The Proof Is In The Putting
...those who know me personally or even from just reading these posts these past few months probably have determined that I live in the universe of "geek culture". Board games, comic books, video games, heavy metal, punk rock, skateboarding etc. Essentially, all of the things that would cause one to magnetically befriend like-minded allies as the rest of the school shut you out. At least that is how it generally happened back when I went to high school. So if one were to call me a "nerd", I'd heartily accept the compliment.
My Thursdays generally consist of waking up between 7 and 9 a.m. I start the morning with a yogurt and possibly a piece of fruit. In the later morning, I like a bowl of warm granola with almond milk with my Jon Stewart and Jeopardy. Before I begin to actually prepare for my day, I might down a chapter or two of Kevin Anderson's The Last Days Of Krypton. I brush my teeth, clean myself, iron my clothes and head out to browse bookstores and generally wander for a few hours. It centers me.
When I say that I browse bookstores, many times that ends up being code for "seeing what new trades are on store shelves". Either that or to see what fool sold a perfectly mint hardcover of Mark Waid's Superman: Birthright (mine is currently on hold). Sometimes, I buy. Other times, I just use it as an excuse to not sit in the house and be around humanity. Partly, this has been my constant mental exercise to deal with anxiety head on. The other half is a brimming manic attempt to always be aware of what's around.
Today was no different. After doing a bit of selling and scoring big at Half Price Books with Volumes 1 & 2 of Mike Carey's The Unwritten for mere pennies on the dollar, I headed over to Barnes & Noble to look for some items I heard about on Word Balloon yesterday (the best comic book podcast online, originating from right here in Chicago). At Barnes & Noble, the shelves are from right to left: manga, indie, Marvel & DC/Vertigo. Depending on my whimsy, I begin at whatever end strikes my fancy and work my way down.
As I was approaching, I saw this gigantic head peaking above the DC/Vertigo section. The giant head was talking loudly. As it stood, the giant head would be attached to an equally giant body and thus, I would begin today in indie. No matter since I was hoping to locate a copy of Usagi Yojumbo. While scanning the shelves, I had become entrapped in the snare of the giant head and its booming narrative. I was trying hard to not listen in, but it was no use. The giant head was utilizing his Zardoz-like platform to complain about every comic book film and TV series ever created. The costumes are all wrong, this actor was/is terrible, they got this-or-that wrong and so on. In short, the giant head had waited his entire life to see Spiderman and Wolverine in a film and no one had consulted him first before taking liberties. The giant head had seen and hated all.
Again, I have no issue with being referred to as a nerd or for liking nerd things. At this stage, it is my stock and trade. But, there are nerds...and then there are NERDS. Me? I understand that in 75 years, there have been countless writers and artists for Superman. Some have retired or passed on while the contemporary ones have not had the luxury of consulting a writer from the 1970's on how best to keep with that era's continuity. I basically accept comics and their properties as Rashomon. If the story is compelling, I'm OK with Kal-el wearing a t-shirt here instead of a unitard.
Instead, NERDS have been in for the long haul and goddamnit, not a fucking thing should ever be altered. Gal Gadot is not right for Wonder Woman. They didn't use the storyline "everyone" wanted for Iron Man 3. On one hand, I want to be empathetic because I can guess that a person like that was picked on in their youth and that concerns me more these days having two nephews. When I read about the kid in Michigan a few weeks back that told his mom not to throw him a birthday party because he had no friends, I wanted to max out my credit card on anything he was interested in and mail it to him.
But then there is the giant head. A monstrous talking monolith of a know-it-all that will be quick to condemn anyone who dares to admit that they like the J.J. Abrams Star Trek films out loud. The type of person who never resists the urge to pull rank on anyone spotted looking at an X-Men book, belittling them for going contemporary instead of reading Chris Claremont's legendary run first. Perish the thought!
Like any person scared of getting roped into THAT conversation, I quietly slipped off to flip through a collections book of Guillermo Del Toro until the giant head floated away. Had he seen me spending my hard-earned money on a copy of Sailor Twain instead of The Infinity Gauntlet, I am certain he would have had a lecture ready in the chamber.
When I say that I browse bookstores, many times that ends up being code for "seeing what new trades are on store shelves". Either that or to see what fool sold a perfectly mint hardcover of Mark Waid's Superman: Birthright (mine is currently on hold). Sometimes, I buy. Other times, I just use it as an excuse to not sit in the house and be around humanity. Partly, this has been my constant mental exercise to deal with anxiety head on. The other half is a brimming manic attempt to always be aware of what's around.
As I was approaching, I saw this gigantic head peaking above the DC/Vertigo section. The giant head was talking loudly. As it stood, the giant head would be attached to an equally giant body and thus, I would begin today in indie. No matter since I was hoping to locate a copy of Usagi Yojumbo. While scanning the shelves, I had become entrapped in the snare of the giant head and its booming narrative. I was trying hard to not listen in, but it was no use. The giant head was utilizing his Zardoz-like platform to complain about every comic book film and TV series ever created. The costumes are all wrong, this actor was/is terrible, they got this-or-that wrong and so on. In short, the giant head had waited his entire life to see Spiderman and Wolverine in a film and no one had consulted him first before taking liberties. The giant head had seen and hated all.
Again, I have no issue with being referred to as a nerd or for liking nerd things. At this stage, it is my stock and trade. But, there are nerds...and then there are NERDS. Me? I understand that in 75 years, there have been countless writers and artists for Superman. Some have retired or passed on while the contemporary ones have not had the luxury of consulting a writer from the 1970's on how best to keep with that era's continuity. I basically accept comics and their properties as Rashomon. If the story is compelling, I'm OK with Kal-el wearing a t-shirt here instead of a unitard.
Instead, NERDS have been in for the long haul and goddamnit, not a fucking thing should ever be altered. Gal Gadot is not right for Wonder Woman. They didn't use the storyline "everyone" wanted for Iron Man 3. On one hand, I want to be empathetic because I can guess that a person like that was picked on in their youth and that concerns me more these days having two nephews. When I read about the kid in Michigan a few weeks back that told his mom not to throw him a birthday party because he had no friends, I wanted to max out my credit card on anything he was interested in and mail it to him.
But then there is the giant head. A monstrous talking monolith of a know-it-all that will be quick to condemn anyone who dares to admit that they like the J.J. Abrams Star Trek films out loud. The type of person who never resists the urge to pull rank on anyone spotted looking at an X-Men book, belittling them for going contemporary instead of reading Chris Claremont's legendary run first. Perish the thought!
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