Doldrums

And Even More About Comic Books

I mentioned—ad nauseam, I’m sure—my return to reading/collecting comic books. This is after a fourteen-year hiatus. This is after meeting girls and learning how to talk to them. This is after sex and drugs and rock ‘n’ roll. Comic book reading is, after all, my first love. My first plunge into literary works. Literary works, yeah. I don’t care much for the smug academia that disregards Watchmen as a literary work because it’s a graphic novel.
Since I started, I managed collect thirteen titles. They include: Harley Quinn (DC/the New 52), Magento (Marvel Now), Wolverine and the X-Men (Marvel Now), Dexter Down Under (Marvel), Batman: The Joker’s Daughter (DC/the New 52), Evil Empire (Boom!), Moon Knight (Marvel Now), Revenge (Image), Veil (Dark Horse), Justice League 3000 (DC/the New 52), Auteur (Oni), Empire of the Dead (Marvel), and Night of the Living Deadpool (Marvel). Most of these are either new series, one-shots, stand-alone story arcs, or rebooted series. I find it easier to start off from scratch than it is to play catch-up with ongoing story lines. It’s also easier to weed out what isn’t going to work for me.
I took an interest to Harley Quinn, for obvious reasons. Because she’s the Clown Prince of Crime’s girlfriend. Though, she’s his ex now. And after the abysmal final season of Dexter turned me on to the comic heralded by his creator, Jeff Lindsay. The Joker’s Daughter, well, need I explain? George A. Romero’s Empire of the Dead takes place in the same realm of his movies (vampires added for garnish, I’m sure). I picked up Justice League 3000 for nostalgic reasons. It reminded me of the Marvel 2099 series. However, this book fell short of my expectations. Same goes for Auteur, though I’m still on the fence about what I expected from it. The artwork is reminiscent of the Adult Swim series, Super Jail. Moon Knight captured my attention. Magneto reintroduced me to my childhood. Although, I’m still having troubled accepting the bald super-villain-turned-antihero-turned-whatever-he-is-these-days.
However, this revisited venture is costing me money (who would have figured?). My last visit to Myth Adventures cost me $42; I purchased seven titles plus a storage box that cost me $8. The storage box, by the way, was a scam as I see no difference between the one I have and a regular white box. Well, outside of the aesthetic realm, anyway. I discovered Midtown Comics online. I ordered the first three issues of Night of the Living Deadpool from them (revising the first issue for the 1st printing). I learned after the fact that they have questionable shipping practices. I’ll cross my fingers in hopes that my comics come unbent. Along side them, I also found Heavy Ink (thank you online forums!). I subscribed to Harley Quinn and purchased the first four issues of Sex Criminals (Image) and Batman #28 (DC/the New 52). I hope their shipping practices are better. We’ll soon see.
I also have to learn how to bag and board my comics. I noticed some nicks on my Harley Quinn issues. I will have to replace them because my OCD won’t let it rest.

This post was written & edited using Hemingway App.

Doldrums

It’s always the quiet ones

"I'm a very neat monster" -Dexter Morgan

I have a way with words, but I only speak when it’s necessary. It keeps me from getting boring, I suppose. Or maybe it’s a fail-safe in order to keep people from hating me. Because, even though I like to pretend that the world doesn’t matter to me, I do want people to accept me.

My Autobiography as Jesus H. Christ

Blasphemers aren’t born; they’re made by a strict Catholic upbringing. Early on, I thought I was Jesus reincarnated that caused me to do several embarrassing things like walk on water – I tested this out on puddles of water. When it didn’t work, I figured that the gift will come when the time was right. I pondered what holes in my hands would look like. Wondered if I would keep from crying out like Christ – that was the rumor, anyway.

I considered myself a good Catholic, even then. You might see it as deviant and insulting to your savior and messiah, but I see it as a child aspiring to be something better.

There was one thing I didn’t agree with the dogma. I didn’t like the idea of feeling guilty for every little thing we did. When I was told that I’d be going to hell for killing a mosquito by a CCD teacher, I decided it was going to be on my own terms.

Hey, hey, HEY…This is What Rock ‘n’ Roll Looks Like

I left the Catholic brainwashing machine – formerly known as CCD aka Bible Class – by junior high. I fell in the gutter with the devil’s music and living life in sin. And I gotta tell you – life was sweeter on the dark side. My faith in a higher power waned by mid high school and I profess Atheism before graduation.

Not all things are so black and white, though. As I studied philosophy, I came to terms that, while I don’t believe in god, I am not an atheist to the core. Atheist lite. Agnostic. Where I live, however, they’re pretty much the same.

Wait, wasn’t this post about acceptance?

Despite all the confidence I transpire on the interwebz, I am somewhat of a social outcast – go figure! Even into my ripe old age, I’m still socially inept which makes me feel awkward when people talk to me. I never know how to stand, how long to make eye contact, how to behave, what’s the proper thing to respond, what they expect from me, etc. This, in turn, makes me quite the quiet person. If I’m to learn anything from history, it’s that no good comes from me saying anything. One time I pissed off a lesbian mother because – even though I’m pro-gay – I felt that we wouldn’t see homo-acceptance in this country in our lifetime. It looks like I may be wrong on that, by the way. Hopefully.

It’s why I never worked well with others in high school

But my inability to communicate with others that keeps me from partaking in  social situations. There’s an underlining layer of paranoia. Namely, people taking credit for things I said. For example, in high school, there was this girl that sat in front of me – let’s call her Bitch Who Sat in Front of Me. In class, Mrs. Obvious Man Hater, made us pair up. Bitch Who Sat in Front of Me and I were the only ones without partners so we were paired with each other. The class assignment was to write a poem about something or other. Bitch Who Sat in Front of Me wasn’t the brightest person in the world, so I wound up writing the entire poem. She wrote ONE line. ONE. Single. Line. And she had the nerve to call it our poem. OUR poem. As in a team effort.

Now most people thing high school ends when they graduate, but it doesn’t. Not really, anyway. The rules still apply because high school – not college – creates the habits we have. So when I heard a higher-upper repeat my ideas and words verbatim, I was angered. There wasn’t a single nod in my direction.

Let’s not forget being picked last – or in my case, being looked over completely. In sports, I don’t blame people. I wouldn’t even want to pick myself. But it hurts when people don’t even offer or approach me for something I can do.

A word or two (perhaps more) on college

I hated my first two years. I didn’t make many friends, nothing lasting. When I returned to Sigma Tau Delta after a year of ditching meetings, I found a group of people I still consider friends.