Stranger in a Familiar Land (from The Batmom August 2012)

Rene and I met during our first week of college at William and Mary (late summer 1989), when we became suitemates on Dupont First West. Memorable freshman moments include not only the usual navigations (studying without a parent enforcer, budgeting without going broke on mozzarella sticks), but also madly dancing across beer-slicked fraternity floors and employing hazardous amounts of multiple cleaning fluids to blast the mold out of our shower stall.

Now we’re middle-aged and haven’t hit a beer slick since sophomore year, but we’re still close, sharing a love of good fiction, geekish pop-culture, and anything/anyone that makes us laugh. We serve as each other’s blog editors, swapping posts before posting and, this week, fill each other’s pages while we’re both out of town.

Rene is in England, where she attended an Olympic dressage event ("the UK won gold and it was electric!") and saw War Horse on the London stage ("absolutely bloody brilliant"). She'll spend the rest of her visit catching up with friends. Susanna is in Connecticut with her daughter, visiting family, battling hand-foot-and-mouth, and cowspotting.

To keep you entertained, we’ve each chosen a post to share from the other person’s site.

Instead of choosing a favorite, I’ve chosen two posts that exemplify why I love Stranger In A Familiar Land: the amusing differences between the U.S. and England, the importance to Rene of language, and the easy way she has with a story. I always learn something from her posts, always laugh, and usually want to add an item to my to-do/to-try list.

So first, enjoy Home is Where the Food Is, then head back again for A Few of My Favourite Things.

 

Comic Book Character: Harold Gray (from The Batmom July 2012)

At the pace of a highly distractible snail, I’m making my way through the excellent, simple-and-smart "Comic Books 101." Comic book die-hards probably know all the history therein, beginning with America’s first comic strip, “Hogan's Alley” (AKA "The Yellow Kid," 1895), but I didn’t, and I’m enjoying the lesson.

Much of the information contained is also available on the Internet, though not in such a well-written and succinct format, and I assume with varying degrees of accuracy. So buy the book or surf the web (using this phrase makes me sound like a hip septuagenarian); not covering the well-traveled terrain here.

What I will spend my words and writing sprints exploring are some of the real-life characters who have pushed this crazy art-literature hybrid forward. I’m using a “five things” format (which I totally ripped off from Dribbble's "Timeouts") and I’m honing in on those folks who are as quirky as their famous creations.

Mickey Dugan, star of “The Yellow Kid,” defines quirky, with his bald little head, big-toothed grin, giant yellow nightshirt, and fondness for squalid alley-ways. I failed to find much quirky about his creator, R.F. Outcault, and so I turned to the first wave of adventure comics.

Many of these strips debuted in the years between the World Wars, whetting American appetites for a new sort of action-packed pop culture snack and paving the way for comic books and superheroes. The trailblazing crew included “Dick Tracy” (Chester Gould, 1931), “Terry and the Pirates” (Milton Caniff, 1934) and blank-eyed, red-headed “Little Orphan Annie.”

My daughter and I saw “Annie,” the musical based on the strip, last weekend. She seemed delighted by the orphans chorus-lining their way around the stage, though failed to grasp an iota of the plot. Me, I cried. When the littlest orphan called for her mother in her sleep. When Annie sang “Maybe.” Every time Sandy appeared.

(I cry at the sight of dogs as a general rule, and more so when the dog in question is a veteran stage star named Mike rescued by his trainer from a neglectful family, and whose aging muttsy legs quiver to the extent that Sandy’s signature trot slows to a determined plod.)

I did not cry when I read about Harold Gray, plucky Annie’s creator. He seems a bit of a nutter. Were he alive today, he’d be less likely drawing comics, and more likely hosting a talk show on right-wing radio.

FIVE THINGS ABOUT HAROLD GRAY, CREATOR OF LITTLE ORPHAN ANNIE

1. Gray Waved a Bayonet. Everyone starts somewhere. Gray started at Purdue in the engineering department and in ditches digging to pay his way. He then worked for a newspaper and, during WWI, taught young soldiers how to bayonet enemies before joining the art department at the Chicago Tribune. Nothing in his previous history suggests either an aptitude for wielding bayonets or penning highly successful comic strips about perky little girls. Unlikely trajectories always inspire.

2. Gray Wanted A Boy. Really, Gray wanted his own comic strip. He served as assistant on a crazy-popular strip called “The Gumps” and spent four years pitching his own comic concepts to his boss’ boss, Joseph Medill Patterson. The publisher finally bit, giving the okay to Gray’s “Little Orphan Otto” strip. One caveat: Otto become Annie, a name likely inspired in part by James Whitcomb Riley's 19th century favorite, "Little Orphant Annie.”

The carrot-topped orphan debuted in 1924, in her creator’s words, “tougher than hell, with a heart of gold and a fast left, who can take care of herself because she has to.” Annie escaped the miserable orphanage and evil Miss Asthma when Oliver Warbucks’ wife Mrs. adopted her. She adventured her way around the country for the next 86 years, starring not only in the strip but also a radio show, several movies, the aforementioned musical, and on a stamp. Gray died a multi-millionaire.

3. Gray Used Annie to His Own Political Ends. Annie exemplified Gray's staunchly conservative views, which included strong opposition to income taxes, social workers, unions, welfare and FDR. Right off the bat, his proselytizing offended several newspapers to the extent they axed Annie. He pulled back, but never stopped.

4. Grey Used Annie to Exact Revenge. Gray traveled extensively doing research for Annie, who was forever becoming separated from Daddy W and schlepping around the country with Sandy. During WWII, Gray applied for an exemption from the gas rationing imposed on the citizenry. After the Office of Price Administration (OPA) denied the request, Gray introduced a hypocritical OPA official, Fred Flack, who denied the masses their gasses while himself using enough fuel to power his three cars. Whereupon the OPA chided Gray. Whereupon numerous papers dropped Annie.Whereupon Gray disappeared Flask.

5. Gray Raised Daddy Warbucks from the Dead. And Killed Him Again. And Raised Him from the Dead. Again. Gray introduced Punjab, the Asp, and Mr. Am to the strip in the 1930s, when he grew fascinated by mysticism. All three men possessed magical powers. When the Asp and Daddy Warbucks were killed by ne’er-do-wells, Am resurrected them.

Warbucks died again in the mid-1940s, his death coinciding with FDR’s real-world nomination for a fourth term. When FDR died in 1945, Warbucks reappeared, announcing his “death” a fake-out, paving the way for multiple soap opera characters to follow.

For more on Harold Gray and Little Orphan Annie, check out my sources:

Cronin, B. (2011). Comic Book Legends Revealed #331, Comic Book Resources.

Heer, J. (2002). Dear Orphan Annie: Why cartoon characters get all the best mail, Boston Globe.

McLeod, S. (2010). Harold Gray, original creator of "Little Orphan Annie," The Cartoonists.

Maeder, J. (2010). [Interview with Liane Hansen]. Little Orphan Annie says goodbye. NPR.

Neigher, H. (1955). Who's side is Warbucks on? Annie's creator stirs up ad men. [Bridgeport, Conn.] Sunday Herald.

 

Wonder Woman #11 (from The Batmom July 2012)

COVERGIRL: A small foot twisted atop my new Wonder Woman, tearing Zola’s left leg in two. Should I go buy another copy, or let this stand as testament to 1) my children’s ability to destroy; and 2) my own stupidity in leaving my beloved Wonder Woman open to injury?  

Actually, the tear on the bottom left provides a visual response to the lightning bolt shooting out from Wonder Woman’s golden weapon on the upper right. So perhaps the owner of the small, tearing foot is a genius artist, soon to embark upon a raging career ensuring their mother a spot in a chi-chi retirement home.

The presence of three major female characters on the cover makes me happy. They are a contrasting crew; none alike but all together.

Wonder Woman looks lifted from a 1930s Olympics poster. “Now throwing the shot-put for the Amazons … .”

INSIDE STORY: Gaga Strife returns home to mummy Hera, who’s offering up the throne recently vacated by Zeus in exchange for ... Zeus. Rather, the baby in Zola's stomach who, we have been led to believe, is Zeus.

Power-thirsty Artemis joins forces with crown-craving Apollo and kidnaps Zola, fatally wounding Lennox in the process. Zola delivered, Hera tells Apollo the throne is his. Wonder Woman and Hermes show up and beg to differ.

RAMBLE: Good read, what with the godly machinations and Apollo slinging a pregnant woman under his mighty arm.

You know what I appreciate about Diana, every issue? Diana is large. She’s always been large, and I love the visual/physical fact of her size.

The other superheroines are extremely muscular and athletic, but Diana is the only one who has to shop at LongTallSally.com.

 Diana's lithe sister Strife possesses the skinny boyish figure so often celebrated in glossies, but in this book, we celebrate the largest woman in the bunch.

Next month DC releases origin issues for its New 52 books, offering up backstories for its revamped superheroes. With this issue, numbered 0, I arrive at a year's worth of comic books.

I’d like to push at least one of my superheroines aside and pick up a thing or two new, perhaps Birds of Prey or something from Marvel. Supergirl’s my likely target.

Unless I’m so re-disgusted by that Catwoman cover, I have to toss her out in protest.

 

Batwoman #11 (from The Batmom July 2012)

COVERGIRL: Just shy of loving it. Full-on love the pale green python circling the action and the red-and-white-film-negative look on the right, but the monstrous face looks cheap. If that makes sense. Everything is as sharp and crisp as a new dollar bill except Sir/Madam Melty. Perhaps that’s the point. Let’s flip it open. 

INSIDE STORY: Sir Melty. The skully melt-head is Maro, or is it Sune, or is Sune Maro and Maro Sune, or are they everyone or at least a lot of someones?

The last one. Sort of. Maro is a shapeshifter. He’s also, thanks to Falchion’s demise, leader of the subterranean band of creepy misfits plaguing Gotham. He sets his freak minions to the task of smiting Batwoman and the rest of the city and delivers Gotham’s kidnapped children to a scaly green She named Mitera.

Batwoman battles the creepy misfits, saving her DEO partner Agent Chase in the process. But because Batwoman stopped Chase from killing Maro/Sune, Chase thinks she’s a traitor and tells Detective Sawyer the same. As Batwoman watches Chase and Sawyer from afar, she vows she will save the children.

Also, Kate pushes her relationship with Sawyer forward, sharing pictures of her dead mother, dead sister, and estranged father. Sawyer does the same, revealing she has a daughter she lost in a custody battle.

Also, with some encouragement from Uncle Jake, Bette Kane wakes up!

RAMBLE: Beautiful issue. Art art art let’s talk about the art: the contrast between Batwoman’s black + fire red and Maro’s nighttime-teal + black; the similarities (significant?) between Maro’s palette and that of Undersea Chase; the spread with sea-green Llorona and her tsunami shriek splitting the Batwoman-saves-Chase segments; the page immediately following, all oily blacks and ocean blue-green.

While I admire Batwoman’s character and enjoy the (often overstuffed) story, I go ga-ga for the book’s art. Bonkers gaga. Lady Bonkers Gaga Overtired Overcaffeinated Batmom Getting Silly for the Art.

Also, not sure why, but this issue I kept noticing the cool sound words. (Is a word onomatopoetic if it’s mimicking a sound but isn’t a proper word? They are:

SKEECH • SKIRCH • RRRMMMBBBLEBBBLE • RRRUUUMMMBBLLE • BAKOW • THUNK • KKRRINNGGK • DRNNGHKSHOOM • THOOOTH

 

 

Spider-man > Avengers (from The Batmom July 2012)

The Amazing Spider-Man was no more or less clever or original than the much-lauded Avengers, but I liked it far better. Not because the story surprised me more, or the quips amused me more, or the cheesy bits melted my heart more, but because I cared about Peter Parker more than I cared about any of the characters in The Avengers. 

The Avengers had kabooming action to spare, but little in the way of character development or personally focused story lines. These things were beside the point: The Avengers celebrates its superheroes super-ness; it’s not overly devoted to their alter-egos. Plus there are so many main characters, once you give each of them a few cool action sequences, five or six long stretches of chops-displaying dialogue, and a big old let’s-conquer-our-differences-and-work-as-a-team finale, you’re two hours in with, at most, a coupla Ironman quips to spare.

But aside from the opening Black Widow scene, which I appreciated as a signature Joss Whedon strong-woman moment, I barely remember the movie. I remember thinking the big Hulk reveal was far less of a big Hulk reveal than I expected (I mean, I’m angry most of the time too), and beyond that – some people zipping around some places and zapping some other people.

Spidey necessarily was going to give me more of the personal storyline it turns out I crave. (Why did I not know this about myself? Also, am I a gender stereotype here or what? Personal Drama > Heroics + Spectacle.) I knew the storyline, I’ve seen past Spideys, but I still enjoyed it, in large part because I appreciated Marc Webb’s/Andrew Garfield’s take on Peter Parker. I found him more empathetic/less clichéd than Tobey Maguire’s by-the-book, pushing-glasses-up-the-nose-bridge nerdly Peter Parker.

I liked Garfield start to finish, and I loved him in the scene where he discovers the full scope of his Spidey powers. Completely exhilarated, he swoops and glides and swings and climbs around a construction site. He seemed full of pure joy, and watching the scene filled me with the same.

I didn’t buy Jed Bartlett as Uncle Ben, though I liked the way Webb handled the relationship, which seemed slightly more believable and stronger than past Spideys. And who doesn’t love Gidget? Except Sally Field’s face has melted. She didn’t look old; she looked melted. I couldn’t figure out what was going on. Plastic surgery gone bad? Strange makeup? Instead of listening to her words, I found myself pondering her facial features.

The rest: solid. Denis Leary was Denis Leary, blond girl was blond girl, bad guy was 1950s’ sci-fi creature.

The intrigue surrounding Papa Parker may well be a step beyond solid. We’ll find out next time, as @harbordove and I learned when we saw the little teasey bit at the end. Thank you man-gaggle in the back of the theater; without your hyper-focus on the credits, we would have headed straight for the powder room and missed the Easter Egg.

 

I Am Not Brave (from The Batmom July 2012)

The kids and I took in "Brave" last week. As Merida galloped across the screen, wild red tangles flying behind her, I whispered to my daughter, “Are you a brave girl, too?”

She paused, then answered, “I don’t know.” At movie’s end, she awarded it only a middling sideways thumb.

I felt a little deflated. Not a full-on flat, just a maybe-you-want-to-check-that-tire.

For two pink years, we’ve celebrated the princess. Daughter’s costume box spews tutus and 75 percent of her everyday clothes are purple or pink. I’m not going to throw her a spa party and I carefully monitor her media intake, but I really don’t give a shit if she runs around in pastel tulle.

Mini-Snooki? No. Mini-Cinderella? Why not?

Me myself, I empathize with book-loving Belle and find Rapunzel’s latest iteration endearing, but mostly the princesses bore me. Dopey Snow White and comatose Aurora … snore. But these women and their tales first were told centuries ago, and Disney re-imagined them for mid-20th century audiences, not early 21st century parents.

At 4, daughter is too young to understand the notion of historical construct, and so instead of much blather re: evolving conceptions of women, I aim to present her with much variety re: women, fictional and real.

Disney’s (Pixar's) Merida promised to be a strong and welcome break from the Satin Simperers vogueing on daughter’s lunchbox, and so I was excited for Brave. Did I hope daughter would ask to take up archery, be Merida for Halloween, gallop around the house like the little Scots-woman she is? (Clan Baird.) I kinda did.

But then, after daughter delivered her one-thumb-sideways review, I gave Merida a second thought.  I realized that, just as I can’t relate to Snow White stupidly falling for the witch’s un-subtle trickery or to Aurora’s stunning beauty and Pollyanna-ish worldview, I can’t relate to Merida.

I’m not physically adventurous like the Scottish princess, who slings arrows while riding bareback. The most recent act of bravery I can recall is wearing my Mr. Happy shirt to an exercise class peopled by wealthy women in Lululemon tank tops.

While I certainly spent many a high school hour fighting with my mother, I’m not emotionally fearless like Merida, who defies not only her parents, but also societal norms.

I’m not even conventional-but-strong, like Merida’s mother Queen Elinor, who rules the kingdom in all but name. I’m not cunning like the witch, or bodacious like the nursemaid.

I’m average and not particularly strong, of will or muscle. I stay at home with my kids (one of whom is currently asleep on my shoulder), do dishes, make lunches, and write this blog to work my penning muscles. Mostly happy. Mostly unexceptional and okay with trailblazing my own small, meandering, private road to satisfaction.

I doubt Disney is going to write a movie about me, an average girl who grows into an adult of average looks and talent, and learns that it’s A-okay, she can still be happy.

Of course, I don’t think my daughter is average. I’m her mother, and so she is my superstar: bright, athletic, feisty, and funny funny funny, the kind of girl a mom knows will do great things.

Maybe they will be Great Things (Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter, the next Jane Goodall) or maybe they will be great things (teacher, electrician, stay-at-home mom).

My secret wish is that she becomes a highly successful female comedian who also develops software. (Smash those glass ceilings, sweetie!)

My biggest wish is that she be a good person living a good life.

I’ve been looking to pop culture to teach her about the many kinds of women she can become and the many ways she can be happy. But pop culture is ALL CAPS: Disney’s going to give her GOOD and EVIL and HAPPY ENDINGS; DC’s offering up HEROES vs. VILLAINS.

If we’re talking real life, I guess it’s up to me.

 

The Contract (from The Batmom June 2012)

The Gorgeous Ladies of WRESTLING. Not us. We Write.

The Gorgeous Ladies of WRESTLING. Not us. We Write.

I’m a Gorgeous Lady Of Writing.

I GLOW.

There are three other Gorgeous Ladies, and thank god there are, because we all four occupy this space where we’re still home with young kids but trying to write and edit and parent and figure out how to make money and somehow raise relatively sane children while remaining relatively sane ourselves.

A year ago we started a check-in system, whereby we touch base every other week as a means of keeping ourselves on track, getting feedback on ideas, and kvetching with people who get why we’re kvetching.

The biggest benefit for me? They get it.

They get why I want to figure this out, this strange, low-paying, high-stress, ego-smashing, challenging and crushing and fun and miserable writing thing.

They get that I can love writing and NOT be a poet and NOT be a novelist or a screenwriter or an academic.

They get what it’s like to be in the middle of a project and have your child scream MOMMY I JUST PEED ON THE FLOOR, and to be the half of a marriage not earning the big money but still trying to keep a finger in the professional pie.

They understand obsessing over a single word, and the need, sometimes, to PUT THE PEN DOWN. MOVE AWAY FROM THE PEN.

This blog, for me, is a writing project; something to work the fingertips and whatever part of my jumbled brain gets me writing. That’s it. And the GLOWs understand that. They don’t treat the blog as a little housewifey project I do because I don’t do “real work”; they treat it as writing.

Last week Rebecca and Jane and I decided to take it up a notch. (The fourth of us, Tammy from FoodontheFood, is writing a cookbook on deadline and probably wants to take it down a billion notches.) We agreed on a writing contract: Two months, writing four times a week, without checking e-mail, Twitter (gasp), or Facebook (gaspgaspACK).

I wrote a blog post during my first session. Wahoo! But my second sessions sucked. Ass. Big Ass. Sucking.

I tried to write about Brave, and how I am not brave, and about people who live in a grey space that’s not one thing or the other. But I got nowhere.

Then I started babbling about dressing up as the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland for a high school costume party. Which got me zero dates in high school and about the same number of prose words now.

Finally, I wrote this.

 

 

Batwoman #10 & Wonder Woman #10 (from The Batmom June 2012)

Going short is far more challenging for me than going long.

2 comic book reviews: Batwoman #10, Wonder Woman #10

2 tweets.

2 tweets x 140 characters = 280 characters max.

I have air conditioning. I have iced coffee. I have baklava. I have the power.

Greek pastry-fueled, I begin!

BW10=typical. Gorgeous. Intense. Overly busy. Per usual.

WW=best. Cheesy effective love-saves-the-day story ends w/ spectacular assassination. Gets @ heart of WW: doubly powered by love + justice.

 

Gertrude Stein, Superhero (from The Batmom June 2012)

Batman has a Gotham Cave. The Thumb has a Paris Salon.

The Thumb & her sidekick AB

The Thumb & her sidekick AB

Gertrude Stein would make an awesome superhero. She would be called The Thumb, because she was built like one, stout and powerful. She would crush other thumbs in wrestling matches. Her girlfriend, Alice B. Toklas, provides a perfect 1930s answer to Pepper Potts, and would be called AB when in crime-fighting mode. (Let’s just be honest: Alice B. & Gertie have a far more 21st century relationship than do Pepper and her man of iron.)

The comic would be drawn in Cubist style and would take place during WWI, when real-life Gertie and AB zipped around the French countryside in their Steinmobile helping wounded soldiers.

Their real history would be spiced up to include more fantastic exploits, though their real adventures are enough to impress.

Gertrude’s brooch would transmit secret missives from Alice. When it came time to fight crime they would don outfits modeled after 1930s swimsuits: Gertrude in dark gray wool with a Picasso-designed insignia and subtle Alice in olive green. Instead of a letter, AB’s insignia would be a simple yellow flower created for her by Matisse.

I’d read it.


Guest Post: Dad Weighs In (from The Batmom June 2012)

On Mother's Day I wrote about my mom because she's awesome. I could have done the same for my dad, as he is cool beans as well. But because he's been so interested in and supportive of this blog, and in re-discovering comic books  60 years after first reading them, I invited him to write a post for Father's Day.

I enjoyed a delicious meal with him last night at Armsby Abbey, a craft-brew mecca/gastro-pub in downtown Worcester (try the mushroom flatbread! try the asparagus salad! try the beer and the beer and the beer!). And so I'm late in posting this, but no less grateful he's my pop.

One of the joys of fatherhood is to watch beloved daughters grow to adulthood (and motherhood) and become engaged with them in discussions of weighty issues in modern society. One such issue is comic books, a contemporary art form of great interest to The Batmom (aka daughter!). 

Superman Nov-Dec 1943; my dad was 7

Superman Nov-Dec 1943; my dad was 7

I was first introduced to comic books at my uncle’s drug store at age 7. The store had several shelves devoted to such literature, and for a nickel I would buy a root beer and spend hours sitting in the store reading comic books.

In 1940s small-town Indiana, a little boy reading comics in the aisles meant free advertising for the store and endless quizzing of yours truly by shoppers re: my favorite heroes.

Comics back then were often truly comic and widely read by many age groups, rather than broken down by "mature," "teen," "everyone," etc. as they are today. Superheroes evolved around this time; Superman, Captain Marvel and Batman and Robin were among my favorites. Feminine heroes were rare: Wonder Women and Mary Marvel are the only two that come to mind. The guys dominated the hero list. Bad guys were wily, powerful and oh-so-evil. They had few superhuman abilities yet presented real challenges to citizens of a simpler Gotham. Modest Clark Kent became Superman in an instant and SHAZAM turned a little guy into formidable Captain Marvel.

The artistry was simple as were the dresses. The women were modestly turned out and their facial expressions were much less dramatic than the characters in today’s comics. Plot lines were believable to the preteen crowd. The good guys always won after a little trouble, with no help from computers, gadgets and the vast technology of the modern world. It was cars, prop planes, telephones and guns galore. Great fun, simple drawings, fewer comments on social mores, less cussing and fewer good guys breaking the law. The bad guys ended up in jail, dead, or otherwise thwarted. They were good reads, and left us happy.

By age 12, my interest in comics had waned, with little exposure since. My current knowledge is limited to those superheroes from my past still going strong after 60 years, plus contemporary comic books as discussed in Batmom's posts and the occasional superhero flick. 

I visited Wonderland Comics with Batmom last winter and read a few Batmans from the recent Night of the Owls run. Enter today’s comic book world, Pop! Yikes! Everyone is on steroids. Muscles and boobs galore. No one smiles; everyone snarls. The costumes are a tailor’s nightmare, and with all the capes, weird masks, belts, shoes and horrible weapons, it’s tough to hit the john on the fly.

In Night of the Owls, Batman and a Muscle Beach graduate Robin take on the Talons, superhuman bad guys who must go the same gym and steroid doctor Batman and Robin do. A token Penguin appearance reveals the villain to be more dramatically evil by artistic design than he was in my day, and he’s overdressed by modern standards.

The drawings are very complex, the settings more supernatural than in my day, and no one is smiling. The advertisements for other comics appear at random and make plots hard to follow. These comics are not for children, what with the complex plots and blatant sexuality. And they’re expensive compared to the dime I used to pay!

It ain’t the same world, but Gotham still attracts heroes and villains. Penguins thrive and comic books sell!

My Uncle Jerry read this post back in June 2012 and commented. He grew up alongside my dad in small-town Indiana. He passed away later that year. From Jerry: I am two years younger than Batmom's Batdad. I also traveled down the comic book highway and have unfortunately lost that other world of make believe. Thanks for the memories. Batbro 

Batwoman #9 (from The Batmom May 2012)

COVERGIRL: Reminds me a little of Supergirl 9, what with the circles, but also makes me think of the radar on a submarine. That image helped along by the sea creature in the corner.

There’s this move the over-caffeinated exercise teacher at the Y makes us do, where we stretch our arms back and push our shoulder blades together. I used to think we looked like chickens doing it, but now I know we look like Batwoman on the cover of issue 9.

Or maybe Batwoman looks like a chicken, too.

Bok bok bok kablammie!

INSIDE STORY: Via flashback, Kate & Sune & Agent Chase continue their efforts to bring down Medusa via head honcho Falchion, who by day pretends he’s a yachting playboy. Kate snags an invite to an on-boat gala he’s hosting. She ditches her date, Detective Sawyer, to rummage through Falchion things with Sune, who Falchion still believes is working for him/Medusa. Mid-rummage Sune, in a rather sideways fashion, admits to a crush on Kate.

Following? There’s more!

Back the the hospital, where Kate’s cousin Bette, aka Teen Titan Flamebird, goes into cardiac arrest as her uncle, Kate’s estranged dad Jake, watches in horror.

In the “now” portion of issue 9, Batwoman stars in some gorgeous art while going head-to-head with Falchion, who stabs Sune. As she lay dying or doing what looks a lot like dying but may be just suffering from a dramatic but nonfatal flesh wound, she kisses Batwoman. On the Batlips.

RAMBLE: Batwoman is action packed. As of issue 9, I’m going to go out on a gargoyle’s limb and say too action packed.

The “chapters” of issue #9, in order:

Now

1 Week Ago

2 Weeks Ago

3 Nights Ago

4 Days Ago

3 Nights Ago

Now

Chronological whiplash, right?

I love flashbacks, and I have great respect for the comic book artist who fills relatively few pages with relatively complex narrative. But I found myself losing the thread here.

Wait, what? We’re where? When? Did that just happen? Or has it not happened yet? Will it happen? When?

I love this book’s art, its story, its characters, its superhero. Had I not been trying to so hard to tease apart the narrative tangle, I might have been able to fully enjoy them.

 

- See more at: http://www.thebatmom.com/2012/05/batwoman-9.html#sthash.zyKyyIeg.dpuf

Wonder Woman #9 (from The Batmom May 2012)

Covergirl: I love this series’ imagining of Hades as a child with burning candles atop his head (presumably the brainwork of Cliff Chiang) but here he looks kinda goofy. Not scary, despite his holding the rope that’s about to hang Wonder Woman. Who looks mentally miles away. Trying to decide which Hot Pocket to have for dinner, perhaps.

 INSIDE STORY: In Damascus Strife tries to lure her uncle War to Diana and Hades' wedding, and at Mount Etna, the gang – Hermes, Lennox, Eros, Hephaestus, Zola — argues about Diana. Should they rescue Diana, or should they keep their promise to Diana to NOT rescue Diana but instead protect Zola?

Meanwhile, down in Hell, Hades’ ex Persephone helps Diana get dressed and dispenses wifely wisdom. Such as, “Don’t try to kill yourself, he’ll make your life Hell.” In Hell. Hell’s bells!

Diana is, in her (uncharacteristic) words, “freaked out.”

But Persephone, cursed to bleed forever from her suicidal wrist slits, is Suburban Normal when compared to Diana’s three canine bridesmaids, ugly six-breasted hounds, sharp fanged and silk gowned. I assume the three bitches are a riff on classical mythology’s Cerberus, Hades’ three-headed watchdog. Watch they do, threatening to rip Diana to shreds and feed her to hell-rats should she dare shame their master Hades.

Diana appeases them, playing the blushing betrothed to Hades' fretful groom. In lieu of a wedding ring, he offers up her Lasso of Truth, strung up into a noose. She must prove her love by placing it around her neck and professing her love. D’oh!

RAMBLE: I just love this comic book. The mix of superhero Kapow and Greek mytho-drama kills every issue.

And while I’m Cliff Chiang’s biggest cheerleader, I woo-hooed a bunch of Tony Akins’ moves this issue, including making Zola pregnant-puffy (right, though the image doesn't show how full her face is under Akins' hand). She somehow seemed more real to me than Chiang’s pixie-farmgirl-turned-baby-mama-of-the-gods (left).

Though I don’t like Akins’ Diana-face, I love his wedding gown: the W from Wonder Woman’s uniform transformed from the silver shield to the blood-red cowl, the disembodied hands clawing at her bridal skirt. The brilliant dress brings to mind everything deliciously creepy about Gothic horror. And Diana’s bitchy bridesmaids made me cringe. 

My kids love the Frog and Toad adventure “Shivers,” in which Frog tells Toad a scary story about a cannibalistic frog and Toad delights in the shivery feeling the tale elicits.

By issue 9's end, I had the shivers.

 

My Mama (from The Batmom May 2012)

I hate the word “Supermom.” Nonetheless, I have one. I’ve known it my whole adult life, but now that being a mom kicks my ass on a daily basis, I realize just how super mine is, and just how lucky I am.

Without more blather, I wish you all a happy Mothers' Day and present: My Mom is Like Wonder Woman. And Batwoman. Yes She Is.

Wonder Woman: Diana pops into my mind first when I think about my mom. Not because my mother is Zeus-spawn raised on a man-less island, but because my mother is fierce. She’s 76 and she would still take out anyone who dared hurt me.

This isn’t to say she was one of those moms always throwing themselves in front of imaginary trains, or advocating for me instead of teaching me to advocate for myself. She and my dad have always been champions of independence, of me doing my own laundry and earning my own spending money and in general sucking up and dealing (though she would never use the word “suck”).

Having said that, she has always been fierce when it comes to protecting me: When I was in college near Norfolk, Virginia, and the Gulf War broke out, she informed me she would be sending a taxi for me should things get dicey. (Defining “dicey” was her call.) This is perhaps an extreme and humorous example, but she’s my mom and she’s got my back. Not only physically, but in all arenas.

She doesn’t read this blog and unlike my dad and I, she can sit still for five minutes without reading a book, but she’s always encouraged my love of words. While my other friends dealt with pressure from their parents to be practical when it came time to choose college majors, she and my dad applauded my choice of major and minor (English and Anthropology). They kept up the practical advice and cheerleading during the (overly) long journey it took me to get to a career that I love.

Also, like Wonder Woman, my mother dispenses with the sentimental. She loves me and so she acts. No gushing, little fuss, lots of action. I often wish I were more like her on this count.

Batwoman: Speaking of independence, Batwoman.

My mother is straight, has never attended nor quit West Point, and has not yet been offered a position with Batman Inc. (Though she’d be an asset, with her sharp mind, lead foot, and mad organizational skills.) But Batwoman charts her own course, and so does my mother.

I’m not sure if she gives a sh** what other people think or not, but she has always held true to her own course without seeming to worry about anyone else, while also getting along with, and respecting, everyone.

She worked at my school for a number of years, serving as the school secretary-cum-nurse-cum-jane-of-all-trades.

When I was young and self-conscious, I wanted everyone to know that she had an undergraduate degree and a master’s degree, from an Ivy League college no less. Now I’m 41 and I’m on Facebook and whenever someone from those days friends me, the first thing they ask is “How’s your mom? I loved her.” To a person. Once I’ve assured them she’s thriving, they get to asking about me. Sometimes.

My mom was herself and didn’t worry about how she looked to anyone else, or concern herself with proving anything. She took a job at my school because she could be a mom and earn some money. And she did that job in such a manner that, decades later, people are still talking about her.

Not because she has a Master’s from Brown, but because she is awesome.

My sister and I celebrated Mothers' Day with my mom last week. We went on a tour of historic Salem homes and then shared nachos and beer.

Super day. Super mom.

 

Boston Comic Con 2012 (from The Batmom April 2012)

My usually hyperactive pen is sleepy and still-ish. Straight to the ramble.

1) I watched Season 5 of The Guild last week, and therefore was prepared for the variety of costumes at Boston Comic Con. I wasn’t expecting the bulk of activity to take place in the exhibition hall, rather than in the conference rooms. Maybe this isn’t the norm, but the Boston crowd spent most of its time in the marketplace.

After watching The Guild’s Zaboo grow hysterical in the name of seat-saving, I was worried about getting into the DC artists’ panel, but when I asked a staff member how early I should line up, she looked at me as if I had three heads. (Having three heads at a Comic Con isn’t remarkable; her look was less condescending than it sounds.)

2) If you want to make an argument that female superheroes are more sexualized and fetishized than men, go to a Comic Con. When a young female puts on a Wonder Woman costume or dresses like Poison Ivy, she conveys all of the sexy and little of the power of Wonder Woman or Poison Ivy. As you look at these women, you not only admire their bold willingness to strut around a bland convention center half-naked and, if you’ve borne children, covet their general gravity defiance, but also realize that what the critics say about female superhero garb is true.

Because when a young man walks by dressed as Blue Beetle, he mostly conveys that he likes Blue Beetle. As you look at these guys, you mostly just think about Blue Beetle. That’s it. Although I’m not going to lie, I did notice one Spider Man’s ass. Because he had a wedgie.

3) Speaking of DC artists, wow. I realize this is the norm for regular comic convention-goers, but in what other universe do the people making the art you love hang out with you? These guys – Jamal Igle (The Ray), Francis Manapul (Flash), Ivan Reis and Joe Prado (Aquaman), and my idol Cliff Chiang (Wonder Woman) — spoke frankly and happily about their work to the fans, both those who attended their panel and the folks like me who approached them on the exhibition hall floor.

Special shout-outs (because they crave recognition from small-time bloggers) to:

• Cliff Chiang, who remained friendly and interested in what I had to say, even after I told him I was flattered to meet him;

• Francis Manapul (pictured above), who drew an amazing Flash for my friend Cindy Johnson/@HarborDove (also pictured above), and who talked with her for a half-hour about his art. Cool fact he shared with her: After spending years tracing comic book figures, Manapul wanted to draw them freehand and so bought himself a physiology textbook and used it as a how-to manual;

• Agnes Garbowska (You, Me and Zombie), who not only signed some of her cool art for my kids but also recommended Sara Richard and Katie Cook for my daughter.

So my pen got busy after all.

But now it needs a nap.