 at Mellon Arena. I have seen her several times since then in Washington DC. My first time was for her next album, <i>Is This Desire?</i>, at the 9:30 Club. I saw her twice when she was touring for <i>Stories From the City, Stories From the Sea</i>, shows which bookended her jaunt with U2. The first of these ranks among my top concert experiences ever. In late 2000 PJ knew she was going to be touring with U2. She wanted to break in a new live band. Rather than mount a major solo tour she played a few, small, and relatively unannounced shows at small venues. I was on a PJ mailing list at the time and found out about a show at the Black Cat in DC, and somehow manged to score tickets. The Black Cat, while having a history of some pretty amazing shows, is essentially a small bar. I stood about three feet from the stage and about five feet from PJ. She brought me, and everyone else in the room, her love that night.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The next time I saw her was about ten months later with the same band at the 9:30 Club the night before 9/11. I remember reading a statement from her at the time that she had been awakened in her hotel room by what turned out to be a plane crashing into the Pentagon.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">A trait PJ shares with some of my other favorite artists, most notably David Bowie and Nick Cave, is her willingness to experiment and never stand still with her music. Her career has been a constant change of sound, ideas, and presentation. This keeps an artist from getting stale, but also runs the risk of losing fans if they veer too far from made you love them in the first place. While I am still interested in PJ’s career, and will no doubt own whatever she releases next on the day it comes out, I do fully admit I have not been a big fan of her last few albums. She hasn’t done anything to just drive me away, but her output has not spoken to me in the same way as in the past. I’m a different person now, and so is she. The next album may be my favorite thing ever. Or not. I’ll still be there with her in some capacity.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">While I have not been as enamored of her later work she has recently been giving new life to some of her old. This summer saw the release of the Demo versions of her first album, <i>Dry</i>. These were recorded by Polly on a 4-track recorder in her home studio, I believe before she had a recording contract. They are sparse, and bring a new experience to these seminal and formative songs. This not the first time we have heard her demos. My memory tells me that she was, ultimately, not happy with the production of her second album <i>Rid of Me</i> and not long after its release she also released and album entitled simply <i>4-Track Demos</i>, featuring her own recordings of most of the album (plus a couple of extras that didn’t make the cut.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">This year is the twenty-fifth anniversary of <i>To Bring You My Love</i>, and a couple of weeks ago she released the demo version. What struck me most upon listening to it was just how fully formed it was in this early raw version. For many of the tracks, most of them actually, the differences between this and the official release are incredibly subtle. I can tell these are different vocal tracks, but mainly because this is one of the albums I’ve listened to most in my life. The guitars and drums are nearly identical. The biggest difference is on the final song of the album, <i>The Dancer</i>. On the demo version the guitar has a Spanish Flamenco tone and rhythm, which was replaced by a more droning, quickly strummed electric guitar. What was weird when I heard this though was that I had to actually go back and check to make sure I wasn’t imagining this. The Flamenco guitar was indeed not present on the version I was familiar with, but somehow it had been implied by the rest of the song to such a degree that I imagined hearing it, so uch so that the Demo version, while different, still sounded like something my brain already knew. Now, by this point of her career Polly had access to better equipment and had more studio experience than with demos for <i>Dry</i>, and that probably accounts for a lot of the fidelity of this project, but I think a lot of it was simply the strength of her vision of what this album was meant to be from very early on.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">In some ways I’m disappointed with the Demos version. I was expecting something more raw, or something in a more formative state. It’s so close to the studio album that only someone really, really familiar with it can really hear the differences. I guess I am that person, and digging through the subtleties of this has been rewarding, just in a different way than what I expected. It is insight into the process of one of my favorite artists, and taking it along with the demo versions of PJ’s first two albums it’s fascinating to see how quickly she grew, as a songwriter and musician as well as in confidence and skill.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><i>To Bring You My Love</i> was a critical success, if not a giant financial one. At the end of that year it was celebrated as the ‟Best Album of the Year” by the majority of the music press. I remember seeing PJ on many music magazine covers (remember those?). MTV, who I’m sure played the video for <i>Down by the Water</i> at least twice nominated it for ‟Best Female Video” at their annual awards show. But that was the year of Alanis Morrisette and <i>Jagged Little Pill</i> and no one else stood a chance to get that little astronaut statue.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Twenty-five years later it's still an album that is lodged in my heart and brain. </span>Like all of the music we claim as our own, the music that defines portions of our lives, my thoughts and feelings about it are wrapped up in things beyond the songs. It became a part of the soundtrack of my life at that, simply because I played it so much. It still reminds me of specific people and places and events. Playing now involves a little bit of time travel to a special time.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Thanks, Polly.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/lbq4G1TjKYg" width="320" youtube-src-id="lbq4G1TjKYg"></iframe></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><a href="https://open.spotify.com/album/2yMg8ronKfVDHngnlLNnl8?si=XIhIw7WyRM26MBFh9gyhXA" target="_blank">To Bring You My Love on Spotify</a><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p>Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-40602713108708538432019-07-24T06:47:00.001-07:002020-09-23T18:47:59.728-07:00Giant Days<style type="text/css">
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</style><div align="LEFT" style="break-before: page; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; page-break-before: always; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">A
couple of years or more ago I spent some time on the blog discussing
some of my all time favorite comics. They overwhelmingly represented
the past, mostly from the 1980s. These books are the ones that helped
form me in my early adulthood. I have read many, many comics since
then but it has felt like very few have inspired the level of love
that I have for the old stuff. That’s part of getting older and the
same paradigm seems to apply to music and books and movies and
whatever else that helped make you the person you are.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">As
a comics retailer it part of my job to keep up with new releases so
that I can make smart recommendations. I admit to a little bit of
burnout. There are a lot of comics coming out these days, and many of
them, particularly Marvel and DC, seem to this old reader to be a
continual rehash of stories and concepts I have read too many times
before. It felt like it had been a long time since anything had
captured my imagination. But, I’m happy to report, that in the last
few years there are several ongoing titles that I have been happily
engaged and genuinely excited about. I’ve been feeling the need to
write about new loves rather than, like the publishers, rehashing my
past. I’ve just been a slacker about actually writing. But last
week at San Diego Comicon something happened that told me to get off
my ass and write about something.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Giant
Days</i> won the Eisner Award for both Best Ongoing Series and Best Humor
Publication. I’ve been hyping <i>Giant Days</i> to anyone who will listen
for a couple of years now. It’s a book that just makes me happy. I
was excited to see that it received the Eisner nomination, but I
honestly thought it might be a long shot. I know I love it, but I was
unaware of it’s reach and impact. I feel a little giddy that it
won.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Yes...
I said giddy.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It’s
about three young British women in college and their wacky adventures
with friends. It’s fun and funny and touching and real. I’m
really not the demographic I think <i>Giant Days</i> is aiming for, though
there are definitely reasons I like it. I tend to describe it ‟as
more adult than old-school <i>Archie</i> comics and far less adult than <i>Love
& Rockets</i>.” I’m a big fan of both of those and Giant Days
just hits a sweet spot that captures elements of both for me. My own
comic from long ago, <i><a href="https://www.wayne-wise.com/2011/08/writing-part-7-comics-part-4.html" target="_blank">Grey Legacy</a></i>, was the story of young people in
college, albeit in more of a sci/fi fantasy setting. This was created
much closer to my own college and grad school experience. Years later
when I produced <a href="https://www.wayne-wise.com/p/grey-legacy-tales.html" target="_blank">a short run of a comic strip</a> set in the same world I
focused on a young woman named <i>Brix</i> and her wacky adventures with
friends, but even then I was aiming for the audience of Chatham
University students. Obviously there is something in this trope that
speaks to me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">But
back to <i>Giant Days</i>...</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZpiEd60BdMU/XThdewRgoTI/AAAAAAAABl0/4b25028banUX-_FGblpjuE4h9mXT9XPhwCLcBGAs/s1600/unnamed-9.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1291" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZpiEd60BdMU/XThdewRgoTI/AAAAAAAABl0/4b25028banUX-_FGblpjuE4h9mXT9XPhwCLcBGAs/s400/unnamed-9.jpg" width="237" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Daisy
Wooten was home-schooled and as a result is socially awkward and
slightly naïve. She’s also brilliant, ridiculously optimistic, and
highly organized. She tends to act as the conscience of the group.
Susan Ptolemy is a med student. She’s overworked, down to earth,
cynical, and sometimes a little mean and impatient with foolishness.
Esther DeGroot is the beautiful Goth girl that everything comes easy
to. She’s a whimsical force of nature, lucky, creative, and the
object of every misplaced male crush. She’s also much smarter than
she gives herself credit for. In spite of their differences they
develop a beautiful friendship.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Somehow,
I relate to elements of all three of them.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://tackleford.fandom.com/wiki/John_Allison" target="_blank">JohnAllison</a>, the creator, writer, and sometimes artist of the series has a
long history in comics. He has been creating web comics since the
late 1990s. Giant Days is a continuation of some of the settings and
characters that appeared there. His characterizations are deft and
his comedic pacing is immaculate. Giant Days is a genuinely funny
book. But the characters are not merely cartoons. We feel for them
and become emotionally invested as they go through relationships and
heartbreak and deal with the pressures of school and impending
adulthood. In a recent story someone’s father dies and the story is
deep and heartbreaking and incredibly insightful about dealing with
grief.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I
can’t say enough good things about the main series artist <a href="https://sktchd.com/art-feature/there-is-only-one-you-max-sarin-on-breathing-life-into-the-cast-of-giant-days/" target="_blank">MaxSarin</a>. Their drawings are full of life and energy. The characters are
animated and feel as though they are always in motion. Sarin is a
master of body language, subtle and not so subtle. The facial
expressions can be wildly exaggerated, utilizing all of the tools of
cartooning, but you are never taken out of the reality of this world.
The drawing make you feel what the characters feel. When Daisy cries
it is hurt down to the level of her soul.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">As
a middle aged man I’ve wondered why this appeals to me so much.
Some of it is just sheer admiration for the craft of making good
comics. Even though I am many years removed from the college
experience I am surprised at how many moments in the series, like in
every issue, something happens that has a direct corollary to
something I have experienced in my own past, or speaks to who I am
now. </span></span>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3QHt3PC80J4/XThf14XlMsI/AAAAAAAABmE/V9-_MEdcbOsBAoM6p_OgkZzmEMolIrWxgCLcBGAs/s1600/2018-01-03%2B19.07.49.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3QHt3PC80J4/XThf14XlMsI/AAAAAAAABmE/V9-_MEdcbOsBAoM6p_OgkZzmEMolIrWxgCLcBGAs/s320/2018-01-03%2B19.07.49.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I had this exact experience with a tripping friend<br />
once. I was in the role of Esther that time.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s0w62fV9X7Y/XThf1qc-lmI/AAAAAAAABmI/cMVsDxfztoIcpRI2PQ2veEarVPyHO-rIQCEwYBhgL/s1600/2017-12-06%2B18.02.54.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s0w62fV9X7Y/XThf1qc-lmI/AAAAAAAABmI/cMVsDxfztoIcpRI2PQ2veEarVPyHO-rIQCEwYBhgL/s320/2017-12-06%2B18.02.54.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is an uncannily accurate description of me.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">A
large part of the appeal is the nostalgia factor. That’s something I
think anyone can relate to. That time in your life, whether it was in
college or high school or some other setting, when you were
officially an adult, but still hadn’t figured out what that meant.
The time when you were experiencing all of your firsts. When
everything felt heightened and was tinged with importance in ways
that can never be completely recaptured as you get older. When you
first started to meet people who would be your chosen family and you
can’t imagine life without them in it. For younger readers, those
who are the age of the characters, it mirrors their life. For those
of us who are older it reminds us of just how important and formative
those times were.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Giant
Days indeed.</span></span></div>
<br />Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-49990937714823336442019-03-03T15:22:00.000-08:002019-06-21T06:24:13.666-07:00Journey’s End<style type="text/css">
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">In
1984 I began a journey, one that ended this week. It didn’t begin
as <i>my</i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> journey. I was merely a companion, myself and thousands of
others, to a stranger who would become someone I felt I knew. Over
the last thirty-five years his journey became symbolic of my own,
shedding light on my own life in the way all great stories do. Though
his personal, real life journey continues, the story he was telling
is now over. I want to talk about endings.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mage: The Hero Denied #15</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">This
is not the first time I’ve written about <i style="font-style: normal;">Mage: The Hero
Discovered</i> and its creator Matt Wagner. I’ve talked about it in
more detail in a <a href="https://www.wayne-wise.com/2012/04/favorite-comics-part-five-mage-hero.html" target="_blank">previous blog</a> and written about it academically for
Salem Press (though the links in that blog are now dead so
you can’t see it anymore). This comic book series began in 1984
and I was there with the first issue. At that time Wagner said that
he envisioned <i>Mage</i> to be three distinct story arcs. This
week, after thirty-five years and large gaps in production the final
issue of the final series shipped. It was the conclusion of a story that I have been anticipating for a long, long time. No spoilers, but
I was satisfied with the ending. It wrapped up the various plot
lines, encapsulated the feel of the entire series, and stayed
thematically consistent with everything that went before. In its
ending it conveyed that even when a specific story ends, life goes
on.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">But
I’m not here to do an analysis of the narrative. This is more
personal than that. There are specific plot and character elements
I’ll go into here but, if you want to know ‟what happens” I’m
sure you can find many articles online, or you could, preferably,
read it yourself.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I’ve
read a lot of comics. I’ve been doing so my entire life and for the
last twenty-two years I’ve worked at a comics shop which give me
access to everything that comes out. As much as I love the medium
most books I read are an ‟in the moment” thing and then
forgotten. That is more true now than when I was younger, of course.
Like a lot of media consumption the majority of it can be enjoyed
while engaged with it, then easily discarded. There are those that
deserve further study, of course, and those that reward multiple
readings. It is an art form that comes with all of the problems and
expectations and joy that can be associated with any other art form.
But for everyone who loves this stuff, I assume, there are those few
titles that become a part of your life. Heart books I have called
them in the past. Those books that speak to something more personal.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Mage</i>
is one of those series for me, perhaps the biggest one. At the time I
couldn’t have told you why it spoke to me as strongly as it did.
I’ve had a lot of time to think about it since. <i>Mage</i> appeared in
the early days of the Direct Market, an innovation in comics
distribution that allowed for more diverse content from a wider range
of creators. I liked a lot of the books I saw then simply because
they were not the traditional Marvel and DC superhero fare. <i>Mage</i> was
a unique mixture of superheroes, fantasy, myth, and Arthurian legend,
all things that I was into. What made it different at the time was
that it was all took place in a contemporary setting. The popularity
of the genre we now call Urban Fantasy has made this approach much
more common, but back then it felt unique. The protagonist, Kevin
Matchstick, was a young man wearing jeans and a t-shirt, someone I
could know, or more importantly, someone I could be.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">This
is a core part of the connection. The story opened very differently
from most. We didn’t get an explosive fight scene. It was very
understated, but it’s was definitely the hook that reeled me in.
Kevin meets what appears to be a homeless street urchin and proceeds
to have a very personal three page conversation with this stranger,
revealing his doubts and anxieties, the kind of questions about life and identity
that most people have in their early twenties. It turns out that the
homeless man is Mirth, the avatar of the World Mage... Merlin, if you
will. This <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hero%27s_journey" target="_blank">Meeting With the Mentor</a> serves a</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uoSOF8VFfFY/XHxdSgLKJRI/AAAAAAAABkU/DLyy5XcEZ2IjnbL6tgh2n5Xv103YV043gCEwYBhgL/s1600/mage-mirth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uoSOF8VFfFY/XHxdSgLKJRI/AAAAAAAABkU/DLyy5XcEZ2IjnbL6tgh2n5Xv103YV043gCEwYBhgL/s320/mage-mirth.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> dual purpose, one that
works on a meta-level. For Kevin, his meeting with the Mage launches
him on his personal journey of self-discovery. For me, and probably
for others, my meeting with the series <i>Mage </i>brought me into
the journey as well. Mirth spoke to Kevin and Matt spoke to me
through Mirth. In this way the series became a mentor for those
engaged with the narrative. It did for me at least.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">What
I didn’t know at that time was that Matchstick was an avatar of
creator Matt Wagner. He looked just like him. Since that time Wagner
has called the series and ‟allegorical autobiography.” He took
elements of his own life and fictionalized them. Over time, the more
you knew about Matt, the more you could recognize in the narrative,
and the more personal the story became. Over the years, because of
his other work in the comics industry, through interviews and letters
pages, we saw elements of his life outside of his work seep through.
Because of these, and because of the personal nature of <i>Mage</i>, an
illusion of intimacy was created. This happens a lot with artists,
though I think it is probably more obvious with musicians or actors.
Through their public persona and the work they create we feel like we
know them better than we actually do. This feeling is heightened when
we can see ourselves reflected in their work.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2009 San Diego Con.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I
don’t know Matt, not really. I have met him in real life exactly
twice, once at a convention in Ohio in the early 90s and once at San
Diego Con in 2009. During the 80s and early 90s when I was trying to
get into the comics industry through self-publishing I sent copies of
everything to several receptive creators, Matt among them. He always
wrote back, even if it was just a postcard. He was supportive and
friendly and those things felt really important at the time. A few
years ago when I was researching my article for Salem Press he was
gracious enough to answer a bunch of questions for me. He would
probably recognize me if I walked up to him at a convention. We’re
friends on Facebook. I feel like I know Matt, certainly more than he
probably feels like he knows me. But all I really know is what he has
revealed to me through the allegory of Mage.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Matt
and I are contemporaries. I’m about three months older than he is.
We grew up with a lot of the same cultural touchstones, and it’s
obvious to me we read a lot of the same books and comics and shared
many of the same interests. It’s part of why I could so easily
project myself into the series. As time went on some of these
interests became more well-developed. Matt has said many times that
he was unaware of the mythologist Joseph Campbell and the idea of the
Hero’s Journey when he began working on Mage, even though in
retrospect it is amazing how closely Kevin’s path follows this
pattern. Campbell came to prominence in 1986 through a series of
interviews with journalist Bill Moyers (available in print form as
The Power of Myth). This series was eye-opening for me and still
qualifies as one of the most influential books of my life. It pulled
together so many of my interests and the ideas I had been having
about them and gave me a language and worldview that still resonates
with me today.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">One
of these ideas is that of a personal mythology. Psychologist Carl Jung asked the
question, ‟What myth are you living?” The idea is that each of us
reenact recurring motifs in our own personal story. We are the
products of our culture and for good or ill we can all become caught
up in unconscious behaviors due to the social structures we live
in and the stories we have been told about our place in it. The
benefit of knowing the myth you are living is so that you can break
out of harmful patterns of behavior and self-delusion and adapt a
story for your life that is healthier and more fulfilling.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Matt
put his personal myth on paper and shared it with all of us. By doing
so he set a precedent for his readers to do the same. As we saw
throughout his series, it is possible to be living several different
myths at the same time. It’s also important to acknowledge that
everyone around us is doing the same thing. We may be the protagonist
of our own story, but we are also the supporting cast in the lives of
others.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It’s
important to note here that while the story of <i>Mage</i>, and that of
Kevin Matchstick, is over, Matt’s life isn’t. Without spoilers,
while there is a definitive end to the series it is implied that life
goes on for our protagonists. Endings are important. It’s part of
what is missing from mainstream comics. Great myths have their
ending, but as licensed corporate characters none of our modern
superheroes get to have that. Every character at Marvel and DC have
died at some point, only to be resurrected (an overstatement, but you
get my point). Big events happen and then are quickly forgotten. We
all say we want continuity, but with an eighty year history and
characters that never really age we can never really get that. Not as
long as people are making money from the products. We continue on
with what Stan Lee referred to as the ‟Illusion of Change.” We
can never get true closure.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Endings
are difficult in real life. Even when the result is a good thing,
such as leaving a bad job for a good one, or moving to a better
house, it is still stressful. Change is hard. When it is the end of a
relationship or a life it can be emotionally catastrophic. E</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">xperiencing these in our fictions provides a</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> catharsis from a safe emotional distance. That is but
one of the lessons of empathy we can learn from them.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I
watched as Matt, metaphorically through his avatar of Kevin, grew in
strength and power and came into his gifts as an artist and
storyteller. I saw him when he fully embodied that power, when he
served as an inspiration for a generation of other creators and
shared his path with them, creating opportunities for others to share
their own journeys and find their own power. I saw him age and
discover new challenges in life, just as I was doing in my own. I
have joked with him that I have always identified with Mirth more
than Kevin, and maybe that is because part of my path has become that
of the Magician. As a writer and artist and educator I embody more of
that myth than I do that of the Warrior or the King. Through Kevin, Matt has shared his family with us and his experiences as a father.
That part of the recent series became more profound because it was
colored by his now adult son Brennan, who wasn’t born when <i>Mage</i>
first appeared.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So
it goes.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I
recently taught an Intro to the Graphic Novel class at the University
of Pittsburgh. I taught some of the canonical works that everyone
teaches, like <i>Maus</i> and <i>Persepolis</i> and <i>Fun Home</i>. I did a section on
the superhero, of course, with Batman Year One and <i>Watchmen</i> being the
primary texts for what I wanted to do. I finished the section with
<i>Mage</i>. Hey, it’s my class, I can teach what I want! I may be the
only person to have done this, and to be honest, I questioned if this
was just my favoritism coming into play and if there was anything of
value to discuss in a college level comics class. Looking at the work
through this lens I was able to use it as a way to talk about myth
and Arthurian legend, Jungian psychology, Campbell’s Hero’s
Journey, and the genre of Urban Fantasy. We also were able to touch
on a different way to do autobiographical comics, comparing it to
some of the other books I mentioned. Where <i>Watchmen</i> and many other
books of the time are famously a deconstruction of the tropes of the
superhero I argue that <i>Mage</i> (and a few others, like Scott McCloud’s
<i>Zot!</i>), are a reconstruction of the trope clothed in a modern setting.
However you look at it, the title was a great success in class and
gave us a lot of material to discuss. At the end of the semester
several students referenced it as their favorite thing we read all
semester, and I know I made a couple of avowed fans. The journey Matt
documented still speaks to certain people.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So
now what? What do I do now that I have seen the end of something I
have anticipated for thirty-five years? Is my life that different?
Not really. The only thing I no longer have is the anticipation. I
trust that Matt will continue to create new material, not for <i>Mage</i>
but for other projects. As a fan of his work I still have things to
look forward to.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I
also now have the entire story of <i>Mage</i>. I have a new anticipation,
that of rereading it. I have gone back to the original
many times over the years and as I have grown and changed and aged I
have discovered new things in the narrative. It speaks to me in
different ways at different points in my life. Now that there is more
of it I believe this experience will only increase.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Thank you, Matt, for sharing your journey, for inspiring me and many others. Thank you for being a friend in a very meta sort of fashion. Good luck in all of your future endeavors. You have let <i>Mage</i> go, but your well-earned power as a storyteller remains.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JA2a33dEAus/XHxXv2cBAmI/AAAAAAAABjc/KLJxXGlvucwOPhIDwpI747kZBKFR-PnvQCLcBGAs/s1600/52977631_2412813748951934_2994980596440104960_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1528" data-original-width="994" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JA2a33dEAus/XHxXv2cBAmI/AAAAAAAABjc/KLJxXGlvucwOPhIDwpI747kZBKFR-PnvQCLcBGAs/s640/52977631_2412813748951934_2994980596440104960_o.jpg" width="412" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Posted today by Matt.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<br />Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-22993036970214812392019-02-11T15:33:00.001-08:002024-02-11T10:08:09.899-08:00Come on Feel the Noize!
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I
became aware of something new last week, partly due to watching the
Super Bowl. I’m not a huge football fan, but given the Pop Culture
cachet of the event and the commercials I feel like I should at least
be aware of it. So, I usually at have it on in the background
while I’m doing other things. This year one specific commercial drew my
attention.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">There’s
a woman drinking Michelob beer in a mountain setting. She’s
whispering, which is probably what drew my attention. But then she
starts tapping her fingernails against the bottle, and dragging it
across the tabletop. The focus of the commercial seems to be the soft
sounds of the beer pouring into the glass and the fizzing of the
bubbly foam. The quiet nature of it is what made me pay attention. I
thought it was kind of weird for a commercial, and then promptly
forgot about it.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A
couple of days later a friend mentioned it to me and casually
referred to something called ASMR. Apparently this is a thing. ASMR
stands for <i>Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response</i>. The internet
definition of this is, ‟a feeling of well-being combined with a
tingling sensation in the scalp and down the back of the neck, as
experienced by some people in response to a specific gentle stimulus,
often a particular sound.” If you do a YouTube search there are
countless videos of people whispering and making quiet noises to
provoke these reactions. Some of them are very long, designed to be
played while you sleep.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Before
I go further it’s important to say that this in not an erotic
stimulation (though it’s the internet, so I’m sure it is for
someone). ASMR is not described as a sexual reaction, but more as
something that is relaxing with a slight euphoric quality.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This is not the response I have.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I
watched about forty-five seconds of one of these and my reaction was,
‟Oh no...” I experienced a tingling sensation, but it was more of
a ‟making my skin crawl” than a ‟feeling of well-being.”</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A
year or so ago I discovered the term Misophonia and it described
something I have experienced most of my life. The internet definition
of this is ‟a severe sensitivity to specific soft sounds and visual
images. It also includes other forms of stimuli that cause an
immediate extreme reaction.” This seems to be the opposite of ASMR
and is mentioned in most of the articles I read about it.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Based
on research, my form of this is mild compared to many people, and the
trigger sounds seem to vary from person to person. Mine include
chewing noises, slurping soup or coffee off a spoon, the sound of
a cough drop rattling around someone’s teeth, and some repetitive
sounds like finger tapping, or the ticking of a clock. Oh, and
whistling. I once had a co-worker who whistled randomly and it was
all I could do not to throw them out a window. There is no rational
pattern to the things that annoy me and the things that don’t, and
some days I am much more sensitive than others. There are times when
this goes beyond annoying and I have a completely unreasonable anger,
like the person making the noise is doing it just to piss me off.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This
may seem odd to those who know me. I have music on a lot. I can read
while listening to music. I can write while listening to music. I
can’t sleep with music on. My brain locks on the sound and gets
stimulated in ways different than when I’m awake and doing other
things. It serves as an anchor to wakefulness that prevents me from
falling asleep. The same is true for the ticking clock I mentioned
earlier. There’s a battery operated clock in my old room at my
parent’s house. Whenever I stay the night I have to take the clock
completely out of the room or all I would do is be completely
absorbed by the rhythmic ticking and never, ever fall asleep.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I’m
good with white noise. Even though I have gotten used to city noises,
more than I ever thought I would when I moved here, in the summer I
sleep with a fan on. My bedroom is a third floor attic, so I need the
fan anyway, but the sound drowns out everything else. In the winter
the furnace noise serves the same purpose. I first started using a
fan to sleep while in grad school when I shared an apartment with
five other guys. It was never completely quiet there.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">There
are shamanic traditions where an invariable rhythmic beating of a
drum is used to produce alternate states of consciousness. I think,
for me, this altered state of consciousness would simply be a descent
into madness. This may explain why certain kinds of music, those with
very repetitive, fast, driving beats, are not enjoyable for me. And
just not enjoyable, but at times annoying and anxiety producing (I’m
looking at you, ska!).</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I
do believe that at least some of my reaction to noise is conditioned
behavior. When I was eleven or twelve my Dad began working night
shift six nights a week, which of course meant he slept during the
day, which in turn meant I don’t think he ever slept well. Mom and
I both became very attuned to noise. We watched TV at a lower volume.
I listened to music almost exclusively through headphones. I was
constantly aware of the rattling of plates or glasses, and most
importantly, the volume of my speaking voice. I’m still a little
uncomfortable with loud-talkers. ‟Shh... you’re going to wake Dad
up.” This may have hyper-attuned me to these things that annoy me
now, but there is probably biological brain-function stuff that is
responsible as well.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I
don’t have any big revelations from this, other than being amazed
at how a beer commercial led me down a rabbit hole of research and
self-reflection. Misophonia is not something that I think of as a
severe problem in my life, and most days there are no triggers for it
at all. But I am aware of it.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Just
something else to chew on, loudly, I guess.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large; text-decoration-line: none;"><br /><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="378" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ze5B8_-qkAk" width="544" youtube-src-id="ze5B8_-qkAk"></iframe></div></div>Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-24641056781574008252019-01-13T07:43:00.002-08:002024-01-13T07:45:02.634-08:00Always Crashing In The Same Car
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<div align="LEFT" style="break-before: page; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; page-break-before: always;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I’m
not a car guy. My Dad is a car guy. He learned to drive in a used
Model T when he was twelve years old (he was born in 1919, just for a
point of reference). He drove a Jeep across Europe in World War II
and drove a dump truck as a job for thirty-plus years. He’s not
really a hobbyist, but he knows cars. He still pays attention to them
and has what to me seems an amazing amount of knowledge about makes
and models that I just don’t have. The following is a typical car
conversation between us:</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Me:
So while I was in California my friends let me borrow their car so I
could drive down the coast to Monterey Bay.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Dad:
What kind of car was it?</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Me:
Ummm... Blue?</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The
make of the car is the least interesting part of that story to me,
but not to Dad. He doesn’t understand how I couldn’t know what I
was driving.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But,
because of Dad, by default I’ve absorbed some car guy
characteristics. I lived in the middle of nowhere where getting your
driver’s license as soon as you possibly could was not only
expected, but a requirement if you wanted any kind of social life at
all. The nearest town with a movie theater was fifteen miles away. I
was in school every day with friends who lived over forty road miles
away. So, the day I turned sixteen I applied for my learner’s
permit and a few short months later had my driver’s license.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I’ve
driven a lot of cars and covered a lot of miles in the last
forty-some years. But, I’ve always thought of a car as a tool, a
really expensive hammer, if you will. It’s not a status symbol.
It’s not an extension of my personality (except in some ways
everything a person owns or does is an extension of their
personality). It’s not something that brings me a specific kind of
pride. It’s a tool that gets me from point A to point B and makes
my life easier. In terms of expense and frustration, it can also be a
burden. I’ve owned cars I’ve hated. I’ve owned cars I’ve
loved. I’ve owned cars I don’t even remember anymore. At some
point they’ve all let me down.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I
have a complicated relationship with cars.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My
first car was a green 1973 (I think), Plymouth Satellite, a two-door
monster of a car. I have no idea how I ever learned to parallel park
in that thing. Dad had been driving it to work six nights a week, so
it had a lot of miles on it when I inherited it, along with the
attendant mechanical issues that go with mileage. This car had a
specific issue with soft plugs. What the hell is a soft plug, you
ask? Wikipedia describes them, by several different names, like this:
<i>Core plugs are used to fill the sand casting core holes found on
water-cooled internal combustion engines. They are also commonly
called frost plugs, freeze plugs, or engine block expansion plugs.</i>
The problem with them, at least for me, is that if they rust through,
which they did, or simply blow out from pressure, which they also
did, your car immediately loses all of its antifreeze, overheats, and
leaves you stranded. This happened with my Satellite a dozen times or
more.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And
here my troubles began.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/TOkwxV76OiE" width="320" youtube-src-id="TOkwxV76OiE"></iframe></div><br /></div><div style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Every car I’ve ever owned, and there have
been a lot of them, have been used. Some of them have been great,
others, not so much. All of them have come with their share of
problems. Dad insisted that I learn basic maintenance, and I’m
eternally grateful he did. I can change tires and change my oil. I’ve
gotten pretty good at diagnosing problems and even fixing some that
are more involved. Once, when I had just left home to drive to DC for
a weekend, I noticed my battery light was on. I went home, thought
about it, realized it was probably my alternator, walked to a parts
store, replaced it myself, and was on the road less than two hours
later, much to the amazement of the friends I was staying with.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Maybe
it’s true of every driver, but I have a litany of car stories.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I
have hit a deer twice in my life, though neither time caused much
damage to my car. The deer weren’t so lucky. Several times I have
broken down miles, or even hours away from home and had to be towed
and wait for someone to come get me. Fred and I sat in a rest stop in
Ohio for around nine hours one Saturday, unable to get in touch with
anyone back home who could do anything. My pal Zordon (of Mighty
Morphin’ Power Rangers fame), twice drove for over two hours to
rescue me.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I
broke down on 79 North, and after meeting someone I’m sure may have
been an angel (in the Wings of Desire sense, anyway), the woman I was
going to visit came to get me and drove me back to Pittsburgh. I
called Dad and arranged for him to rent a tow hitch so we could go
get the car and tow it back to our mechanic. Right before he arrived
to pick me up the next morning I got a call from the state police
telling me that a driver had fallen asleep and crashed into my parked
car, totaling it while I was away. I had done nothing illegal and was
parked well off the road, but my car was a goner. In that case it
worked out. The insurance value of the car ended up being more than I
had bought it for. Ever since, whenever I’m having car trouble I’ve
been tempted to just park along the highway and hope for the best.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I’ve
run over a Christmas Tree and been rear-ended by a dead man.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Three
years ago, on the way home on New Year’s Eve, my car died. It was
the transmission. I knew immediately because this was the third car
in my life where the transmission went bad (by contrast, my father,
who has been driving since the age of the Model T, has never had this
happen). Fixing it would cost more than the car was worth, so I sold
it for next to nothing and quickly, and probably foolishly bought another
used car, pretty cheaply. Well, you get what you pay for. It was a
mess. Rusted out underneath. There was a leak somewhere so the trunk
was always damp. I kind of hated it, in ways I had never hated a car
before. My mechanic flat out told me it wasn’t going to pass
another inspection.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">One
morning, on my way to get my new driver’s
license, I discovered the driver’s side window was halfway down. The motor had
burnt out, so it wouldn't go up or down. I knew, based on personal
experience, that this was going to cost a lot of money, certainly
more than a car that wasn’t going to pass inspection was worth
anyway. As soon as I got back from the license center I went online
to look for something else.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I
had been thinking about looking into a hybrid. I liked the
environmental aspect of it, but I was also fond of the better gas
mileage. A good friend of mine had a 2008 Toyota Prius that I had
ridden in and liked. I figured even a used one was out of my price
range, but on a whim I thought I would look just to see.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And
there it was, the first car that popped up in my search. A 2008
Toyota Prius, solid black and beautiful... and in my price range.
Okay, the upper end of it, but still there. With very little
deliberation I called the dealer to make sure it was still there then
drove out to take a look at it, my side window still stuck in the
halfway position. I test drove it, I loved it, and they made me a
deal I simply couldn’t pass up. So, in June of 2017, I came home
with the first car in my life that I truly loved and was genuinely
proud of.</span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This
story doesn’t end well.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A
little over a year later, last summer, I was t-boned by another
driver and my car was totaled. It could have been far worse. There
were three passengers in my car, and two in the one that hit me,
including a child. We all walked away without a scratch. My side
airbags deployed, which I’m sure saved Marcel and Derrick from
severe injury. This was my first serious accident ever, and the ‟What
might have happened” still haunts me. No one blames me, and no one
was hurt, but I still feel just a little nauseous if it comes up. The
possibilities of that alternate reality are truly frightening to me,
even though they are not real.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But
my car was done.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I found myself genuinely mourning it (fully
realizing that I had to the luxury of mourning only my car). All of
the other cars I had sold or lost over the years just felt like
breakups. You know, we had a good run, but it’s time to move on.
Some were harder than others, but it was usually a mutual decision.
This one felt like a death.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The
timing was bad, not that there would ever have been a good time for it. The
accident took place the evening before I signed my contract to teach
at Pitt, a mere three weeks before classes started. I had a vacation
planned the following week, so I was out of town and couldn’t look
for a replacement right away (I was in California, where I once again
drove my friend’s car... you know, the blue one).</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I
bought another Prius, bright red and four years newer. It’s a
little smaller. I like it, but I don’t love it yet. I feel a little
guilty about that. It feels like a rebound car, because I’m not
really over the last one. But, we’re getting used to each other.
I’m getting better mileage. We’re sharing the road. I haven’t
had any car trouble yet. It’s not the love at first sight I
experienced with the last one, but I know it’s better than any
other car I’ve ever owned.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Maybe
my relationships with cars have always been complicated because I’m
not a car guy, and they can feel it. Until the last one my approach
was utilitarian. I took them for granted. No one wants to be treated
like that, even if they are inanimate objects. I’m never going to
be like Dad, but I can probably be a little more
attentive. Wash them more often. Be proud of them. Don’t just pay
attention when they’re giving me trouble. Be grateful for their service and their protection. Check my oil.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Be more of a car guy.</span></span></div>
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<br />Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-31461196314351542392019-01-01T11:46:00.002-08:002019-01-01T11:46:17.751-08:002018 Year End Roundup Part 1: Teaching<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">I’ve been incredibly neglectful of my blog this year, and in general I’ve been less productive as a writer. Not that I didn’t do anything, but I was feeling a little burnt out in terms of topics in this forum. I wrote and submitted a couple of pieces of creative nonfiction (that were rejected), that might end up here, unless I can find another place to submit. One of the longer pieces that was originally planned for the blog ended up being a part of a much larger work that also may be serialized here at some point. I wrote a couple of book reviews for the Post Gazette, and had a couple of pull quotes from previous reviews published in the paperback editions of the books I reviewed. I wrote a memoriam for Stan Lee for Legacy.com. The most unexpected piece of professional writing I did was to contribute the new, official entry for the character of the Black Panther for World Book Encyclopedia.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">But, my blog suffered. It’s been a more introverted year for me in general, so I guess I just haven’t had much to say in public.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">My biggest achievement of 2018 was that I taught an Introduction to the Graphic Novel class at the University of Pittsburgh as an adjunct professor this fall. Though I have been making contacts and seeding my name there for a few years now, when it happened it happened very quickly.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I was asked if I was interested in teaching this class about three weeks before the semester began. The class had been offered by another professor (I don’t know who), in the spring. It was on the fall schedule, a room and time had been assigned, and thirty-five students had signed up for the class. For some reason, in July, the original professor was unable to teach the class. A good friend of mine who is a full time professor there has taught this class in the past, and he was asked if he could do it. He already had a full semester of classes scheduled, including designing a new class he had never taught before. He graciously suggested me. In an example of great timing I had met the woman whose job it was to find someone only a month before and had had a brief conversation with her about my desire to teach at Pitt.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So, with only three weeks before the semester began, the day after a serious car accident (which I’ll talk about in another post), a week before I left for a vacation on the other side of the country, I signed my contract and joined the adjunct faculty of the University of Pittsburgh.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">No pressure, right?</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Now, it’s not like I had never thought of teaching a graphic novel class before. I’ve been making notes and collecting images and reading articles and books on the topic for years. Still, I had very little time to prepare. Luckily, the friend I mentioned earlier gave me all of his class materials from when he taught it. This gave me a solid base to build on, and was helpful and essential, especially in the first few weeks as I found my footing. I tweaked his syllabus, dropped a couple of the books he used, added some new ones I was interested in teaching, and jumped in head first.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I admit that the first month felt rocky to me. The class met three times a week (and enormous thanks to my coworkers at Phantom of the Attic for juggling the schedule there to allow this to happen). I had a little difficulty finding my rhythm and figuring out how much I had time for in any given class. A couple of times early in the semester I was caught short and dismissed class early. Eventually I figured it out. I spent a tremendous amount of time prepping for class. I reread books I hadn’t read in years. I made lecture notes. I compiled slideshows of images to complement the lectures. I read academic reviews of the books I assigned and tried to figure out what I wanted to talk about and teach. I love doing this, so it didn’t feel like a chore, but it took time. At any given moment during the semester I was only about a week ahead of where I needed to be, sometimes less.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The class was a mix. I had freshmen through seniors, so there was a wide gap among many of them in terms of writing skills and abilities. About a third of them had regular prior experience with reading comics and graphic novels, and about a third who admitted they had never read anything. There were those who participated regularly in class discussions, and those who never said a word. By the end, based on their papers and responses on tests, most of them seemed genuinely engaged in the material and I think they learned things.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">A big part of my goal was to expose them to a variety of material and show that graphic novels have a diversity of content. In looking at other professor’s syllabi online I saw a pattern. There are the canonical works that everyone seems to teach. These are all works that I agree with and understand why they have become the academic canon of graphic novels. Then it seemed that each professor filled out the schedule with a variety of books that they liked and found valuable to teach. The syllabus I inherited was much like this. I swapped out a few of the books he taught for ones I was more interested in, but kept the overall structure of the class.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So, what did I teach?</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Understanding Comics</i> by Scott McCloud is the closest thing to a textbook that exists for a class of this type. We didn’t read and analyze all of it class the way we did other texts, but there are concepts from this at are fairly essential to the topic. As such, a lot of this book’s ideas provided an underpinning for everything else we did, especially early on. I spent a couple of weeks talking about how to read comics (which isn’t as obvious as one might think), and teaching some of the basic concepts of page analysis.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">(Here’s where I hype up a YouTube channel called Strip Panel Naked. Watch some of these to get an idea of the kinds of things we covered in class).</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I started with <i>A Contract With God</i> by Will Eisner, mainly for it’s historical significance, but also because it challenges a lot of preconceived notions about layout, design, and storytelling. I wasn’t sure if a young audience could appreciate the stories but it proved to be a very successful choice. One student, an avowed superhero fan who had never read any other kind of comic, chose it as his favorite thing we read all semester.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">This was followed by an extended section on autobiographical comics, (‟I didn’t even know there was such a thing as autobiographical comics,” one student told me). In addition to <i>Maus</i>, <i>Persepolis</i>, and <i>Fun Home</i>, three of the most canonical graphic novels in academia we also read short excerpts from Chester Brown, Seth, Derf, Joe Matt, Lynda Barry, Julia Wertz, and Harvey Pekar. Of these <i>Fun Home</i> was the most fun and productive. There is a lot to talk about with that book, and I feel like that was the week where I finally found my groove in this class.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I followed this with excerpts from Love & Rockets, extended stories from bith Jaime and Gilbert Hernandez. This was the first place I broke from the former teacher’s plan and did something of my own. L&R is not only one of my all time favorite books, it is well-regarded, influential, and rich with ideas and topics to explore and analyze. I spent a lot of time building lessons from scratch for this one. Another of my die-hard superhero fans told me this was their favorite book of the semester.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">After this we spent a month on superheroes. It is still the dominant genre in American comics, so it deserves a lot of time. Like all of the topics I presented I spent some time with an historical overview, then introduced a couple of analytical frameworks, in this case the Hero’s Journey by Joseph Campbell and the Thematic Paradigm of Robert Ray. We jumped in with <i>Batman: Year One</i> as a more traditional look at the modern version of the super hero (one student who been completely disinterested and resistant to the genre told me this was one of her favorite books of the semester and changed her entire attitude toward superheroes). This was followed by <i>Watchmen</i>, a deconstruction of the genre and one of the canonical works. I wrapped this section up with another of my favorite titles, <i>Mage: The Hero Discovered</i>. This is a book that presents the tropes of the superhero in a very different fashion than we usually see and provides something of a reconstruction of the genre. It is full of literary and mythic references, as well as being a fictionalized autobiography, thereby tying it to our earlier topic. It was the perfect palette cleanser after <i>Watchmen</i>.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">From there I wanted to move to something more contemporary, so I assigned <i>This One Summer</i>, a young adult coming of age story that has won the Caldecott Medal and appears on many banned book lists from the last few years. This was one of the most successful graphic novels of the semester. My students were not that far removed in age from the man characters of the book, so related to their experiences closely. Our discussion about censorship and banned books was probably the single best day of class all semester.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Following that I presented them with excerpts from a number of more experimental comics, including some genuinely surreal short pieces, both contemporary and from the golden age of underground comix. The issue of <i>Hawkeye</i> told from the point of view of the dog was a big hit, and I managed to make a couple of new fans for Larry Marder’s <i>Beanworld</i>.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">After a stressful start, I feel like the semester went well, and the students seemed to not only enjoy the class but to have actually learned something as well. my end-of-semester reviews from them were very positive. I learned a lot and will certainly make adjustments if I ever get the chance to teach this class again. While it’s not being offered again in the spring semester I think there is a chance I will be asked back at some point in the future.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Since the semester ended I’ve had a tough time getting my head back to this world. It’s like I’m not sure what I did with myself when I wasn’t prepping for class. I was certainly ready for a break, but I also thoroughly enjoyed the experience and miss it already.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I hope to get back to the blog this year. I have a couple more short year-end roundups I want to get to soon.</span></span></div>
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Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-42695112450673355432018-04-11T06:08:00.000-07:002018-04-11T06:08:09.399-07:00Vox Populorum<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">For those who haven't seen it elsewhere I have started a new podcast series with my friend and fellow comics scholar, Christopher Maverick. We'll be talking Pop Culture in an informal academic way, which basically means we want to make Pop Culture studies more accessible to Pop Culture consumers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, the first episode is up. Since it is our first episode we talk about the Origin Story. You can find it at our website.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://voxpopcast.com/wp/2018/04/09/episode-1-origin-stories/">http://voxpopcast.com/wp/2018/04/09/episode-1-origin-stories/</a></span>Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-83914678530540931502018-02-21T06:44:00.001-08:002018-02-21T06:44:52.911-08:00Sweet Encounters
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<span style="color: #2f2d3b; font-family: Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">A few
years ago while visiting friends in California I made my first trip
to San Francisco. Mike and I spent the day seeing sights and eating
great food and having fun. Completely fortuitously Cherie Currie,
former singer for the 70s band The Runaways, had announced a concert
in San Francisco the same day that we had already planned on being
there. When I discovered this I called Mike and told him we were
going, then bought tickets online. I wrote about that concert in more
detail <a href="http://www.wayne-wise.com/2013/08/im-gonna-rock-six-times-all-right-part.html" target="_blank">HERE</a>, so that isn’t what this is about.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: large;">There
were two experiences I had while waiting in line outside of the Red
Devil Lounge waiting to go into the show. We were approached by a
homeless man. He was the epitome of the downtrodden. His hair and
beard were long, dirty and matted. He was thin and filthy, wearing
clothes so ragged I’m not sure how they stayed on him. He came
straight to me and I fully expected him to ask us for money and then
move on.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2f2d3b; font-size: large;">‟<span style="font-family: Times, serif;">Hey,”
he said to me. ‟Nice shirt. They’re one of my favorite bands!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: large;">I was
wearing a t-shirt with the logo of the Glam Band The Sweet (Ballroom
Blitz, Fox on the Run). Perhaps ungenerously I assumed this was just
his opening line and the ask for money would come next. Nope. He
enthused about The Sweet, telling me about seeing them in the 70s. He
was knowledgable about them and we had a completely enjoyable
conversation, just two guys who shared an interest in a specific
band, swapping stories about favorite songs. For the duration of the
conversation he lit up, happy to be just talking and connecting. At
the end he just smiled and started to go on his way. He never asked
me for a dime (though I did give him some money, which, though
grateful, he seemed hesitant to take).</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: large;">Just
after he left two couple walked by. Older. Well-dressed. Out for an
evening. One of the women looked up and saw the marquee which
announced, ‟Tonight: Cherie Currie!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2f2d3b; font-size: large;">‟<span style="font-family: Times, serif;">Cherry
curry?” she said while scrunching up her nose. ‟I don’t think
that would taste good at all.”</span></span></div>
<br />Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-9109894127829916132018-02-19T06:31:00.001-08:002018-02-20T06:19:25.464-08:002018 Comics Retailer Survey<span style="font-size: large;">Recently I was asked to participate in Publisher</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">’</span><span style="font-size: large;">s Weekly</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">’</span><span style="font-size: large;">s annual review of the comic book industry. You can read the article by Shannon O</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">’Leary <a href="https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/industry-news/comics/article/76031-comics-retailers-hope-to-rebound-in-2018.html" target="_blank">HERE</a>. I was quoted a number of times in the article, but a lot of people, mainly my customers at Phantom of the Attic, have asked about the whole questionnaire so I decided to share it here. This really only of interest to anyone who wants to know more about the state of the comic book retail industry. My caveat here is that my answers reflect my opinions and observations based on 21 years of experience in one specific store. I don</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">’t claim to have all of the answers or to speak for other stores. We all have different experiences.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">1) What were your best selling graphic novels in 2017?</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">Saga </i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">continues to be our bestselling series of graphic novels for the third or fourth year now. We’ve had a lot of success with </span><i style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">The Wicked and the Divine</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> and </span><i style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">East of West</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> because they are books that a couple of our employees push pretty hard. In general the Image TPs top the list. They are self-contained series without crossovers, so people can get into a series and, quite simply, know what to read next. The introductory $9.99 price point doesn’t hurt either. We moved a lot of </span><i style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">My Favorite Thing is Monsters</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">. Though there are few specific standout titles in general we do really well with the FirstSecond catalog. </span><i style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">World of Edena</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> by Moebius did extremely well for an expensive HC. We’ve had customers regularly asking for Moebius stuff for years so the prospect of his work finally coming back into print here is exciting.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The DC Rebirth TPs increased sales over DC from the past couple of years. Marvel TPs are mostly dead stock for us. I can’t put my finger on why, other than as another indicator of the downturn in interest in Marvel. There are many Marvel trades we don’t order at all. We only move a couple of each of the X-Men TPs when they come out. The Epic Collections do pretty well with an older customer base.</span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The biggest selling comic of the year for us came the week before Christmas. Ed Piskor’s <i>X-Men Grand Design</i> sold in numbers we haven’t seen for a single comic in many, many years. We have a certain hometown advantage here. Piskor is a local who has been a good friend of the store since he was a kid and we have been promoting his work for a long time. He came for a signing on the day the book was released and it was the second biggest sales day of the year, only topped by FCBD (to be fair, a lot of the people who came to see him did a lot of Christmas shopping while they were there, so his book didn’t account for all of it).</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Some of the obvious answers for the remainder of this question... <i>Saga</i>, <i>Walking Dead</i>, <i>Batman</i>. DC has done better since rebirth but the numbers are still not spectacular. Marvel is down across the board. <i>Kill or Be Killed</i> sells more than any single X-title and <i>Saga</i> beats them several times over. We’ve always been an odd store in terms of market trends. Our clientele is more diverse thanks to the proximity to several major universities and our staff has always recommended more off the wall stuff (when I started working here in 1997 we sold more copies of Matt Wagner’s <i>Mage</i> than we did of <i>Spawn</i>).</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">2a) Which one of those formats - periodicals or graphic novels - is selling better overall?</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It’s close. Periodicals are still the biggest category, but the gap between the two continues to close.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">3) How was your 2017 holiday season? Was there a standout book or periodical?</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It was a mix, but a little down. Our student population leaves town a week before Christmas, so we lose a significant portion of our customer base right before the holiday. This has always been the case so we plan for it. Holiday shopping makes up for it, but it’s more of a balance. The good news is that the students all come back with Christmas money in January, so that month isn’t quite as dead for us as some other stores. As stated, <i>X-Men Grand Design</i> was huge. Some bigger ticket items did better for us than at other times of the year. The problem with big ticket items is that most of the time we simply can’t compete with Amazon prices for those so we’re always at a disadvantage.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">4) What is your current mix of stock like? </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We carry a little bit of everything. Marvel, DC, and Image make up the bulk of the weekly shipment, of course. We’ve done well with select titles from Boom, Aftershock, and Black Mask. IDW and Dynamite are definitely down. Most books based on licensed properties have a specific fanbase who pick up those titles but don’t even look at anything else in the store. As I’ve mentioned, in terms of graphic novels we carry FirstSecond, Drawn & Quarterly, Top Shelf, Fantagraphics, and lots of others. Most of these publishers don’t do monthly periodicals but we are intent on representing them.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I was talking to another local retailer recently. His store is in a more suburban area and he has traditionally had a more difficult time building readership for anything outside of Marvel, DC, and select Image titles. As a result these make up a much higher percentage of his stock than ours. He has had a really difficult year because with sales down on mainstream titles he has very little to fall back on. We move a lot of Raina Telgemeier, and <i>Giant Days</i>, and <i>Copra</i>, and many others. None of them in the numbers of Marvel and DC but enough that it makes a huge difference in our bottom line. If we didn’t have a market for these we would be in trouble.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I’ve read a lot of complaints this year about the concept of diversity and how it’s hurting retailers, and that just sounds ridiculous to me. Your store should be welcoming to anyone who wants to read comics. I hear stories through social media and from friends of people who have gone to comics shops and felt unwelcome and uncomfortable because of their race, or gender, or sexual orientation or whatever. Retailers who have simply told them they wouldn’t order certain product for these reasons. Okay, obviously I have strong feelings about this issue, but bottom line is, Dude, you’re losing business. We have a young part time employee who identifies as queer and they have told me horror stories of the way they have been treated in other stores simply for wanting to order a copy of <i>Blue is the Warmest Color</i>. The world of comics has always been a safe space for me (an old, white, straight guy), and I want it to be that for everyone. Once again, whatever your politics, all of these categories are a growing demographic for our product and if you don’t want to sell to them somebody else will. Send them to my store. I’ll take the business.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Has everyone completely missed the central metaphor of X-Men? Sorry... rhetorical question.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Next, diversity of product is essential. If you are obviously losing Marvel and DC readers because your customers are just not liking them anymore, what are you offering them as a replacement? Are you happy just losing the customer or would you rather keep them by turning them on to something they may have never seen before? If you don’t stock an alternative to the mainstream then when people get tired of it they are just gone, along with their business. Comics are more than just superheros and it is incumbent on us as retailers to educate ourselves and our customers about the wide range of available material, for all tastes. We don’t have to like everything that comes in, but we need to be aware that there are many more tastes out there and then figure out how to tap into that. Our job isn’t just to turn readers on to what we like (though that’s certainly a part of it). It is, more importantly, our job to connect them with something <i>they </i>like. What are you doing to make your store welcoming to a more diverse clientele? We have lots of customers who simply like reading and books, and have never had an interest in superheros. What do you have on your shelves for these people? Can you talk about this product and create a market? It’s not on the back of Marvel and DC to create customers for comics. That’s our job.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I realize that diversification of stock can be difficult for a small business with Diamond’s non-returnable policy. Deciding where to put your money any given month is difficult and I realize that taking a chance on <i>My Favorite Thing is Monsters</i><i>,</i> a $40 cover price for an unknown creator, can be tough. But, pay attention to the world outside of the mainstream market. That book made every ‟Best of” list last year, was covered in Entertainment Weekly, and the New York Times, and lots of other non-comic markets. If you don’t have it in stock I guarantee you Barnes and Noble and Amazon will. Don’t order that seventeenth Deadpool special or non-essential big event crossover this month and put some of that money into something that may attract a new readership, and educate yourself on how to sell it. Next time a customer comes in looking for something for their 12 year old daughter you can recommend <i>Smile</i> with a... well, smile. :-) Bang... New customer for life.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Now, to be fair about our store, we don’t mix it up very much with merchandise. We have always thought of ourselves as primarily a bookstore so we don’t invest in a lot of diversification in other stuff. We get statues, and action figures, and Funko Pops, but we are very selective when it comes to these. The price point and the low markup on the first two are prohibitive. Everyone is selling Funko Pops and we kind of see it as this years Beanie Babies, so while we get a few that tie into comics specific properties we don’t go overboard. We’re happy to order any of this stuff for our customers. Yesterday we sold three giant, really expensive James Bond figures to a regular because he is always good for it, but there is no way we would ever just stock these for the shelf. Some action figures are only offered in case lots so we refuse to take the chance on selling twelve figures. Just yesterday we had a regular customer ask about some Mego action figures. He wanted four out of the twelve and completely understood why we couldn’t invest in eight more figures he didn’t want.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">4a) What’s the mix of Big Two to non Big Two titles? </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I covered some of this in a previous answer. Big Two still account for the biggest percentage of our weekly comics order. I don’t have specific numbers but, depending on the week they total half to two-thirds of our order. My guess is that’s lower than many other stores.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">4b) Can you give a percentage breakdown of your stock by publisher?</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Not specifically. The Big Two are about equal, though DC has always had a slight advantage in our store. That varies week to week.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">4c) How much are you ordering from the Direct Market?</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Most of our weekly shipment comes from Diamond because that’s the only alternative for mainstream books. We supplement our graphic novel stock through Ingram a couple of times a month, mainly for books not offered through Diamond.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">4d) Have there been any notable events or sales initiatives by </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">Marvel, DC or Image that effected sales in the past year? Are there any other publishers who have helped or hurt your sales?</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Free Comic Book Day is always good, and every year we do slightly better than the year before. Unfortunately the excitement of that day doesn’t continue into the rest of the year. Every year we see faces of people who seem really excited but then we never see them again. Marvel’s launch parties are a bust. They send a few free flyers but nothing much else to help with the event. We could probably do more to drum up excitement but we’re all old and not very excited by these. :-)</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The big events have burned everyone out. The Big Two always say that they see increased numbers on these events, so of course they continue to do them. What they don’t see are the unsold copies cluttering up our rack. It seems, after forty years of the Direct Market, that Marvel and DC still don’t recognize that sales to retailers do not equal sales to actual customers. Maybe they simply don’t care because they are getting their sales, but in the long term stores lower their orders or go out of business because product doesn’t end up in the hands of actual customers. Sometime this year someone at Marvel was bragging about how a $9.99 issue of <i>Deadpool</i> was one of the biggest money books of the year and how what that meant to him was that price wasn’t a barrier on a popular book and this was the way to go. First of all, when you more than double the cost of an issue then of course it’s a big money item. It’s not indicative. What I saw was every single Deadpool fan bitching about the cost. Most of them still bought it but they felt they were held hostage. To continue reading a story they were invested in they had to shell out extra money. Several didn’t buy it, some dropped the title from their pull list because of the price so not only didn’t we sell that issue we lost sales on future issues. Some of them didn’t buy another Marvel comic they wanted because of budget. This was the third or fourth higher priced issue of Deadpool since the relaunch. The fans feel taken advantage of and few of them will continue that for too long.</span></span></div>
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5) How is your store doing in general now in relation to last year?</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It’s been a down year. We’re not panicking but we’re certainly ordering much tighter than in the past. We’ve been in business for thirty-five years, so we’ve seen a lot of ups and downs and are better prepared than many places. One of the main differences I’ve seen is that our daily customer count is way down, specifically on Wednesday, new book day. It’s still the biggest sales day of the week, but we have significantly less people coming in. That doesn’t necessarily translate directly to sales. The buying patterns have changed. People who read exclusively in trades don’t always come in the day a book comes out. Instead of coming in six times to buy six comics they come in one time and buy one tp. That’s the same retail (give or take), but we see them less, so business and foot traffic seems lower. The other part of this though is what are they not seeing or being exposed to on those five trips to the store they no longer make? Is their absence hurting other sales? Probably. Foot traffic is a huge part of any brick and mortar, so what do we do to get people into the store more often?</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">6) What segments of the market are experiencing the most growth?</span></span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Graphic novels in general. For us specifically, non-Big Two graphic novels. We would much rather put our money into <i>Compass South</i> or <i>Amulet</i> and build a new readership than invest in a $9.99 issue of Deadpool.</span></span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">7) What segments of the market are experiencing the biggest drop in sales?</span></span></div>
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</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The Big Two. Okay, to be a little more fair, all weekly comics. We are certainly ordering less of books from smaller companies simply because we are ordering less of everything, so some of them have dropped off our racks completely. The smaller percentage of our sales you make up the less likely it is you’ll wind up on our racks. The decline of the Big Two trickles down to everyone.</span></span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I know this isn’t true for some stores, but back issues have been mostly a dead market for us for years. We don’t buy large collections and sell them, due to lack of space and a general lack of interest from our base. We sell about 90% of our periodicals in the first month, then they go to back issue stock, where we may sell a few more to people who happened to miss an issue. After about six months they are dead stock. They essentially go into back issues as merchandise that failed when they first came out. We order pretty tightly so that we don’t have much of a back issue stock to deal with. Other stores have a business model where they buy back issues at really low prices and sell them at what the customer sees as discount prices, but there is still a profit margin for the store. If you can make that business model work then it’s sound business strategy. It hasn’t worked for us.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">8) There’s been considerable chatter about an industry-wide sales downturn. What are your thoughts on that? What market trends and forces are to blame?</span></span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">That’s really the question this year, isn’t it? There have always been ups and downs in this business. This one seems to have something deeper at the core and I think all of us are trying to figure it out. I don’t have an answer, but I do have some thoughts (big surprise there).</span></span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We’ve talked at the store that in some ways it feels like the entire comics retail industry is in the middle of a paradigm change. The last real one of these was the advent of the Direct Market in the late 1970s. That mostly took comics out of newsstands and drug stores where they had always been available to the general public and put them almost exclusively in comic book specialty stores. This probably saved the industry at the time and led to the creation of the comic shop and allowed creators and small publishers to thrive under very different economic circumstances than had been previously available. The downside is that for the next twenty-plus years comics were kind of out-of-sight, out-of-mind for the rest of the world. If you weren’t already a fan who was going to the comics shop chances are you had no idea they were even being published. This created a small but fervent fan-based clientele that served us well for a long time. But, those fans gradually aged out, lost interest, or died, all in a business model that was very poor at reaching out to new readers and fans. The comics community became a fans-only club, and for those who were interested, the comic book store was the only game in town.</span></span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Obviously, that has changed. There is more interest in comics and superheroes and comic book based product than there has been in a long, long time. And other businesses are filling the need. Periodicals still aren’t really sold anywhere except comics shops, so potential new readers, those people who have never been to a comics shop or even know they exist, are going to Amazon, or Barnes and Noble. Not that these sources are new, but the new customer is not drawn to a specialty shop that they don’t even know exists. Add to that the unwelcoming fanboy exclusivity that a lot of shops still exude and the whole specialty store industry is struggling. Graphic novels are pretty readily available everywhere. There’s more competition than ever for the customer dollar. We stock more depth of product than any Barnes and Noble but if you never set foot in our store you’ll never know it exists. We also simply cannot compete with Amazon pricing. I’ve seen many books there, mainly higher ticket items, that they sell for less than our cost through Diamond. We can’t pay the rent that way. We’re all at the mercy of Diamond as the only distributor and I’m not sure they are addressing many of these changes in a way that benefits either them or us.</span></span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The truth is, the Direct Market model that has served us for thirty-five years is quite possibly a thing of the past. We are not the exclusive purveyors of comics and graphic novels anymore. We’re not just in competition with other local comic book stores anymore. We’re in competition with Amazon, and any shop that does online business, and digital downloads, and any book store that stocks graphic novels, and discount chains that buy remaindered trade paperbacks and sells them for pennies on the dollar, and the random specialty card store that carries <i>Walking Dead</i> and <i>Saga</i> (like the one just one neighborhood over that serves a clientele that has no idea we even exist). Any of us who expects the market to work the way it did twenty years ago is doomed.</span></span></div>
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</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 32px;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So the question becomes, ‟What do we do to move into this new era of comics retail and be successful?” I don’t have a specific answer for that, but it involves looking to the future and understanding what is happening to our industry rather than looking to what has always been successful in the past. Diversity of product is part of this. The old fanboys we relied on are no longer the core majority of our business. As they lose interest and move on, who are we replacing them with? This is obviously a question Marvel and DC are struggling with in terms of content as well, and it is affecting the entire business. What can we do to make our store more welcoming to all kinds of people? Are we accessible to new readers? Is the product accessible to new readers? What do we have to offer that someone can’t get on Amazon or a large book chain? Part of that is knowledge of product and a staff that is willing to get to know customers and their tastes in a non-judgmental way. How do we connect with potential readers and customers who simply aren’t aware we exist? Once someone does come into our store, what can we do to make sure they return?</span></span></div>
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</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 32px;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">These are all a little more existential than practical, I’m afraid.</span></span></div>
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</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 32px;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">9) What are your biggest concerns about the industry? Are you concerned for your own store?</span></span></div>
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</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 32px;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">All of the above. As far as our store goes, it’s been a rough year, and we’re asking these questions. Obviously there are no guarantees but I feel we are well-positioned and adaptable enough to weather the changes. But changes will have to be made.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">10) What are the biggest challenges facing the industry as we head into 2017 from 2018?</span></span></div>
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</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 32px;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I think I’ve pretty much covered this. :-)</span></span></div>
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Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-87148719997923224822017-11-10T08:18:00.001-08:002017-11-10T08:18:51.015-08:00It, Stranger Things, and Children in Horror<span style="font-size: large;">On October 21 I participated in the Mount Aloysius Charity Comic Con. I presented my Bowie paper and sat in on a couple of panel discussions. One of these was recorded by the panel moderator Danny Anderson for his podcast, The Sectarian Review. You can listen to it at the link below.</span><br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/goog_1192710562"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></a>
<a href="http://www.sectarianreviewpodcast.com/episodes-and-show-notes/episode-51-it-stranger-things-and-children-in-horror"><span style="font-size: large;">http://www.sectarianreviewpodcast.com/episodes-and-show-notes/episode-51-it-stranger-things-and-children-in-horror</span></a>Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-17717184759527990502017-10-31T09:57:00.001-07:002017-10-31T09:57:26.186-07:00Devil’s Night<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; page-break-before: always;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b; font-family: Times, serif; font-size: large;">This
past weekend I was discussing Halloween with my 95 year old mother.
She has never really been a fan. She just doesn’t get the
fascination with the horrific and the obsession with images of death.
The conversation was prompted by her being pretty turned off by a
yard decorated with fake tombstones.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b; font-size: large;">‟<span style="font-family: Times, serif;">Why
would anybody want to do that?” she asked. ‟We'll all be in a
real one soon enough.”</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: large;">She’s
not wrong, and at her age I’m sure it feels more real than to the
rest of us. I talked some about how it’s psychologically healthy
for people to deal with frightening things in a safe and fun
environment. But, as much as I love Halloween it’s not my place to
change her mind on this and I respect her feelings.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: large;">Then,
she told me a Halloween story from her youth. She was a late teen at
the time and she and her friend Vida, who would become my aunt by
marrying Uncle Carl, were out looking for something to do. There was
a party being held but they had not been invited. Apparently the
hostess was a girl they were feuding right then. Mom couldn’t
remember why, but all of their friends were there and they had been
excluded.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: large;">Based on
what I know of the personalities of my Mom and my Aunt Vida I have to
assume the next part of their evening was Vida’s idea... but maybe
not.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: large;">The two
of them went to the house where the party was being held and soaped
the windshields of every car there. Mom said they were thorough. No
one was going to be able to see to drive home without a lot of clean
up.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: large;">They got
away with it. No one ever confronted them. If they were suspected no
one ever let on.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: large;">I have
never participated in this level of vandalism in my life. At 95 Mom
giggled gleefully while telling this story that I had never heard
before. Maybe she doesn’t dislike Halloween as much as she thinks
she does.</span></span></div>
Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-45315123333005241822017-10-25T15:36:00.001-07:002017-10-25T15:36:43.486-07:00Bend it...<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; page-break-before: always;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: large;">A
handsome young man came into the store today. Very quiet. Very
polite. It’s new book day here, our busiest day of the week, so he
kind of disappeared into the background noise. After browsing for
awhile he asked us where to find a comic he was looking for. Things
had calmed down a little so a conversation ensued.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: large;">He was
in town just for the day. He was traveling on a tour bus as the
opening act for another musician. The name didn’t register with me.
We’re a big enough city that many small name acts pass through here
playing clubs and bars and smaller venues. He didn’t say very much
about what he played, and seemed a little shy when we asked about the
tour, just telling us he had been in Toronto yesterday. He has his
bike on the bus with him, so he was tooling around Pittsburgh on a
cold rainy fall day, just checking out the sights while here. He said
he always tries to find local comic book stores when he’s in a new
city and the internet had pointed him to us. He was very
complimentary of the store (the ‟best one I’ve been to in my
travels”), and before he left he asked us where the closest movie
theater was. Thanked us, got on his bike and was on his way.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: large;">So of
course, after he left, we Googled his name to see what kind of music
he played. His name is Clark Beckham and he was the first runner up
on season fourteen of American Idol. We’re listening to one of his
albums in the store right now.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: large;">Artists
walk among us, unseen and unheard.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/b0qqLPTxqJ8" width="560"></iframe></span></span></div>
Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-55281987754645249802017-10-13T06:04:00.000-07:002017-10-13T06:28:38.082-07:00Misspent Youth #3: Race to the Bottom<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">Though
my favorite toys as a child were action figures I did have my share
of cars. Matchbox cars and Hot Wheels primarily. They were relatively
cheap, so I’m sure they were Mom’s default when I wanted
something. But there were a lot of them. I had the Hot Wheels track
with the loop and the jump ramp that I would stretch from the kitchen
table out into the living room. I don’t have any of these left and
have no idea what happened to them.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">There
was one toy car that stands out more because I do remember what
happened to it. It wasn’t one of the small cars, but a larger one
called an SSP Racer. SSP stood for Super Sonic Power. Each car had a
large wheel in the center of its body. You would insert the ‟t-stick”
and then pull, making the wheel spin and create sound, then let it
go.</span></span></div>
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<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">Mine was
called the Laker Special. It was bright orange and I thought it was
the coolest model they made. The others all looked like cars. The
Laker Special looked like a Sci Fi rocket car. When it raced along
the floor it looked like it was floating slightly above the ground. I
have often thought that Luke’s landspeeder in Star Wars was
influenced by this.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7CqDFY5kQwk/Wd4c4nXUlSI/AAAAAAAABeo/RZ0OAQmWfDAwLT2CJfbEHVYsB7T-ogkDQCLcBGAs/s1600/SSP.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1063" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7CqDFY5kQwk/Wd4c4nXUlSI/AAAAAAAABeo/RZ0OAQmWfDAwLT2CJfbEHVYsB7T-ogkDQCLcBGAs/s320/SSP.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">Living
in the country I didn’t have lot of places where I could really
take advantage of the full Super Sonic Power. The space in my house
wasn’t really big enough for it to play out it’s full potential.
There were no sidewalks, and even with very little traffic back then
playing in the road was a no-no. But, I took it outside and made the
best of it.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">One day
after a hard rain I was in a nearby wooded lot. Crews from the
telephone company had been working in the area, digging holes to bury
the phone lines that up to that point had been stretched between
poles. It was an overall upgrade to the system at the time. There was
a large hole in the ground, filled with muddy water. That’s when
inspiration hit. I yanked the t-stick and put the car in the water.
Just as I thought, the spinning wheel revved and sprayed filthy water
everywhere, soaking me in an instant.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">Pretty cool.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">The
Laker Special immediately sank out of sight into the brown mud. The
hole was a lot deeper than I thought it would be. I sank my arm into
it, but couldn’t reach the bottom. I got a shovel from our garage
and poked around with it, but no matter what I did I couldn’t find
my racer. I didn’t tell my Mom because I think I was afraid of
getting in trouble for losing this slightly more expensive toy.
Within a day or two the work crews were back and filled in the hole.
Unlike the happy ending of <a href="http://www.wayne-wise.com/2017/10/misspent-youth-2-geronimo.html" target="_blank">my previous story about Geronimo</a>, the
Laker Special was lost forever.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">To this
day I can go to that spot. Somewhere, six feet or so under the
ground, like an ancient artifact of the past, my SSP sleeps.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/PeLn9D23uMo?rel=0" width="560"></iframe></span></span></div>
Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-6165490634977722482017-10-10T05:40:00.000-07:002017-10-10T05:41:27.510-07:00Oh, for Fudge Sakes<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; page-break-before: always;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b; font-family: "times" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">When was
the last time you laughed hysterically? Not just laughing hard, but
uncontrollable, difficult to breathe, tears and snot rolling down
your face, completely unable to stop yourself laughter? It’s
cathartic, but I’m not sure it’s healthy. I laugh a lot. I know a
lot of funny people. I’ve been told I can be a funny people. But
it’s been a long time since I was out of control hysterical.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">This may
not be the last time this happened to me, but it was certainly the
worst. Best? Most memorable.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">It was
the end of my first semester of grad school, without a doubt the most
difficult academic semester of my life. I think grad schools plan it
that way in order to weed out the people who aren’t going to make it early. I’ve always been a pretty solid B student without having to
work very hard. As a result I have crap study skills. I can get
really motivated when it’s something I’m interested in, but have
little patience for the topics I’m not. That semester was full of
things I just didn’t care very much about. That same fall Fred and
I had signed a contract to produce our first comic book, which ended up never appearing, so that was
taking up a lot of my time and attention. That alone should have
clued me in on where my actual priorities were.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">Anyway,
even though I had dropped a class in Research Statistics to be taken
again later, I still had four final exams and a major paper due the last
week of class. The story I have told for years is that I got about
eight hours sleep in the course of four days. That seems unlikely to
me now, but nevertheless, I didn’t get much sleep. I was living on
caffeine. The area I lived in was a test market for Jolt Cola (‟All
the sugar and twice the caffeine!”). My routine for those four days
was a cup of coffee, a cup of tea, a can of Jolt, repeat. There’s a
reason I wasn’t sleeping.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">The day
came when we were all finished. It was the day before we were all
leaving for Christmas break. A bunch of us were hanging out at the
apartment, trying chill and relax and have fun before we left. I
should have taken the opportunity to crash but I was really wired. Our
friend Holly made chocolate fudge. I want to go on record by saying
it was possibly the worst fudge in the history of fudge. We all
thought so. Holly thought so. Somehow it seemed like a really good
idea that instead of eating it we should wad it up into a ball and
toss it around the living room.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">Based on
my reaction, this must have been the funniest thing to ever happen.
Ever. Anywhere. Another friend was there, reading quietly on the
couch, somehow completely oblivious to our shenanigans. At one point
the fudge landed in his lap. He held it up like it was an alien
artifact. The look on his face was the final straw for my
sleep-deprived, caffeine-addled brain. I lost it. Completely, rolled
up in a ball on the floor, shivering, uncontrollable, difficult to
breathe, tears and snot rolling down my face, completely unable to
stop myself from laughing.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">Every
time I thought I was getting some semblance of control, I would look
up and lose it again. I eventually made it to my bedroom, closed the
door, turned out the light and curled up on my bed, still shaking in
the throes of mirth. It took awhile, but I got my shit together and
went back to join the others.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">Where I
immediately collapsed to the floor again, all composure gone.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">By this
time my friends were getting seriously worried about me. I think I
may have been on the verge of some kind of breakdown. Miriam came to
my rescue. I was still reeling, but she took my arm, grabbed our
coats and made me walk her back to her dorm. I think the combination
of the cold December air and her calm presence may have saved my
sanity that night.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">There
are times I feel like it’s been way too long since I have indulged
in genuine hilarity. I like to laugh until I ache, especially in the
company of good friends. I never want to be that out of control
again.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">No more
fudge for me.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AMjSF6CFCjs/WdglDCrVRHI/AAAAAAAABeI/SK4RI7hEw5EaAeHlCMyiQzTv9sU00LuwACLcBGAs/s1600/3327917-joker_brian_bolland-560x457-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="457" data-original-width="560" height="261" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AMjSF6CFCjs/WdglDCrVRHI/AAAAAAAABeI/SK4RI7hEw5EaAeHlCMyiQzTv9sU00LuwACLcBGAs/s320/3327917-joker_brian_bolland-560x457-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-66733373350983864562017-10-07T17:21:00.001-07:002017-10-07T17:21:08.184-07:00Misspent Youth #2: Geronimo!!!<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; page-break-before: always;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b; font-family: "times" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">My
favorite toys as a child were action figures. Pretty specifically a
line from Marx Toys called The Best of the West. The cowboy Johnny
West was the main character but there were soldiers and Indians and a
full West family including Johnny’s wife, two sons and two
daughters. I had most of these. There were also two medieval knights
(my favorites), and two vikings, of which I only ever owned one.
They came with a wide assortment of accessories. I still have many of
the figures, though some of them are lost to time (and the memory of
why some are missing). I have a few hats and swords left, but that’s
about all.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #2f2d3b; font-family: "times" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J_nPa25gnWM/WdZkX9i2w-I/AAAAAAAABdg/JKaj8giKtsUzkew10tfIXHC1TyS9NgibQCLcBGAs/s1600/DSC01193_RETOUCHED.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1072" data-original-width="1600" height="214" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J_nPa25gnWM/WdZkX9i2w-I/AAAAAAAABdg/JKaj8giKtsUzkew10tfIXHC1TyS9NgibQCLcBGAs/s320/DSC01193_RETOUCHED.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">These are the figures I have left.<br />They're standing on top of a bookshelf in my living room</span><span style="font-size: x-small;">.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">In first
grade I took my Geronimo figure with me to school. I don’t know if
it was a show and tell day, or if I just wanted to take it to show my
friends because I loved it so much. During recess outside I started
to throw it high in the air and then catch it when it came back down.
I’m fairly certain I was shouting ‟Geronimo!!!” when I did this
because for some reason that’s what you shout when jumping out of a
plane or off something high. A friend asked if he could do it and I
said Yes. I’m certain it didn’t happen on his first throw, and
I’m equally certain it wasn’t intentional, but, on one of his
trips to the sky Geronimo ended up landing on the roof of the school.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">There
were tears, mine and his. I think I yelled at him and told him he had
to buy me a new one. The teacher came over and tried to comfort us.
What no one did was make any effort to retrieve it. It was a small
country school and all of the teachers were ancient, so I understand
why they didn’t climb up there. But, we did have a maintenance guy,
and there were ladders. But no one went up to get it.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">For a
long, long time.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">Every
day at school after that I would see Geronimo laying at the edge of
the roof. Over summer vacation, every time we drove by, there he was.
The following year, when my class was bussed to different school,
every day through the bus window I saw Geronimo, abandoned to his fate. I
saw him soaked by rain. I saw him covered in leaves. I saw him buried
in snow.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">One day
while the bus was stopped in front of the school, discharging the
kids who went there while the rest of used stayed seated to go on, I
noticed Geronimo was no longer on the roof. The maintenance man got
on the bus and handed him to me. He explained that someone had kicked
a football and it got stuck on the roof. While he was up there he got
my action figure as well.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l3IdzaFjWZY/WdbTPM40_AI/AAAAAAAABdw/PmPa22F5h3gByPA2I9myBrQsxWJ7wl7UACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1425.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l3IdzaFjWZY/WdbTPM40_AI/AAAAAAAABdw/PmPa22F5h3gByPA2I9myBrQsxWJ7wl7UACLcBGAs/s320/IMG_1425.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">This is the actual figure that went</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">through </span><span style="font-size: small;">this ordeal.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">Little
Wayne learned a valuable lesson that day about what we value as a
society. My toy, something really, really important to me at the
time, and my tears, was not important enough to justify getting the
ladder out of storage and climbing to the roof. But, one single
football gets kicked up there and everyone leaps into action. Thanks
for making my feelings and values an afterthought, Janitor Jim.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #2f2d3b; font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #2f2d3b; font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">I’m
still a little bitter.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/5_QZJUFFo2I" width="560"></iframe></span></span></div>
Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-20737561715822605152017-10-05T05:35:00.000-07:002017-10-05T05:35:39.197-07:00Misspent Youth #1: Flashback<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #2f2d3b; font-family: "times" , serif;">Ten
years ago or so I wrote and drew two short comic strips detailing the
misadventures of myself when I was a child. I intended these ‟Little
Wayne” tales to be an ongoing series, to be collectively titled
</span><i style="color: #2f2d3b; font-family: Times, serif;">Misspent Youth</i><span style="color: #2f2d3b; font-family: "times" , serif;">. I drew them in a different artistic style than
what I usually do. My goal was to emulate some of the great ‟Little”
comics series of the past like Little Archie, Little Dot, and Little
Audrey, as well as strips like Richie Rich. While I was mostly happy
with the results of the two I produced the art style never clicked
for me. I began work on a third one, but ended up really hating the
art I was producing for it, got frustrated, took a break, and never
went back.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">It’s
unfortunate, because I think I had some good ideas. I had a list of
autobiographical memories that dealt with nostalgia, child-like
wonder, and the disappointment that arises when confronted with the
real world. They were also pretty funny. I still think they are worth
sharing, so rather than go back to a dead project and attempt to
draw them I want to relate them here. It will be different of course,
but hopefully still entertaining. Each of these blog entries will
carry the Misspent Youth title.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">I want
to begin by retelling the first story I drew in prose form.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">When I
was in first grade in 1967 I wanted to be the Flash for Halloween.
I’m pretty sure none of my teachers or most of my friends even knew
who the Flash was. Fifty years later he’s on TV and kids everywhere
are into the Scarlet Speedster. It makes me incredibly happy when I
see posts of friend’s children dressed in the incredibly detailed
costumes that are now available.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">I wasn’t
so lucky back then. Mom bought me a Ben Cooper Flash mask and costume
at McCrorys. One of those plastic affairs that made you sweat and it
was hard to breathe. The costume was a plastic sheath that had a
picture of the Flash on the chest. Flash wore a red and yellow
costume with a lightning bolt on it. He didn’t wear a picture of
himself. I didn’t want to wear a picture of the Flash. I wanted to
<i>be</i> the Flash.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xrVUoP97PCk/WdOviietA3I/AAAAAAAABdE/qO0K4ZYIWZUyN5XepRJk0YVa0R0gvX2MgCLcBGAs/s1600/64-dc-comics-the-flash-halloween-mask-ben-cooper_1_815ca9d2784fc811f572b4f20f839ab2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="324" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xrVUoP97PCk/WdOviietA3I/AAAAAAAABdE/qO0K4ZYIWZUyN5XepRJk0YVa0R0gvX2MgCLcBGAs/s320/64-dc-comics-the-flash-halloween-mask-ben-cooper_1_815ca9d2784fc811f572b4f20f839ab2.jpg" width="299" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">So Mom
got out her sewing machine. We got red and yellow cloth ad began to
cut and sew. I was pretty specific with what I wanted. In every Flash
comic, and on the costume we bought, the yellow part of his costume
streaked out behind him as he ran. I now know that these drawings
were by Carmine Infantino. The yellow streaks were meant to represent
Flash running at super speed. At the time, all I knew was that I
wanted the yellow part of my costume to be made out of long, trailing
strips of cloth. It would make me look like I was running really
fast, you see.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">So the
day of the first grade Halloween party came. We held a parade down
the only street in my small hometown. There I was, all drooping red
and yellow cloth, not looking like I was moving very fast at all. To
make matters worse they paired me up with some kid in a devil
costume. I was supposed to be a superhero and they made me hold hands
with the prince of Darkness.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">They
just didn’t get it.</span></span></div>
Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-81137713693256484342017-10-03T05:31:00.001-07:002017-10-03T05:54:26.884-07:00Burning From the Inside<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">Carrie
was the first Goth girl I ever knew. Black clothes with lots of lace.
Black ripped fishnets. Black hair, black nails, black lipstick, thick
black eye makeup. Pale white skin. She was tiny, definitely under a
hundred pounds. A few years later when Neil Gaiman introduced the
character of Death into his Sandman series my first thought was,
‟Ahh... Carrie.”</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ix7R7lyQTrg/WdGDfkfcRhI/AAAAAAAABcw/AXn0Vlz3KqsWpbl8zocp9DsAqEqlxlK3gCEwYBhgL/s1600/1483831942367.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="537" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ix7R7lyQTrg/WdGDfkfcRhI/AAAAAAAABcw/AXn0Vlz3KqsWpbl8zocp9DsAqEqlxlK3gCEwYBhgL/s320/1483831942367.jpg" width="223" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Death from Neil Gaiman's Sandman series.<br />
Art by Chris Bachalo.<br />
©DC Comics</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />I was in
grad school at the time, living with five undergraduate guys who were
just slightly younger than I was. Carrie had grown up next door to
one of them and he thought of her as a little sister. I don’t think
she was out of high school at the time. One night we went to hang out
at the rehearsal space for a local punk band called Faces of Death.
It was in the basement of an office building in the downtown section
of the small city we lived near. Though I was a veteran of large
concerts this was my first up close exposure to the punk underground
(but not the last). It was supposed to be a band practice and while
loud music was played for awhile it turned into more of a just
hanging out and drinking kind of party.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">Carrie
was there. Though underage she knew everyone and my roommate in
particular was looking out for her, at least to the extent of her
physical safety. She was drinking with the rest of us. A few people
went outside for a smoke break, and even though I don’t smoke some
fresh air seemed like a good idea. That night Carrie had applied a
lot of Aquanet to her hair, sculpting it into wing-like crests on the
side. A long black devil’s lock hung stiffly over her face. While
lighting a cigarette the devil’s lock caught fire and went up like
a fuse. At least three of us jumped into action, trying to put it
out, slapping the poor girl in the face and head before the entire
thing was engulfed in a hairspray inferno. We were successful. Carrie
wasn’t even burnt. The devil’s lock was a thing of the past
though.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">I have
no idea what ever happened to Carrie. She would be well into her 40s
by now. Does she still embrace her Gothic past, or is she slightly
embarrassed by it? Does she remember the night she was on fire?</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Qxqq5vahHKk?rel=0" width="560"></iframe></span></span></div>
Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-13681031520866745732017-10-01T05:40:00.000-07:002017-10-01T05:57:44.465-07:00Quaker Notes<style type="text/css">
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<span style="color: #2f2d3b; font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">It was a
Quaker wedding, the first of these I have ever attended. The couple
are a little over half my age, vibrant, brilliant, and beautiful.
They are relatively new people in my life, new enough that I admit to
being surprised to be included in their special day. And it was
special. It was a perfect outdoor wedding, complete with sunshine, a
wide variety of wonderfully eccentric guests, the most fun first
dance and mother/daughter dance I have ever seen, tremendous food,
and a ginger pear alcoholic cider slushie that could easily lead to a
joyous coma.</span><br />
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">But it
was the ceremony that stood out. I have attended many non-traditional
weddings in my life. I have officiated quite a number of weddings, my
presence in that role alone guaranteeing the non-traditional label.
But that’s the thing here. This was a traditional Quaker wedding.
It was my unfamilarity with the proceedings that made it seem
different. It was wonderful. Quakers believe that no one has greater
authority over these matters than anyone else, so there was no
officiant. It was a self-uniting marriage, legal in Pennsylvania,
where all that is needed is the signatures of the couple and a
witness. Instead of a service the couple sat, surrounded by their
friends and family. It was silent at first, but then, as the mood
struck, people would stand up and speak to the couple. Stories were told.
Personal anecdotes were shared. Some were funny. Some bordered on the
profane. One man sang a song he had composed for the occasion. All
were heartfelt expressions of the love and happiness everyone there
felt for the couple. </span></span><span style="color: #2f2d3b; font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">When it eventually became apparent that no one else was going to speak they stood and recited their vows to each other.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">What a
marvelous thing, to have the people you care most about tell you
that they love you, in so many varied and wondrous ways. What better
way to embark on a voyage together than to be buoyed up on waves of
joy? We all take for granted that our friends care for us, but maybe
we need to actually hear it more often. Maybe we all need to tell
others more often.</span></span></div>
Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-79055289061150236712017-09-29T13:39:00.000-07:002017-09-29T13:39:01.650-07:00Moving<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; page-break-before: always;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: large;">About
once a week while driving to work I see a couple out for a morning
stroll. This morning was a cool September day after a stretch of much
too hot and humid ones. The street where I see them in North Oakland
is tree-lined and leaves cover the sidewalk. I never get a very good
look at them. Since I’m driving it is almost always from behind,
then a sideways glance as I go past, followed by a quick vision in my
mirror, then I go about my day. As a result it’s difficult for me
to get a handle on them.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: large;">He is
tall and very thin, with very long white hair. He has some sort of
physical disability. His hips seem to lean to one side and he limps
along with very short steps. The hair and physique makes me think he
is older than I am but that may not be true. The woman with him looks
younger. She may be his wife, or his daughter, or simply a friend.
She may be a physical therapist who comes once a week to help him
out. She holds onto his arm, lightly as they move.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
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<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: Times, serif; font-size: large;">And move
they do. What strikes me most about this is how quickly they seem to
be moving. Short, shuffling steps, but fast, churning up the autumn leaves. Whatever difficulty he
may have, it’s obvious he is going somewhere, even if it’s just
the end of the block. Perhaps I’m reading into it, given that I see
such a brief moment of their day, but I always feel a sense of the
joy of simply being in motion.</span></span></div>
Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7060877244096516182.post-66909492380253845782017-09-28T17:30:00.001-07:002017-09-28T17:31:40.199-07:00Reflections and Projections on Writing<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">In my
previous post I mentioned that I am reading <i>The Crow’s Dinner</i> by
Jonathan Carroll. As an author he is difficult to describe. At
bookstores I have seen his novels filed with Horror, with Science
Fiction and Fantasy, and with contemporary literature. Magical
realism probably comes closest to defining his genre, but even that
doesn’t quite get it right.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">The new
book is different than his others. It is a collection of short, some
<i>very</i> short, essays that he used to publish regularly on Medium.com. I
read them pretty regularly at one point but over time I had gotten
way behind. The book is 500-plus pages of one to two page essays. He
wrote a <i>lot</i> of these. I kind of love them.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">Carroll
brings a number of things to all of his writing. He had tremendous
observational skills allowing him to capture the tiny moments of the
every day that brings verisimilitude to the worlds he builds. This
applies not only to the physical world, but also to people, their
behaviors and motivations. It all feels very real, places and people
we all recognize from our own experiences. Then, when something
fantastic or magical occurs, it seems as real as everything else. He
finds the magic in the mundane.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">That
seems even more evident in his essays where he deals pretty
exclusively with the real world. He is attentive to it, relating
anecdotes with clarity and vision. He is compassionate about the
human condition in all of its flaws and wonders. With a concise
economy of words he conveys moments of everyday magic.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">If you
can’t tell, I am envious of his skill.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">This
morning I had a conversation about writing, specifically the merits
of brevity versus longer works. There’s a place for both,
obviously, depending on what your goal is. This conversation was
specifically about writing for comics, and how many words on a page
are too many (because in comics words equal space), and how much the
art should tell. It’s a fine balance and there is no right answer.
That seems to be the one place where my style leans toward the more
sparse and concise. But then Alan Moore of Watchmen fame puts a whole
lot of words on a page and it works.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">There’s
a reason that my fiction tends toward novels instead of the short
story. The same is true of my reading habits. To paraphrase, I like
big books, and I can not lie. Big books that comprise trilogies, or
more. But excessive word count isn’t always necessary. A good haiku
says everything it needs to. In the current era when we’re
bombarded by too much information word count can be a detriment. I’m
certainly guilty of scanning web pages instead of reading them
thoroughly. How much time can I spare? While I can’t deny that
Twitter is powerful, I feel that much of it lacks context. Some
topics simply can’t be critically addressed in 140 characters.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">But
there has to be a happy medium between a tweet and tl;dr.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">I have a
lot to learn from writers like Jonathan Carroll. In this spirit I
plan on trying some new things with this blog. I won’t entirely
give up my longer pieces, but I want to try my hand at shorter posts.
Using his style as a guideline, without completely aping it, I
want to tell smaller stories. A side effect of this, I hope, is that
I will write and post more often, because I often psyche myself out
with the need to write about something more in depth. I want to
observe the world around me a little more closely and report what I
find. I want to look for the magic in the everyday. The post that
immediately precedes this one was an attempt. There will be more.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2f2d3b;"><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: large;">Stay
tuned.</span></span></div>
Waynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18419225915112178634noreply@blogger.com0