my geeksake

Music: Fever Ray: self titled (2009) Today I dared to walk into my stereotype: Jeff Albertson. I hope, pray Goddess, I don't resemble this character, at least too much, but I did walk into a comic shop today. I haven't been in a comic shop in many, many years. In fact, I remember my last visit to a comic shop being before I was able to drive. I must admit, however, I was captivated today; I must have been in the place for two hours.

As a pre-teen and young teen, I did covet the comic book. I read Hellblazer (I have the first five issues, mint), Captain Carrot and the Zoo Crew, Blue Devil, Dare Devil, and Dr. Strange. I was a big fan of Crisis on Infinite Earths and I read all of my cousin's Ghost Rider comics (he went away to the Marines, and I devoured his complete set). And as a kid, I remember making my mother buy me Mad, Cracked, Conan and Creepy. The latter were Savage rags, black-and-white throw-always that were super cheap and that my mother always caved into buying (because they were cheap). I remember vividly being an eleven-year-old and reading Creepy in my parent's living room while noshing on cherries and spitting out the pits.

I was also a subscriber to Fangoria magazine, a monster movie rag, since it's inception. My earliest memories as a kid were watching monster movies with my dad late at night. I remember watching the original debut of Stephen King's Salem's Lot on television and identifying with the character who was into "monsters" (his little brother bit him and made him into a vampire). I also remember watching Dark Shadows with my dad, to my mother's objections. I collected monster masks and was really into gory make-up for Halloween. Yeah, I was that kid. This is probably not surprising to those of y'all who know me.

So, today I revisited my past by going into a comic shop. It was filled with people . . . uh, like me. I was sort of surprised. Dudes in their 30s, with goatees, with beer guts and long hair. What? What? I felt a little strange, because this was a world I have not visited for many, many years . . . and yet, there were people who resembled me there, mulling over comics about zombies and . . . men and women in tights . . . .

Why was I there? Well, I had recently learned that my childhood mainstay, a rag called Creepy, was now being anthologized and reprinted in hardback collections. . Learning this news was like a giant black hole: I could not resist. I picked up a volume. I read. I almost cried reading the back issues, again.

I don't have anything to say of profundity, except that reading these back issues of my childhood reading reminds me of where my values were formed. Perhaps there's a paper is this, I don't know. But reading these old "creepy" stories reminds me of my youth, and the values that were certainly instilled in me as a young person. The values advanced, however subtly, by these comics are "liberal" by today's standards—progressive. It's weird to read these comics, but I see now at 36 years of age how the left-ish lean of these tales influenced me. Huh. Comics did mold me. I guess I'm pleased to see the politics underwriting these "tales of horror" were progressive. And, just, wow. Who knew?