"Barely Legal" is Barely Tolerable

"Barely Legal" is Barely Tolerable

This is an open letter to the comic book community regarding the trend of sexualizing superheroes or supporting characters that are established as being minors.

This is by far not a trend unique to the comic book medium -- in fact, it is, at least to my knowledge, far more prevalent in music, TV, and movies.

But I think since we are in the business of spinning tales of Heroes, maybe we have a little more responsibility.

When you present minors in a sexually provacative way -- skimpy costumes, cheesecake, etc. -- you are doing two things:

1) You are sending the message to teens that it's okay to dress this way and be a sexual object.
2) You are seending a signal to those attracted to teens -- "jailbait" chasers -- that somehow their sexual desires for these girls and boys are socially acceptable.

Though the idea of "barely legal" is sort of considered merely "naughty" -- radio disc jockeys and comedians joke about being sexually aroused by developing teen icons like Dakota Fanning or the Olsen Twins -- there is a very ugly side to this.

I should know, because, as I write in my book, from the ages of 13-16 I was the target of the sexual interest of several men, including one who lived in my house and regarding whom I have gaps in my memory that I do not wish to pursue.

When I was 16 -- and hot and "barely legal" hubba-hubba -- I was seduced by one of these idiot adults who got off on my "sweet innocence." I count myself lucky that I didn't get pregnant or catch AIDS from this scumbag -- but it was merely "luck" that I didn't.

These jack-offs who prey on teenage girls -- and boys -- do so not only for the sexual thrill but because they either possess the mental age of a child themselves and/or are insecure and want to "boss around" their sexual partner.

And I just had one of these morons tell me recently that had there been more of a taboo surrounding sleeping with minors -- had it not seemed so acceptible by both our environment and society -- he probably wouldn't have tried it.

So I am taking this issue out of the merely theoretical and telling you that -- from my own experience -- the sexualization of teenagers ends up hurting people.

There have been many fine teenage female characters in the past and present -- Spider Girl, Stargirl, Spoiler, the girls from "The Runaways," the new Hawkeye, Batgirl II, Kitty Pryde.

Presently, the biggest iconic teen superheroine we have is Supergirl. Though I am not 100% up on my Kara lore, I believe she is indeed a minor. Since this is the case, and given her worldwide fame as the most famous teenage superhero second to Robin the Boy Wonder (who, as far as I know, has not had that many cheesecake covers with his massive package straining against his too-tight green undies), she probably should be portrayed and drawn accordingly.

Of course, the whole crap with the current Supergirl started when Leonard Kirk was pulled off the book about 5 years ago and replaced with Ed Benes. Kirk's rendering of Supergirl, assisted by the very capable Robin Riggs, was one of the most realistic and yet attractive illustrations of a teenage girl I've ever seen in comics. There was never a sense of "exploitation" in his pencils -- just a sense of humanity and fun.

In contrast, Ed Benes's version of Supergirl was pure sex.

At the time, the book was going to be cancelled and frantic brainstorming went on as to how to revitalize the character's image. It was thought that Kirk's rendering was "too boring" and could not compete in an industry full of Witchblades, Fathoms, Lara Crofts, and the sexy Mutant-of-the-Week. The word was -- we need a hot new artist.

So this one idiot came up with a brilliant idea:

"Hey, you know that guy from 'Gen 13?' His stuff is really good, nice and sexy. Look at the body on Fairchild. Wow. Maybe we can use him?"

Based on this suggestion, Benes was put on the cancelled "Supergirl" as an experiment.

Sales went through the roof.

Supergirl was now one hot piece of ass. As were all the female characters in the book. Including the granny.

"Supergirl" was still cancelled, but based on the sales, a new path for the character was set.

And you know who came up with the idea of putting Ed Benes on "Supergirl?"

...

I did.

Why Superman not telling a lie had such an impact on my life

Why Superman not telling a lie had such an impact on my life

I want to preface this post by saying that I'm not presenting myself as this great self-righteous pillar of virtue. I'm not. I'm really not. I mean, I have a generalized goal of being a good person and all that. But I'm not a pillar. Thank you.

A common thread I found in the story of my life, as I wrote it, was being constantly faced with immoral situations and being told that it was "the way of the world" and that I would be the "oddball" if I did not participate.

For example, when I was a teenager and being told that I should be having sex -- that it is what "normal" young women my age did. Being told this not only by my "peers" but by adult men who should have known better who wanted to sleep with me, being told this by certain members of my family, being told this by the media.

While at 16 I did have certain awakening sexual needs, there was a strong, firm part of myself that didn't want to do anything of the sort. Or, if wanting to do it at all, to do it with a Good Man, somebody responsible, somebody who really loved me -- as if I was actually going to find a man who wanted to f**k me at 16 who actually had those qualities. As if the scumbag dude in his twenties who was f**king any woman that crossed his path and was basically a cherry-hound could embody any of the qualities of a Good Man. And as if any boy my age still struggling with high-school algebra was going to pay for my baby's diapers.

Perhaps in other cultures, in other times, the 16-year-old -- sexually mature and ready to conceive and deliver -- would have been at the perfect age for intercourse, the idea being that she would get married and start pumping out the brood.

But in this culture all being a sexually active teenager means is problems, problems that few people are ready or willing or able to deal with.

And yet I was told over and over and over again, "be normal, have sex."

Then I'm in the comic book industry and I'm told -- sex sells, nice guys finish last, let's go to the strip bar after work with these freelancers. What, you don't want to go to the strip bar? What are you, strange? Why don't you want to go to the strip bar? They have good food there. If you don't go, these freelancers will think you are a prude. Don't you want to be a "fun girl?" Don't you want to be social?

And then I lose all this weight, cut and dye my hair, and make one last ditch effort to be "normal" -- normal like every other "sophisticated" girl in New York City is normal.

And I go to these "sophisticated" parties, full of "sophisticated" people, and I'm told -- everybody sleeps around with everybody else here. See that woman? She's slept with everybody here, both male and female. She the most liberated woman on the planet. That's who you should be like.

And I'm taken to these clubs where people are f**king on the floor and on tables and are drunk and stoned, a big orgy, and I'm trying to get into it, I'm trying to be "normal," I'm trying to be sophisticated, I'm trying not to care, I'm trying to be "liberated" -- and in the end, I'm standing around in the middle of this orgy, bottles of beer rolling past my feet, and my arms are folded against my chest and I'm acting like Bob Newhart and I just want to go home.

Then I agonize -- I plan-- I scheme -- I try to figure out some sort of way to "move past my inhibitions" and remake myself and get to the point where none of this bothers me.

And what I've realized from writing my book is that, though I occasionally feel tempted, in the end, I will NEVER get to the point where this sort of stuff doesn't bother me.

I've spent what -- 32 years?! -- listening to people who have tried to convince me that what is wrong is right:
* lying is right
* sleeping with people you don't love is right
* sleeping with teenagers is right
* drug use is right
* excessive alcohol use is right
* covering up the truth is right
* doing bad things for financial gain is right
* exploiting others is right

And the lesson is -- no, it isn't right.

And you know where I got this deep sense of what is wrong and what is right from? This default mechanism that makes me such a nerd, so uncool?

Not really from my family, I'm sorry to say.

From the church? A little bit. I attended Catholic religious instruction on Wednesday evenings, if that really had an impact or not.

No, I learned the bulk of my morality from -- the media!

Yes, as a small child the television was my constant baby-sitter, and comic books my catechism.

I learned morality from Sesame Street, Mr. Roger's Neighborhood, Romper Room, Peanuts specials, Batman, Fat Albert, Little House on the Prairie, even All In the Family.

Hey, remember how like in the 70s all the TV shows had to have "messages?" Well, it actually worked, at least on me! I actually learned the messages. I learned to love my neighbor, not discriminate because of skin color, and wait for sex. I learned that the most important thing was a strong family that loved each other.

And as the movie "Superman" explicitly taught me, never lie.

Superman, the most powerful being on the planet Earth, never told a lie. Wow. To a 6-year-old, it's really powerful stuff. It says a lot.

What does the 6-year-old of 2007 have in comparison?

Chris Reeve as Superman was my hero, representative of everything a man should be -- honest, brave, kind, respectful.

But who are our heroes now?

Are heroes passe?

The problem is for me, I'm really really really really good at writing about the crappy side of life. All the whoremongers, druggies, sociopaths, statutory rapists, and other scumbags I've just been complaining about? They make for great stories. I try to smuggle some of those "messages" in there. But in a society where serial killers and gangsters are elevated to the level of "heroes" in our media, I realize that there is a good chance that this "message" will be missed, discarded, edited out, misunderstood. And that some may think that the whoremongers, druggies, sociopaths, statutory rapists of my stories are kind of "cool."

They're not. They're scummy. But still, by writing about them am I contributing to the problem?

(shrugs) I don't know. I only can write what I can write. I don't know.

I'm not a pillar.

But I think I have a sense of right and wrong. I think I'm going to trust it from now on.

"What would Superman do?"

What Writing A Book About My Life Taught Me

What Writing A Book About My Life Taught Me

I've just finished writing a book about my life.

I never thought I would have to write a book about my life. I wrote a 600-page vampire novel. I thought that was the book I had to write, and that it was enough. But looking back at that novel, I can see it was just a book about my life dressed in Buffy The Vampire Slayer drag.

I probably avoided writing an actual book about my life because it's a really f**king painful endeavor. How painful was it? Well, my therapist said it was ok for me to have some shots of alcohol as I wrote it. Which I did.

I had a creative writing teacher once in high school who really hated me. He didn't like my writing. He said that cutting off your arm at the elbow and bleeding all over a stack of paper doesn't qualify as writing. Maybe not and maybe so -- but that would be one damn interesting book. A good title for that book would be, "Clot."

Writing the story of your life affords you the opportunity of viewing all the events in your life in a linear, organized fashion -- and, in so doing, giving you the opportunity to see how many times you did the same f**ked-up thing, over and over and over again. You can pick up all the frightening parallels, all these moments which are like those horror movie scenes. You scream at the character on the screen entering the house with the killer in it:

"Don't go in the house! I said, don't go in the house -- you f**king moron!"

But of course, the character -- who is you -- goes into the house. And here you are.

Then there comes the point where you have to end the story, and, perhaps, come up with some sort of conclusion. A lesson. An epiphany.

Or, you could simply have yourself wake up and find Bobby Ewing in the shower.

I am all for waking up and finding Bobby Ewing in my shower:

The Feng Shui Of The Obsessive Comic Book Collector

The Feng Shui Of The Obsessive Comic Book Collector

Act I: "It Can Only Go Up In Value"

I am currently helping my friend pare down his comic book collection and get some of it in storage so he can move. This is the same friend who, in my memoir "Goodbye To Comics," had collapsed. The one who had so many collectibles in his room that initially the EMS could not locate his body until I pointed it out.

My friend has two rooms piled to the ceiling with comics, genre books & magazines, and toys. Working with him to manage this collection is sheer animal torture. Because every last comic, TV Guide, and newspaper "might be worth something one day."

"It can only go up in value."

The reality is, he cannot bring everything with him to his new apartment, and the storage costs would be phenomenal. So some of it has to be either sold, given away, or thrown out. Most of what can be sold, in today's comic market, will go for relative peanuts -- dimes or quarters.

My friend does not want to hear this.

"It can only go up in value!"

Comics like "The Nth Man." The Robocop II movie adaptation. Every multiple cover for "X-Force #1" -- sealed in their polybags, of course!

There are also quite a bit of DC and Acclaim comic books. This is because I used to work for both companies, and, in my infinite wisdom, gave my friend boatloads of freebies. Me and my friend also used to work at the same comic book store. We got boatloads of freebies and discounted books from there, too.

Picture thousands upon thousands of comic books. Picture the smell of all that ink!--

"It can only go up in value!"

I can talk frankly about this condition -- the condition of the obsessive collector -- because I was once one myself. I used to own hundreds of mint-in-package action figures and dolls. About 15 long-boxes of bagged-and-boarded comic books. And countless books.

It all made me feel so secure, so safe. It gave me an identity. It replaced sex.

It disgusted me. Because I knew that I was hiding behind my collection so I didn't have to face myself. Also, men had problems fucking me in the midst of buckets of old He-Man and She-Ra action-figures.

"I can't...they're all looking at me! With their little eyes--"

One solution, of course, was to go out with another collector and merge our treasures. We'd have a kick-ass mega-collection, and we would never have to change.

But eventually I got so sick and tired of my toys and my comics and my fanzines and my crap that I began selling it off. Then I just started throwing it out in mass purgings.

It took about four years to get rid of 90% of it.

The need to collect is still there, though, lurking. I still have several hard-core collector friends and when I see their stuff I just get set off, I just want to hop on eBay. I picture a day when I'm solvent again and comfortable and I have a mate who understands and I can just buy up all those McFarlane "Movie Maniacs" again and just have a dusty crowded chaotic cluttered home-office stuffed to the gills with all my "preciousssssses" and empty styrofoam "Dunkin donuts" coffee cups crammed with cigarette butts. And I can totally backtrack on everything I just wrote and have a collectibles orgy.

And my mate would be like:
"Let's go to the Con -- let's buy more shit!"
"Yeahhhhh!!!!"

And we buy up all this shit -- autographed pictures of wrestlers, old Megos, back-issues of "Ms. Marvel" and "The Human Fly" from quarter bins -- and then we come home and open it all up and pass out on the sofa in complete and total ecstasy.

There might even be sexual intercourse -- maybe. If we have time. If we're done watching our bootleg DVD sets.

Yeah, I know: I'm weak, I'm a backslider.

But like Jules in "Pulp Fiction" I'm trying really hard to stay on the straight-and-narrow.

***

Next: In "Bring Me The Head Of Shari Bobbins," I discuss what happens when a silly female has the nerve to stop the collectibles-flow, and how she must pay...and how she must pay! (da-dummmmm...)

R.I.P. "Buffy" 1997-2007

R.I.P. "Buffy" 1997-2007

"A really fine cat"
--Me

"Time for grand-children"
--Mom

A Really Great Idea For A Comic Book Story

A Really Great Idea For A Comic Book Story

Ok, here's the plot:

A dastardly mega super villain -- say, Lex Luthor, Magneto, etc -- devises a way to fuck up all the weather on the planet.

So the villain shoots this ray and covers the planet's atmosphere with this stuff that turns winter into summer, etc.

At first, there are only subtle signs that something is amiss. The temperature gets unseasonably warm. Flowers bloom in January. A gigantic ice-shelf falls and melts away here or there.

Then, things get more serious. Droughts in Australia. Floods in Bolivia. Massive hurricanes off the Florida coast.

The calvary is called out to deal with these natural disasters -- either The Avengers or the Justice League, depending which company publishes the story. Aquaman tries to rescue polar bears and emperor penguins as they suddenly die, their habitats melted to pools of salt water. Mr. Fantastic is busy trying to figure out a treatment for the epidemic in skin cancer and new superbugs that have flourished in the higher temperatures.

Then whole sections of countries in Asia and South America are wiped out in typhoons. In contrast, other countries experience crushing drought.

Meanwhile, in New York, Vogue Magazine reports that yes, culottes and tank tops are "in" -- forever! Isn't that great?

New York becomes the new Florida.

Then, a super weather-related disaster hits a city with a high concentration of rich white people in it. Oh, no!

In the end, though there is extensive damage to property and loss of life, the superheroes band together, kick Luthor or Magneto's or whomever's ass, and things are brought back to normal.

But right now, as I write this, cherry blossoms are blooming in New York, clothing stores are stocking up in T-shirts and cute plaid shorts, and scientists have predicted that 2007 might be the hottest year -- ever.

The scenario I've provided - sans superheroes -- has a good probability of coming to pass.

It is the perfect crisis-plot for a comic book, and it is a reality.

We can theorize about potential terrorist threats, or meteors crashing into the Earth, etc, but the environmental crisis is HERE.

Global warming could wear the environment down gradually, or hit places like New York City in an instant.

And I just feel impotent to do anything about it, which is how I gather a lot of people feel.

But I think since we are in a crisis, there are two basic ways we can handle it:
1) Become hedonists (which includes pretending it isn't happening or saying "I don't care")
2) Become aware & involved

Now, I'm not a big genius when it comes to getting socially active for a cause. I can get pretty weak. I come home from work sometimes and all I want is a muffin with my coffee and to watch TV for three hours. So I warn you, I might totally crap out. I might totally blow it and take option #1. But I think I'm going to take a chance with option #2.

Now if you excuse me, I need to buy a cute pair of plaid shorts.

Click Here For "Goodbye To Comics"

Click Here For "Goodbye To Comics"
(start with the first post and work up)

please note: "Goodbye For Comics" contains mature subject matter!

For New Posts, Check Below

The Schizoid Amazon

The Schizoid Amazon"Wonder Woman symbolizes many of the values of the women's culture
that feminists are now trying to introduce into the mainstream."
--Gloria Steinem

(Found On YouTube)

Item# 882312

Childs Deluxe Wonder Woman

New Version of ChildsWonderwoman. Costume includes Wonder Woman Dress with attached cape, wonder woman headpiece, arm bracelets, belt and Boot tops. Wonder Woman Emblem is Stitched on.

I Just Found My New Screensaver

I Just Found My New Screensaver

From Omac #4.

You know, I'd really stop writing these sorts of posts if they would just stop providing me with material.

New Year's Eve 2006 --

New Year's Eve 2006 --

I have to stay in and write!

I've been writing for the last two days straight about pretty much the most painful stuff stuffed deep within my secret utility closet. Perhaps some readers of "Goodbye To Comics" may think that I blew my wad with that bloggy memoir in terms of writing about pain. But, as I delve deep into the uncharted territory of my earlier adolescent years, more gems are popping out of the dirt.

And it's all good, it's good that I'm writing this. I feel it is my duty to write this.

Helping me along this literary journey, at least for tonight, is something called "Korbel."

There is a superstition that whatever you do when the clock strikes 12 on New Year's defines the rest of the upcoming year.

I was writing, which I guess was good. I was writing about a time in my life when I felt a great deal of fulfillment, when I was in college. I hung out with a group of women then -- intellectuals, radicals, rebels. I had come from a background almost completely devoid of female influence, my heroes being Howard Stern, the wrestlers of the WCW, and the titans that graced the comic books I read. These women I met at the college, including professors, introduced me to a whole new way of looking at things.

Through these women, I could conceive of the female as being powerful. Not powerful in some cheesy, pseudo-Wonder Woman way, but truly empowered and knowledgeable of themselves.

And now I am thinking of this woman I met in Union Square yesterday. She was selling T-shirts and art featuring a character she created, Pupella. Pupella was this really cool Goth/Wicca type girl with a really big female empowerment message. And talking to this woman, I remembered the idealism I felt so many years ago.

***

So if you ask me what I was thinking about on New Year's Eve, I would say the preceeding was a pretty accurate rendition. Of course, I'm leaving some things out. You always do with blogs, even a wild-card like mine. I mean hell, I've just drank a fair amount of Korbel. I should be setting the Net on fire. But this will do.

***

I've been periodically playing a YouTube clip as I work. It has a fair amount of meaning to me, but, as a close friend has offered, I don't need to blog every damn thing that happens to me. So I will leave it a mystery for another day.

Maybe you'll read my story one day and understand.

God bless you, and have a wonderful New Year.

And that Dick Clark guy you saw on "Rockin' New Years Eve"? That was a Gerry Anderson puppet. I'm tellin' you.

The Archie Conspiracy!

The "Archie" Conspiracy!

Continuing my ground-breaking journalistic investigation amd critical reading concerning the beloved teen comic book series, I want to focus on what I feel is an underlying web of conspiracy and deceit -- specifically against one Betty Cooper.

My thesis is that ultimately, the publishers of Archie Comics had no intention of Betty hooking up with Archie on any sort of steady basis.

Yes -- Betty Cooper has been STRUNG ALONG for the last 65+ years!

Let me explain.

Why can't Archie Andrews, after more than half-a-century of lighthearted adventures, decide between Betty or Veronica?

My point is -- he HAS decided!

Veronica -- pure unadulterated sexuality and millionairess to boot -- will always be Archie's first choice. If for no other reason that Archie realizes he doesn't have a lot going for him after he graduates high-school and if he marries Veronica he'll be set.

Cynical, you say? What if you were facing night shifts at the Riverdale Dairy Queen when you reached adulthood?

However, Archie, insecure as he is, needs a "fallback plan" -- Betty Cooper.

Sweet, innocent, middle-class Betty -- babysitter, ace student, wholesome, boring as hell.

Archie realizes that, because of their disparate financial backgrounds, there is the chance him and Veronica cannot get married -- Big Papa Lodge having something to do with it, perhaps. So in case his plan for Veronica falls through, he keeps Betty on the side.

But I think there is a good chance that Veronica will end up with Archie, despite what objections her father may have -- because she, like Archie is insecure and needs to be around a man who she can boss around and feel superior to.

"Goodbye To Comics" Linkarama

"Goodbye To Comics" Linkarama

the original Goodbye To Comics blog (start with the bottom link and work up)

please note that this list is in-progress

Publishers Weekly "The Beat"
Newsarama Blog
Wikipedia
Lying In the Gutters
More Lying In The Gutters
The Sideshow
The Second Verse
The Comics Reporter
Barbelith Underground
When Fangirls Attack
Comics Worth Reading
Pen-Elayne On The Web
Lord Shazam's Blog
She's Such A Geek
Tales From The Longbox
Creative Destruction
Sequential Study
FeministBlogs.org
Digital Femme
Girls Read Comics (and they're pissed)
Angry Zen Master
Insert Babbling Here
Ink Destroyed My Brush
Nashville Art & Artists
Uncle Bear: Roleplay Like You Give A Damn
Urban Misanthrope
Demosthenes
Neil Alien
Tired Fairy
Long Story Short Pier
Postmodern Angst
Paperback Reader
BloGalaxia
Badgerbag
Newslined
Mountain of Judgement
The Short Stack
Puckrobin
The Nerdly Arts
Andrew6
Ed Mathews
The Comic Glutton
I Am A Tree
Comics212.net
Laughing At The Pieces
A Distant Soil
Shrillmatic
Legion Of Doom
e-regular
Whereof One Can Speak
Fluorescent Dreams Wax Cylinders
The Ziggurat Of Doom
100 Little Dolls
Comics Fairplay
Ariella Drake
May Contain Nuts
Howling Curmudgeons
The Rook's Not To Blame
Chris Piers
Evil Storyteller
Alan Pursell
James Nicoll
The Captain's Blog
Edward Champion's Return Of The Reluctant
Robert's Blog On MySpace
Return To Comics
A Blog Of Mirrors
Zebrafish
Lainie: Artword Addict
Ingvild
Joamette
Dedagda
Gumpop
Mortlake on the Schuylkill
Brainfreeze
Headpiece of the Staff of Ra
Loud Poet
This Book Is For You
House Of Zorn
Megite.com
The Appearance of the Repeated Meme
JLA News Link Blog
Memoirs de Mamoulian
Chaosmonkey's Blog on MySpace
Access and Egress
The Four-Color Media Monitor

Threads (in progress)
Gail Simone on Comic Book Resources
DC Message Boards
The Comics Journal

Christmas 2006

Christmas 2006

There is an eerie "28 Days Later" vibe to Myrtle Avenue Christmas morning. The streets are empty, the stores are closed, and the detritus of another year's holiday has already worked its way to the curbs.

A crazy old drunk of the toothless Dogpatch variety leans against a pole near the bus stop. He looks similar to another old crazy drunk I saw 15 blocks away by another bus stop last night. But I refuse to accept that it's the same one. He couldn't have moved that fast, or that far.

I'm traveling from my folks' house to a brunch in Williamsburg. Christmas with the family was pleasant. I tried to fink out of it at the last minute and stay home, but they weren't letting me off the hook. Nobody really accepts complete and total exhaustion as an excuse. I love my family but I was and am exhausted, and I still want to stay under the cozy coverlet. Under the cozy coverlet, one talon-like hand sticking out and hammering on the keys of my MacBook.

I gave my mom & stepdad a set of Kahlua and two glasses -- the gift that keeps on giving. A week earlier I gave them the first part of their Christmas present -- a set of Jagermeister & two glasses. I don't fuck around with Christmas presents.

My mom anxiously showed me the present she got my sister in Florida, which she was going to mail out. It was a black tote bag with an image of a half-naked Japanese whore about to pleasure herself. Mom bought it from a street vendor. It came with a personalized note from the artist wishing my sister a merry Christmas.

Mom didn't quite realize the sexual content of the bag when she purchased it. She just thought it would be a nice tote with which to carry sneakers to the gym. She expressed concern about the bag; if my sister would like it, and if it looked like the woman in the image was masturbating. I said that the masturbation question was up in the air, but that the big exposed tit might be more of an immediate issue at the local "Costco."

Late that night, when everybody else had gone to bed, I got on the Internet and did free tarot readings for insomniacs. I fielded the usual questions concerning love and money. I sprinkled God in there, "God bless you, God bless you." I mean it when I say "God bless you." I think it's a good thing to say to people who are trolling Craigslist at 2:00 in the morning on Christmas, something a tiny bit shiny amongst the ads for "friends with benefits" and men impersonating lesbians.

But back to the present. To avoid the crazy old drunk, I walk down several blocks to take another bus stop. But when I'm seated, I can smell the drunk two seats behind me. When I reach the train station, another drunk man that looks like Mark Wahlberg had he been horribly unsuccessful and paunchy leans against a wall, staring at me. I take out my iPod and plug into Sinatra.

At the brunch I'm asked about the blog. I say: "brokenvaginablogcomicsblogsexualharassmentblogblogblogwhowouldhavethunkit?"

I'm a big hit. They also like my new highlights.

I'm asked if I'd vote for Hillary Clinton. I say I'm not gung-ho about her, but that I'd walk through the fire for either Al Gore or Barack Obama.

I think need sex. At some point. In my life.

One man tells a story concerning a poker-playing trained bear, and insists that it's true. I refill my glass of Pennsylvania Dutch.

I think I need sex, but don't we all? It is on one hand so very easy to get, as plentiful as newspapers, but on the other so very complicated, and for me so very very complicated.

We all discuss the issue of monogamy. Is it passe? Is marriage passe?

I need marriage? I need children? I need sex?

I think back to a recent first date I had where the guy said, right off the bat: "if you got pregnant, you wouldn't want to keep the baby, would you?

We discuss "Sex in the City" episodes. As the sun goes down, we eat Godiva chocolates and drink coffee.

It's Christmas.

James Brown is dead.


God bless you.

Dude! It's "Vicki Victim and the Incredible Un-Raping Machine!"

Dude! It's "Vicki Victim and the Incredible Un-Raping Machine!"

(A tale of the Gilgongo!verse. For Mature Readers. I really wanted to give "Vicki Victim" a happy ending for the holidays -- within the parameters of her circumstances. I also realize I might have "Lebowski on the Brain.")

The scene? Hourville City, home to the planet's greatest defenders:
The man of might known to civilians as "The Thickness"
And the quickest Dude on at least three continents, "The Shnell"

The aftermath of the highly-popular "Rape Agenda" miniseries left Hourville's sweetheart Vicki Victim raped and killed by the grim reaper of laughter, "Pagliacci Jr."

But sheer sorrow over their fallen friend's demise -- as well as, frankly, a media shitstorm started by some uppity bloggers -- drove The Thickness and The Shnell to do what any heroes would do in their position, specifically pay Chango Mama roughly 40 Gs to bring Vicki back to life.

In their charming naivete, which even 4 issues of "The Rape Agenda" and the subsequent "Giant-Size Impalement Summer Special" could not burn out of their system, The Thickness and The Shnell thought that by returning Vicki to life things would all be back to normal.

"But guys...I was still raped."

Vicki's subsequent moodiness, depression, and absence at their local bowling tournaments perplexed these Titans of Triumph. Finally, one day while sitting at the diner...

Thickness: "We gotta do something about Vicki, Shnell."

Shnell: "I totally hear you, man."

Thickness: "I mean, Ubergirl's been taking her place at the bowling tournaments, but...frankly, she's sort of creeping me out."

Cut to Ubergirl and her faithful dog Reichy in a throwback "Hitler Youth" poster pose.
Reichy: "Voofen! Voofen!"

Shnell: "So like...what do we do, man? I mean...rape is pretty serious and stuff. And I'll be honest with you...I don't think I really, like, comprehend exactly what Vicki's going through."

Thickness: "Well, I do. I saw that 'All in the Family' episode with Edith getting sexually assaulted. And Edith...she reminds me of my Mom, Dude!" The Thickness slams his meaty fist into the counter, taking a chunk out of the formica. "My f**king Mom, Dude! God-dammit! If my Mom ever got raped, I don't know what I'd f**king do!" The Thickness calms down a bit and nods. "Actually, I know what'd I do. I'd kill a lot of f**king people."

Shnell: "But remember the Heroes Club motto, man..."

Thickness: "I know -- no killing, just maiming."

The two heroes wink knowingly at each other and continue.

Shnell: "Speaking of which, did Vicki ever get back in touch with you about the videotape you sent her of us beating up Pagliacci Jr. and sodomizing him with Solarman's Staff de Soleil?"

Thickness: "You know, I was waiting and waiting for an e-mail, something...but, nada."

Shnell: "Man, she must really be down and stuff, the poor kid. If only there was some way to fix things..."

Thickness: "I've got it! It's the perfect plan! We...find an Un-Raping machine!"

Shnell: "A what, man?"

Thickness: "An Un-Raping Machine, Shnell. Vicki goes into the machine and comes out un-raped. As if nothing happened."

Shnell: "But man, where are we gonna bag an un-raping machine?"

Thickness: "Oh, there are ways, my speedy friend...I can't tell you how, but there are ways."

The next day, Thickness and Shnell show up at Vicki Victim's doorstep with a large Kirby-esque device on rolling casters. Vicki answers the door.

Vicki: "Hi guys."

Thickness: "Vicki, I know you're feeling pretty upset over getting raped by Pagliacci Jr....but we've got just the thing to make it right."

Shnell: "It's an un-raping machine, man!"

Thickness: "One step into this baby and you will magically be un-raped -- as if nothing really happened at all!"

Shnell: "And then things will be back to the way they were and stuff!"

Vicki: "Guys...I don't know how to thank you...but....there is no way to un-rape me."

Thickness: "No, no, listen -- this was built by aliens!"

Shnell: "Yeah, aliens, man."

Vicki: "I understand, but I'm telling you: there is no way to wave a magic wand and make things all better. It takes time."

Thickness: "But...but...did you at least watch the videotape?"

Vicki: "Of you guys torturing Pagliacci Jr.? Is he...dead?"

Shnell: "No, man, we've got, like, a code."

Thickness: "Didn't the tape make you feel all better again?"

Vicki: "Nothing is going to magically make me feel all better again, guys...it's a process. I'm seeing a therapist...doing a lot of journaling...and I might even write a book about my experiences one day. But it's all going to take time. I'm sorry."

The Thickness pulls The Shnell aside.

Thickness: "Plan B, bro."
Shnell: "Yeah, man, Plan B."

The Thickness pulls out a superheroine costume.

Thickness: "Okay, how about this: We give you super-powers, and you become the Vixen of Vengeance, using your negative experiences to fuel your need for justice!"

Shnell: "It's, like, a great origin story, man."

Vicki: "I don't think so, fellas...right now, I just want to have some time for me. I know it doesn't make for exciting comics, but...this is reality. Though I am in the process of legally changing my last name."

And so Vicki took time to deal with her tragedy. Ubergirl was kicked out of the bowling tournament after a drunk-driving incident where she blamed the Jews for everything. The un-raping machine is still sitting in The Thickness's tool-shed. And as for The Shnell, he came home one day to find Reichy the Dog pissing on his rug.

Reichy: "Voofen! Voofen!"

Phone Call With A Legend and Other Stories

Phone Call With A Legend and Other Stories

Me: "Hello?"
Him (in fake Italian accent): "Yessa, may I-ah havah pizza-pie?"
Me: "Excuse me?"
Him: "Bonjourno! I would-ah like-ah pizza pie."
Me: "Who is this?"
Him: "I am-ah Italiano, just like you-ah!"

He wasn't Italiano, just like me-ah. Just an eccentric genre mega-legend who thought it was funny I had an Italian last name. When ever I hear that this guy has stepped into another pile of poo-poo I just roll my eyes and go, "yep!"

Not talking about John Byrne, by the way. Met Byrne once, had lunch with him. A gentleman. Though the editors I was with were a bit unfair, they would go, "Hey John, who was more responsible for the X-Men, you or Claremont?" This is what's known in the nomenclature as "a leading question."

Chris Claremont himself was a pretty cool guy. I had to rewrite a few balloons of a story he did for "Batman Black & White" and I was scared to death of his reaction, because I totally idolized him. And he was so zen about it, so cool. Which was great, because he's God.

Actually, there are many comic book gods. When you're a total geek like me and you finally have the chance to work in the industry you have to learn how to greet these gods. Slavish adoration will put most of them off -- though there are a few of such intense ego that such devotion is not only appreciated, it's required. Your boss will probably brief you beforehand who those bombastic few are and how to deal with them. But chances are, if you are a total geek like me, you won't mind. Unless they start talking to you like some bad Super Mario character because you are Italian.

Someone like Howard Chaykin is such a larger-than-life, impressive figure that you will look out the window when he arrives at the office to see the replica WWII bomber he heroically flew in on. On the flip-side, a guy like Frank Miller just sort of gets ushered in to see his editor and ushered out and you didn't even know he was there, you just hear about it after the fact. And an artist like Walt Simonson will hang out around the office, as down-to-earth as you can get, happy to discuss comics or sign a book.

Out of all the comic creators I have met or talked to on the phone, only one stands out as a total prick. He started out very friendly, then overly-friendly, then I had to avoid his phone calls, then he left a message that he "psychically sensed I was in trouble" and needed to speak to me immediately, then he did something like call the president of the company and try to have me fired. After something like this happens, you try to go back and enjoy some classic comic he worked on and it's really hard. But then you explain it away to yourself by figuring he was so damn talented that the sheer talent drove him completely insane -- and apparently gave him psychic abilities to boot.

However, most male comic creators have been pretty respectful to me, a good number with that chivalrous sort of "Ye fair maiden! Are those gorillas bothering you? I shall bean them on the head with this here Mjolnir!" attitude.

And yeah, I guess I'm sort of feminist but that sort of talk just turns me into a Wally Wood heroine with a Valkyrie helmet, a Smurfette smile, and a freshly-picked daisy pressed up against my nose.

How To Dress For Harassment

I hate posting this so soon after my last post, but I'm feeling kinda strongly about it.

Sometimes I feel like, after everything I lived through that I wrote about in "Goodbye To Comics," that I should somehow be the martyr sitting chastely by the window. You know, the Victim -- or, as you might have it, the Survivor -- who now is so damaged and jaded by her past that she collects cats and writes volumes of sexually-repressed prose like Emily Dickenson.

But I guess what I am trying to say is --

Just because I had elements of abuse in my past does not mean I cannot be a vivacious, sexually confident woman now.

Just because I had one or two big incidences of harassment does not mean that now I somehow "learned my lesson" and walk around in a burka.

Sexual harassment or abuse has much less to do with how sexy you dress and how open you are about sexuality than you might think.

I was harassed more when I was 60 pounds heavier and wore big formless sweaters every day than now when I wear a t-shirt & ; skinny jeans & ; sport a cute blond hair style. Because now I have confidence -- and confidence weeds out more of the real bad guys than anything else. It's exactly when yo

That's What They Always Say...

That's What They Always Say...

Though I think it's rather charming that she got one last cheesecake shot before she went out. Found today while Googling "Phantom Lady" images for a different post, and the first time I've seen this.

I have to say that this middle panel is the single most vile, hateful illustration I've ever seen in a comic book in my entire life. Didn't Frank Miller do a similar scene concerning Elektra and Bullseye with a bit more class?

I'm all for artistic freedom -- and I know that life sometimes is ugly, nasty, and smells like an ass, okay? But let's put stuff like this in books marked for "Mature Readers." That way, we all win. Well, all of us except for Phantom Lady.

Introducing...Vicki Victim

Introducing...Vicki Victim

Me and a good pal Sid Lonesome are working on some art depicting the denizens of the Gilgongo! Universe, and figured Vicki was a good place to start.

As you can see, Vicki is a valuable and innovative contribution to the pantheon of female comic characters. Virginal and accomodating, Vicki is the civilian liaison to the Heroes Club and has even been known to decorate their banquet hall with paper cutouts for Thanksgiving. While it is tough work being the official victim of the Gilgongo! universe, the dental plan is good.

Soon we'll have the whole gang:
"The Shnell" -- the fastest hippie in the universe
"The Thickness" -- nigh invulnerable but has rickets
"Cryin' Jack" -- manic-depressive World War II ace
"Uber Girl" -- it's tough being a teenager, genetically superior, and sort of a fascist

Not sure what we're going to do with these babies yet, but...it's comics, dude! Yeah!

The Comic Where Mary Marvel Got Sexually Harassed

The Comic Where Mary Marvel Got Sexually Harassed

A recent commenter on this blog asks, to paraphrase: "what exactly consititutes sexual harassment? If I tell my co-worker she is wearing a nice blouse, will that be interpreted as sexual harassment?"

I turn now to "Perceptions," a story written by Peter David that was published in "Supergirl Plus #1." In it, Mary Marvel gets sexually harassed by middle-aged divorcee cop Lenny O'Hara. However, the way David presents the story, things are open for interpretation, like the old optical illusion that could be seen as either an old lady or a baby.

Of course, during the course of the story Mary (this is before her "stupidification" by my otherwise fave writer Keith Giffen in "Formerly Known As the JLA") has a jones to kick this guy in the nuts, with Supergirl having to talk her out of it. The story ends with everybody deciding to take the case through the proper channels, and O'Hara pleading innocence right up to the very last scene, where he kind of gets shaky and says something like "I couldn't have done that...c-could I?"

Unlike robbery or murder or other crimes, it's very hard, unless you have witnesses, to present a clear-cut case for sexual harassment. It all boils down to the situation in "Perceptions," with Mary saying he did it, and O'Hara saying he didn't do it. The ultimate answer may lie with either party or (as presented in the story) somewhere between the panels. Only God and the two parties know for sure -- the rest of us can only choose a side or make inferences based on indirect data.

I feel the person who has gone through this or other traumas definitely has the right to tell her (or his) story -- that it's part of the healing process and provides people going through similar situations with perspective & hope. Further, I think the topic of sexual harassment itself should be debated and examined thoroughly on message boards and forums everywhere.

But one thing that gets lost in the internet debate and gossip is just how goddamn sad sexual harassment situations are for everybody involved. They're fucking sad. There are no winners and losers. Everybody is a loser. Feelings on both sides are filled with agony and resentment and hurt. You have one side saying "nothing happened and you're liar" and the other side saying "I'm really really hurt" and it's like Iraq, there's no immediate clean way to resolve it. And then you have people caught in the middle who are pressured to take sides and it's shitty for them too.

But what are the solutions? How do we define "sexual harassment"? What precautions need to be in place in order to nip it in the bud before it festers into a civic Hiroshima?

I always thought I had a pretty thick skin about these matters. I gave my co-workers a "get out of jail free" card to say something stupid. It was my observation that about 30% of these men, even the nicest ones, even married ones, would say once and only once some really inappropriate thing. They would just blurt it out something like "I'll bet you'd look good in those Black Canary fishnets." Then I would just blink a couple of times like I didn't know what they were talking about, they never brought it up again, and a harmonious working relationship followed. I'm serious, this worked like 90% of the time.

I'm not here to "sell" the "get out of jail free card" approach to all of this. Some women would laugh off the Black Canary comment, and some would sue -- there's a spectrum.

On the other hand, clear guidelines set by management might have even precluded the need for the "get out of jail free card" scenario. Such guidelines protect not only the target but the aggressor, providing boundaries.

But then other people would say such strict guidelines would take all the "spontenaiety" out of the workplace, that it creates an antiseptic PC "fantasy world."

And then what about the guy who wonders if complimenting a blouse is sexual harassment? Is "nice hair" okay and "nice legs" forbidden?

What about a situation where co-workers are having sex with each other and things go south? Or a boss and an employee? Or an artist and an editor? How are those cases judged differently?

How about women who sexually harass men? Or men who sexually harass men, or women who sexually harass women?

What about a Britney Spears photo-manip on a work screensaver?

What about the drunk co-worker who humps your leg at a company function? Is this a case for the courts? Or should one simply get "Mary Marvel" on his ass?

Hey, if everybody would just respect everybody else and follow the rules we learned in Star Trek:

Spock: "Sexual harassment is not logical."
Kirk: "Uh..."
Sulu: "Do my actions while under the influence of alien viral LSD or conducted by my mirror persona count?"
Data: "I am not programmed to sexually harass."
Riker: "Baby, there's no need for me to sexually harass anyone -- I'm HOT."
Worf: "In our mating rituals the males stalk the females on horses and try to subdue them with long, clublike instruments...I believe you humans have a similar ritual, called 'polo.'"
O'Brien: "Well...why do you think I was really transferred to 'Deep Space Nine?'"

Anyhow, I'm not here to give any hard-and-fast answers -- I'm just throwing questions out on the table. I heartily encourage debate and dialogue on the subject, on the "comments" section of ths blog and anyplace else.

And I was kidding about O'Brien. I don't really know why he was transferred to Deep Space Nine.

Why Doesn't Jughead Like Girls?

Why Doesn't Jughead Like Girls?

This was the question put to "Ask The Archivist" on the official Archie Comics website.

The short answer:
"How could he even have time? There's too much food to eat and too many naps to take!


His Wikipedia entry clarifies things further:
"Jughead usually doesn't like any long-term relationships, largely due to the observation that dating complicates a guy's life and deprives him of cash that could be used to buy burgers."