Whether it's your first Bonnaroo or you’re a music festival veteran, we welcome you to Inforoo.
Here you'll find info about artists, rumors, camping tips, and the infamous Roo Clues. Have a look around then create an account and join in the fun. See you at Bonnaroo!!
When I was around 7, my uncle who we affectionately referred to as, "Big Mike" came to visit us in Yorktown. My Dad's side of the family didn't visit often, but Big Mike was one of my favorites. Jovial and unconventional he brought me a few specific things: 1) A blue (or purple) notepad to write "stories" on, 2) A Pink Panther t-shirt, and 3) A comic book. An Iron Man comic book, drawn by Bob Layton. I read it a hundred times if I read it once, beginning that day.
In grades 5-12, I went to a store to buy comic books at least once a week. The Wednesday comic book delivery wasn't too important as a major day for new stuff, since I knew I'd be going pretty soon anyway. There were the comic stores that I usually visited with friends (and friends parents who could drive) but there was also the old Book & Card shop in the old Heritage Square shopping center.
At the Book & Card they had the old metal turning displays that seemed to warp every comic it touched, and they also sold comics (or rather didn't) way past their relevancy date. But I didn't care. A three-year-old comic was just as good as a new one in my more voracious days. Comics were a comfort, a drug of sorts that were read twice. Once, relatively quickly, to fleet through the art and get the gist of the story. The second time I really studied the art and took in the writing. I'd read a comic more time later, but I'd always read it twice on the same day I bought it. It was like a drug because as I read a comic I would set it down next to me, open to whatever page inspired me, and stare out the window. In the car, in my room, anywhere. I'd fantasize about the heroes in the environment I was in, how'd they fight in the grocery store I had to go to with mom, what they would look like careening around the train station's clock on that wicked overpass in Richmond... Trips to other countries just provided new locales.
As I grew up, I found other things to read. Books, plays. I tended to read them in the same way I read comics. Albee's <i>Zoo Story</i> would be found pressed open to a particularly good line on my wide windowsill in college, next to a speaker I'd propped up so I could hear music outside; outside, sitting in a chair sipping on a drink to enjoy the outdoors and read. I'd adopted a new comic store during college, one within walking distance. While not as regularly as trips to Plan 9's music store in Carytown, there were frequent trips Brian would take with me to the comic store. We'd walk down the neighborhoods college kids didn't walk down and cross streets they didn't scurry across on foot and go past the Chinese take-out place to the comic store. Brian would patiently let me stare at new issues, pick up my reserved issues and chat with the owners. Brian could get some baseball cards and usually I'd get a pack too. He'd get all the Oakland A's, I'd get the Dodgers. We'd save the Yankees for Alec and try and make it back before the Spider-Man cartoon was over so we could catch him and share.
In the summers during college, I'd return home and hang out at Jersey's Cards and Comics with my friends who I had re-acquainted with. It was nice to feel like I had a designated shop. I got to know other regulars. I had what I felt were intelligent conversations about plot lines and art that I never had before. I started to see how scripts and prose connected between "pop" arts like comics and the literary worlds that other heroes floated in. I saw even less of a difference the more I learned.
After graduating college, I took a job in Indiana. I missed the regular comic dialogue and the shop. There wasn't one for dozens of miles from where I lived. Jersey's graciously started sending me a box a month of all the comics I regularly followed, charging me just the price of the issues even if shipping was clearly expensive. I loved getting those boxes. The internet, bustling but still strangely muted, helped connect opinions and discourse a bit, but mostly I was alone with my habit. It made me write more. It made me think. I had a lot to think about with that time in Indiana.
When Corri and I first visited Roanoke before moving there, we got very lost. At one point in the night we crossed a strange bridge and passed a log cabin built in the middle of Roanoke city's historic area. It made no sense. It must have been a model home or an eccentric lawyer's office. The faint glow of the "Marvel" sign left buzzing clued me in that it was just a strange home of a comic shop. We moved to the area and it, B&D Comics, became my shop.
Living 45 minutes from the city meant infrequent visits. At times I almost asked if they could just mail my comics again. But the new job in Roanoke, located just blocks from the odd comic shop in the cabin, means I can drop by weekly. Like today. I was reminded because major news networks (CNN, Yahoo, USA Today...etc) all were carrying the story that a major comic book character had something happen to them. I was thinking of going anyway, so I went, arriving at 1:05, just after they open on Wednesdays. I went in.
I dropped off with Terry a special edition comic we'd gotten in New York so she could auction it with the proceeds going to the local Angels of Assisi. I asked for my "pull" of reserved comics. I wandered over to the wall rack to grab a copy of the comic all the news outlets were talking about. I grabbed the last one after a woman who was picking up one for her son got one. I paid and walked out.
From the porch of the log cabin comic shop I noticed how many cars were in the small parking lot, which contrasted with the low number of people inside. Squinting I could see that most were occupied by their drivers with comics open on the wheel, some with a drink or a sandwich, some staring off into space. All in their 20's or 30's. None reading the same comics. It occurred to me what a funny but unique thing this was... new comic day. In the center of a middle-sized city stood a log cabin that sold a niche art and literary form of pop culture- and on any given Wednesday you'll find people arriving within 5 minutes of the lock unlatching buying comics and then sitting in their cars, reading. Are they desperate for the drama or stories inside? Not sure; although a mostly monthly medium wouldn't provide the attraction on the level of a <i>Lost</i> tv show. Is it the escapism? Maybe. Is it just a habit? Possibly.
I went back to work, unable to hang out and talk or read anything in the car. I read lots of research papers now, some periodicals, lots of online material and a few books. But tonight, after putting Addy to bed, after talking with my parents, after surfing a little, while Corri watches her shows upstairs, I read a comic. And I paused to daydream a little. As I am wont to do. And as I'm likely to do for a long, long time.
Post by spookymonster on Mar 7, 2007 21:57:58 GMT -5
A good read. I stopped buying comic books back in '95, when my financial situation required me to 'put away childish things' and get a real job. Now that I've got a stable career, I've begun collecting graphic novels again - particularly anything written by the genius whorehopper known as Warren Ellis. It's like coming home again....
Post by spookymonster on Mar 8, 2007 9:11:32 GMT -5
dudezer47 said:
Anybody into Y: The Last Man? Love that nuts.
Yup... I'm reading the graphic novel collections tho', so don't ruin it for me! My local B&N has vols 5 thru 8, but I haven't been able to locate vol 4 yet, so I've fallen behind. I'm planning on going to Jay & Silent Bob's Secret Stash down in Redbank soon - hopefully they'll have it.
Great premise, well thought out, kinda creepy. I just hope the payoff is as well executed as the build-up.
.
