Nerd Haven Tour

12.01.08

While in Houston over Thanksgiving (visiting my father-in-law), I got to check out a couple of comic shops. The first, Third Planet, was a convenient three-minute drive from the house, and, interestingly enough, right around the corner from televangelist Joel Osteen's Lakewood Church. I had to wait 'til our second day in town to go, but it was worth it.

After getting our high art fix from the impressive Menil Collection earlier that day, it was time for some pop-art. Switching into hardcore hunting-and-gathering mode as I walked through Third Planet's doors around 2PM, I began with my usual sweep - hitting the bins for priority back issues on my printed-out list. Batman, Fantastic Four, Hulk, various X-Men-related titles.

Third Planet's layout could be described as cluttered basement heaven. Marvel character collectable garbage pails perch lightly atop bins of old comics and issues of Mad, Cracked and Creepy. In a neighboring sector, Ikea bookshelves lean at odd angles under the weight of semi-alphabetically ordered graphic novels. A good half of the store's space is devoted to sci-fi novels, posters, toys, games and hobbies, with an impressive variety of geek paraphernalia stemming from floor to ceiling. Along the east wall, the customary comic shop glass counter houses and protects Silver Age (roughly 1956 - 1970) and Bronze Age (early 70s - mid 80s) issues of Action Comics, Spider-Man, Avengers and many other precious funny-books.

I was glad to hear all the usual nasal banter about Star Trek, Transformers and Spider-Man while perusing the shop, the only difference from NYC being the presence of a Texas drawl in those voices. While a guy with cowboy hat and mustache rang me up, I snuck a peak behind him into the cluttered office, which looked like one of the most awesome little alcoves in the world - littered with comic book-related items including a blow-up Spidey. Although I only purchased one book from Third Planet (Captain America Winter Soldier vol. 2 TPB), it was cool to check out a Houston nerd haven.

As much as I was enjoying my visit to Third Planet, we had plans to meet some friends at The Wine Bucket at 4pm. Faced with nearly two hours to kill in a comic store, my desperate wife convinced our friends to push the meeting time up to 3:30PM. Yael took this pic of me with her phone, while on the verge of boredom-induced tears. My wife is a good sport, God bless her.


We hit Bedrock City Comic Company the following day. Although the store was in a state of slight disorganization from the recent Hurricane Ike, the whole place smelled like new carpet and old comics. Bedrock City reminded me a lot of Cobble Hill, Brooklyn's Rocketship in its clean, antiseptic yet pleasant environment - even the piles of unordered books were neat.

I could barely contain myself as I perused pull-out drawers stuffed with back issues, shelves of graphic novels, and displays of fresh, sealed Lego Star Wars figures. If not for poor Yael following me around the store like a bored puppy, I would have sniffed old newsprint and rolled around on the fragrant, gray office carpet like a kitten enjoying his first bit of catnip.

While sorting through some X-Men limited series, I heard a twenty-something store employee ask me if he could interest me in an issue of Thundercats. Did I look like some kind of fool? Did a fellow employee put him up to a dare? Or was he simply high as a bitch? I couldn't tell, because he was too cool to look at me while talking to me. I politely explained that I enjoyed the animated series in its heyday, and would prefer to leave it at that. At least he didn't suggest Archie or Alf comics. I would have had to challenge him to an old-school Texas shootout for such an insult.


Alf slips one by Greenpeace.

That night, we hit The Dirt Bar for some Shiner Bock (sadly unavailable in NYC) and rock n' roll music (thankfully widely available). Divey yet clean, the bar's dark, womb-like atmosphere was punctuated by blasts of punk, metal, rockabilly, emo, garage and indie tunes. We sat there enjoying our drinks as we imbibed among our Houston hipster counterparts. This is precisely the kind of place you will run into guyliner-rockin' dudes and bad-ass Suicide Girls, but the vibe is welcoming to all. To add to the coolness, hidden projectors displayed four different classic covers of 60s and 70s horror comics mag Creepy on the walls.



If you happen to be in Houston, I highly recommend Third Planet and Bedrock City for your comics fix. For your driving and shopping soundtrack, hit Soundwaves and Cactus (I picked up an old Mars Volta EP and the latest disc from The Sword). You'll definitely be hungry after all that schmyin', so down some BBQ at Goode Co. Texas BBQ, munch on Tex-Mex at Cafe Adobe or enjoy some new American cuisine with a Mediterranean twist at Ibiza (say "ee-BEE-tha!") before heading over to House of Pies for dessert. Wash it all down with Shiner Bock at The Dirt Bar or Cecil's, or with ZiegenBock at Lola's; they're all great spots for the Comic Book Widow who wishes to reconnect with her husband after hours spent in hobby shops - or to assist in drowning her sorrows regarding the amount of time and money her obsessive husband spends on comics.


Yes, cowboy hats can be acquired anywhere in Texas, even in record stores like Soundwaves.


Come here for some tasty, Texas vittles - esp. the brisket.


"Rub ma head if yew wanna hear some Willie Nelson" (at Goode Co. Texas BBQ)

The Early Years

07/30/08


1977 was a memorable year for my generation. The Yankees won the World Series. Star Wars, Close Encounters, Saturday Night Fever and Rocky made their cinematic marks. David Bowie, Brian Eno, the Sex Pistols, Iggy Pop and KISS rocked the world with seminal albums. The first Mac home computer appeared in stores, and Jimmy Carter was in the White House. Except for enjoying Star Wars in the theater, I was a bit too young to fully comprehend much of what happened as it unfolded.

With my youthful age and innocence allowing pop culture an easy pathway to my imagination, the seed was planted for me to discover the fantastic escape of comic books. My grandfather (henceforth known as Pop-Pop) had given my brother and I our first big batch of comics. As a five-year-old just learning to read, the action found in the pages of the Fantastic Four, Spider-Man, Superman, The Flash, Green Lantern, Batman and The Incredible Hulk provided a mild distraction.

This pile of comics sat, like a hidden treasure, somewhere in the basement for about four years. Although they were not a part of our regular play rotation - Star Wars figures and baseball cards took top priority - the rips, tears, markings and masking tape provided evidence of handling when rediscovered years later.


FF #182 (May, 1977) - part of the primordial pile

Autumn, 1982 - Comic Book Mania hits the Miller household. Something or someone (perhaps Stan Lee?), possesses me and Scott to bring every known comic book in the house upstairs and back into our lives. Pushing the gate shut at the top of the steps, I looked back, down into the basement/clubroom, taking in the symbolic downward spiral into madness.

Sitting on the carpet of the sunlit living room floor, we excitedly sorted through our comics. Although the thrill was mutual, it was separate; both of us being obsessive and insular, Scott and I were never good at sharing. Our arguing and whining brought Mom in from the kitchen.

After heatedly debating over who got to keep what comics in whose room, we became subject to the Mark of the Arbitrator; Mom (pregnant with our sister Rachel at the time) made the executive decision to brand each and every book with one of her son's names. Whoever made the most fuss over a certain issue got their name carefully written in blue ink on the inside cover, at the top. The name indicated permanent ownership under law of our mom (and, therefore, our dad and the both parents as a unit), and could not be disputed under any circumstances. Each of us got about half of the pile.

And thus began the insanity. Mom had no idea how high the stakes had raised, and could never have predicted how Pop-Pop would unwittingly untangle the peace settlement in the years to come. Pop-Pop's downtown Baltimore supermarket, Miracle Market, carried the typical newsstand variety of comic books. When he learned of our new obsession, he began bringing comics home to us every Friday, distributing them to us after dinner at his house. We never knew exactly what we'd get. The unpredictable nature of it made of his comic-distribution system that much more fun. Barely able to contain ourselves, we'd independently snoop around for a preview of what we might get. The wait ‘til after dinner was always excruciating.

Although we never deemed many of the comics Pop-Pop brought home to be mylar-worthy, we were happy to supplement our collections with them. The stories and artwork in these comics - Action Comics, Amethyst, Avengers, Batman, Conan the Barbarian, Daredevil, Defenders, Ghost Rider, The Incredible Hulk, Iron Man, Jonah Hex, Justice League, Peter Parker The Spectacular Spider-Man, Powerman and Iron Fist, Rom: Spaceknight, Secret Wars, Star Wars, Thor, What If?, Archie, Jughead and other random titles - helped to shape our developing comic book tastes. Grandma Dorothy, bless her heart, would ask us when we were gonna throw away those comic books, but never told her husband to stop bringing them to us.

Our respective collections grew each week. Eager to play her part in the spoiling of the grandchildren, Grandma Bunny (our dad's mother) would take us to 7-11 after our regular Saturday afternoon lunch. 'Sleven supplemented our Miracle Market batches with the best of what we could find on that squeaky, metal rack. If the Reisterstown Road location didn't have a particular issue, we'd guilt Grandma into driving us to the next closest 7-11 to find it. We were such manipulative little bastards. Predictably, 'Sleven's random nature became unbearable to us. Soon enough, we begged our dad to take us to the Baltimore-area specialty stores - Geppi's Comic World and Alternate Worlds.

Walking into Alternate Worlds was like entering another dimension; we had never seen anything quite like it. Bright, colorful comics in neat, sealed plastic bags covered the shop's near-mint white walls like expensive, coveted pieces of art. The shop's intoxicating scent of new carpet and old newsprint gave the place a clubroom vibe; all they needed was an air hockey table, an Atari 2600 and some snacks. For such a small store, it was neat, clean, and packed with every comic book we ever wished for. The Spider-Man mask replacing the UPC on the cover of 80's Marvel Direct Market comics we bought at Alternate Worlds (and Geppi's) made those comics more unique and collectible to us. I really do miss the Spidey head in the UPC box.





That colorful parade of rare and expensive books from decades preceding our existence was always a sense-shattering sight. Giant Size X-Men #1, the first appearance of the "All-New, All-Different" X-Men (Storm, Wolverine, Nightcrawler, Banshee and Colossus). Back issues of Hulk, FF, Spider-Man, Action Comics, and countless others eclipsed reality as we knew it; to learn how the X-Men stopped Dark Phoenix from destroying the universe seemed just as important as knowing how WWII ended. We could have lived there. Little things like food and education could wait until 'til we were caught up on decades of astonishing super hero tales.

Our dad being a former collector of baseball cards and stamps, he was understanding and generous enough to buy us dozens of (then reasonably priced) back issues of FF, Silver Surfer, X-Men, Amazing Spider-Man and others. After a while, he just raised our allowances by a few bucks and we had to pay our own way. We would quickly learn that the costs of collecting - comic boxes, protective mylar bags, comics themselves – could really add up. We now had to save up our respective allowances to buy comics. At a then-sixty cents cover price, it wasn't impossible.

Sadly, our comic-collecting alliance quickly became a war. Going to the comic shop became a race from the car to the racks. We'd quietly unlock our car doors to get an extra couple of seconds on the other brother. Whoever grabbed the last copy of Spider-Man got to gloat and ignore the sore loser whispering curses at the other among the racks. Thankfully, Geppi's solved part of the problem with their subscription box service. But that created new problems.

Unlike Alternate Worlds, Geppi's was big and unfriendly, but it became our regular comic shop for a while. Geppi's Security Mall location held our subscription boxes and was a short drive from home. But it was all just too easy, and, soon enough, we were banned from the store. See, comic collecting was just one of our hobbies. Our other major pastime involved making and recording prank phone calls. Pretty soon, we found ourselves limited to only occasional trips to Alternate Worlds and very limited phone usage.

When looking through my collection now, I find issues of the X-Men and X-Factor from that time of banishment, branded with UPC's where the beloved Spidey head should be. This serves as a grim reminder how The Lord giveth, The Lord taketh away. Thankfully, this was only a temporary set back.

After a few months of employee turnover and some healing time, we were able to regain our subscription box privileges at Geppi’s. Years later, Steve Geppi would close his stores and open Geppi's Entertainment Museum in downtown Baltimore. His distribution company, Diamond Comic Distributors, has supplied comic book specialty retailers with funny-books and related merchandise since 1982.

Leave of Absence

07/30/08

With music and girls making increasing demands on my time during my college years (the 90s), my devotion to comic books began to wain. The impulse to meet new people, go dancing and see bands really put comic-time on the back-burner.

After a few years, I was down to picking up only a few titles: X-Men and other mutant-related books, and manga. Enter Closet of Comics - a portal to the younger Hal universe. COC was my favorite kind of comic store – mile-long, dust-covered, yellowing bins full of back issues, nerds playing D&D, and random friendly freaks. But social obligations, a girlfriend, the campus radio station, the school paper and, um, classes, kinda got in the way of staying committed to my old hobby. By 1995, I had stopped collecting completely.

Todd McFarlane ruled the 90s. His influence was everywhere in comics and toys, and by that time I had had enough of his overdrawn characters. Add to that the proliferation of gimmicks such as collector cards, hologram covers and rising prices, and it wasn’t long before comics and I had to part ways. It made me a little sad, but the change was necessary. It would be many years before I read or buy a comic book again.

Back in the saddle again!

05.03.08

I’m Back! I’m back in the saddle again.

I may be slightly grown-up and a touch jaded, but it feels good to be me, unstoppable drives and all. Time to catch up on some comics.

I've always been a sucker for comic book-based movies. Iron Man was well-executed, and subsequently enjoyed not just by me, but my wife Yael as well. It was better than any of the recent Spider-Man, Hulk or X-Men movies (not to mention vastly superior to recent box office stinkers Fantastic Four, Daredevil, etc.). Iron Man supplemented the big explosions and action with impressive character development; we witnessed Robert Downey, Jr. womanizing, drowning in alcoholism and facing certain death. A real hoot, all around.

Leaving the theater, I begged Yael (who, in my opinion, looks like she was drawn by one of my favorite artists, John Byrne) for a few minutes in Forbidden Planet, the comic shop across the street from the theater. Hey, she had to make a phone call anyway.



I knew that once Yael was off the phone that she'd be coming after me, so I had to hurry. Clutching a handful of current Avengers issues, I waved to Yael as she waded through the fanboys into the store.

“Look at you!” my wife said. “You’re shaking! This stuff is like CRACK for you!”

The Gradual Return

07/30/08

For me, the Jewish holidays are never just about tradition; this is a time for me to reconnect with family and re-evaluate parts of my life. It was Passover, 2006, and I brought my new girlfriend/future wife Yael home to meet my family for the first time. We were downstairs, in my old bedroom. My brother and his wife had just arrived and it was a few minutes before dinner.

“Can I look at your old comics?” Scott asked as he entered the room. Looking through stuff in my old room was like stepping into a time warp, where all sorts of pop culture treasures could be found. “I just wanna see what comics you still have.”

He went straight for the sliding wood-paneled door, knowing exactly where to look. He slid the door open, carefully lifted and cradled a pile of comics to his chest and sat down on the edge of the bed. We watched him lift one after another to his nose, open to a random page, and sniff deeply.

“Snifffff! Ahhh, I LOVE the smell of old comics,” Scott explained. So much for convincing my future wife that I come from a normal family.

“Um, dude, you just sniffed an issue of ROM: Spaceknight,” I warned him. “Take it easy, there are dire wraiths in those pages.”


I make no excuses for Rom: Spaceknight.

Witnessing my brother perform this bizarre ritual stung at me nostalgically. I began to question why I had completely stopped reading and collecting comics.

Sorting through piles of comics later that night while Yael slept, I felt myself slowly slipping back in time. Long-buried feelings of enjoyment began to surface as I studied the thrilling covers and heroic poses that helped me temporarily dodge the plights of puberty.

Pushing aside some unpleasant memories of junior high like I was discarding embarrassing photos, I began to uncover the familiar excitement of entering another dimension. I could hear characters' voices as I thought they might sound: Wolverine's gruff one-liners, Nightcrawler's nasal German accent, Adam West (of course) as Batman, Dan Gilvezan's Casey Casem-esque voicing for Spidey, and Thor's booming vows. My mental arsenal of sound effects from Star Trek, movies and various animated shows hurled me right into the middle of street-level fistfights and desperate deep-space battles.

It was all coming back to me. The thrill of comics had seemingly faded, but I had really just filed them away safely, to be rediscovered years later just as I had done back on that fateful autumn day back in '82. This time, however, I actually had a girlfriend. Putting it all into perspective, life looked pretty good to me.


Defenders #117 - a very emotional issue.

Fast-forward to December. I discover The Baseball Card Dugout, a tiny, dusty treasure of a comic book and baseball card store, in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn. They have old comics. I wasn't ready for new comics yet, so it was perfect timing for my indulgence. I wanted to drag my friend Dan over there.

***
12.9.06
My email to Dan:

“... went to the Dugout today and got more Detective Comix and Defenders!”

Dan's response:

“There's been three decades of amazing comics and your
stuck on crappy old Defenders back-issues! Stop
reliving yr childhood man--IT'S OVER!!
They have comics where people show boobies and curse
and contemplate serious issues beyond how Valkyrie's
breast-plate doesn't make her boobs sag. SHEESH!!

-D
***

I could see Dan's point, but it would be months before I would come back to the future.