Mark your calender with a big yellow circle. March 6th is Watchmen Day. According to an article on the Number 1 Film Site Jan. 13th, and reported in the Hollywood Reporter three days later, an agreement has been reached between Warner Bros. and Fox.
The movie will be released with WB's vision with no editing or revisions. This is great news as it was beginning to look as if we might never see the film. I will be buying my tickets as soon as possible.
We spent the weekend visiting my mom in northern N.J. and drove back through the Delaware Water Gap. I was taken by how the Gap looks like Tarzan's escarpment on one side. But that's just me.
Anyhoo, during the usual embarrassing and unavoidable stroll down memory lane, my mom told the story of how in my teens, I set my bedroom on fire because I was smoking in bed. Well, I have never smoked other than trying to look cool at parties (when you could actually look cool by smoking tobacco).
The true story is far sadder and geekier. We had very stringent rules in my father’s house, like lights out at 11 p.m. Well, my insomnia was well entrenched already as a teen, so I would take off the shade and put the lamp on the bed and block the glare with my pillow. One night about three o'clock my luck ran out.
You can guess the outcome: A smoldering mattress, singed sheets and a flaming pillow, which brought about all lights and a house awake. Of course the only explanation that made sense to them was contraband cigarettes.
After that night, I just read my Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction in school.
With the help of a friend, I recently began collecting Buffy the Vampire Slayer comic books. These are very nicely written, beautifully illustrated and follow the Buffyverse canon. But to me, these are not really comic books. Superman, Action, and Batman are the real comics.
When I was a kid, my Mom’s sister who lived in America long ahead of us, returned to Ireland to visit. She came bearing gifts for all -- clothes, perfume, jewelry. But smart woman that she was, she brought me a box of comics and chewing gum. And after returning home, every few months I would receive a box the size of the Manhattan phone book filled with comics and packs of gum. My friends were the most Americanized kids in Ireland; chewing gum at all of the inappropriate times and places. But the comics, which also included Archie and Betty and Veronica, I hoarded.
Eventually, I was stupid enough to write my Aunt and say I really wasn’t interested in comics anymore and the care packages stopped. However, when we moved to America, those I had were carefully packaged and brought with me despite my parents' complaints about the extra costs.
Now flash forward to me setting up house with my new husband and the boxes of comics again come to light. He, who had never been a nascent geek, looked at the boxes and said, “boy, these would make some kid really happy.” And me, blinded by love or brain-baked due to our lack of air conditioning in July, agreed. But, I kept a careful list of all the issues we gave away to reminisce one in a while.
Over time, my husband would read articles about the rising value of comics – especially the ones we’d given away. He would gulp, and cough, but I never said a word. About five years later, my husband bought himself a brand-new car. Soon after, coming home at night, I slid down our icy driveway in my own car, and smashed the entire driver’s side of his new car. He was apoplectic. But the next morning, I quietly put my carefully folded comic book list beside his coffee. Snap! Once again, Batman, Superman and the Justice League of America saved the day.
I suppose I'm coming full circle now as I look forward to Comic-Con next month – my geeky nirvana.
