Music and Identity

I end up thinking a lot about music. I've spoken about this before. I don't really understand music all that well. I've never studied it in any kind of college course, I never really played an instrument, and I was even kicked out of the school choir in fifth grade. But I enjoy music, as does everyone. I like to consider how music plays into the cultural consciousness. And I think it does that by stressing individuality.

Music is a highly technical process. I finally did end up understanding that point a few years back at the behest of my first computer programming mentor. Music is an expression that several people can band together and create. And musical tastes can be used to define an individual; in order to classify that individual for others, or give oneself an identity by choice. You can perform music and establish a connection with your audience. And musical tastes can be used to elevate your own sense of identity above those that you consider to be musically inferior.

"I only like this band's early stuff, before they sold out and became mega-popular." When reading this quote, please picture that self-important hipster that each of us have in our lives.

My oldest son is 13 and my daughter is 11. Both Ashton and Katie have begun to carve out their 'musical identities'. Ashton constantly refers to 'his' music in contrast with 'my' music. Katie loves the band One Direction for sheer teenage girl groupie reasons, however she also plays the guitar and enjoys a range of music wider than that of her squealy school co-horts. So I guess the early teens is when the formation of this ‘musical identity’ begins for most people.

Spring 1985. I was fifteen. I remember distinctly beginning to listen to music while doing my homework. I had a radio with a cassette deck, and I had recorded some of the openings of my favorite TV shows while sitting in front of our little black-and-white TV set in the basement. I had the themes to A-Team, Manimal, Buck Rogers, the Mr. T cartoon, Super Friends, Spider-Man and his Amazing Friends, Battlestar Galactica, Magnum P.I., Star Trek and dozens of other TV shows on that little cassette. My favorite was the theme from Superman the Movie, which I had caught off of a network broadcast edited-for-television movie event. It was wonderfully geeky. But it was what I liked. A guilty pleasure I neither shared with nor admitted to anyone.

My mom knew.

The first soundtrack I ever really owned was when my Cool Aunt Melodee got me the soundtrack to Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom on cassette. My mom must have blabbed. But I played the HECK out of that thing. Loved it then and I love it know.


So my thing... my 'musical identity'... was orchestral movie soundtracks. This should give you some sense of how well I fit in with the other kids in school.

Meeting Matt Rusnak in French class of my sophomore year was a life-changing event. He knew I was a geek and he didn't care. He taught me how to relax and not be so high strung. (I was still high strung.) He taught me what classic rock was and shared some music with me. He made me mix tapes and suggested music and took me with him and his brother to my first concert. Chuck Berry. He took me to my second concert. George Thoroughgood. In fact... I have never ever been to a concert WITHOUT Matt Rusnak. He was my musical muse.

When I went off to college for a couple of years in West Chester, Pennsylvania, I forgot to bring Matt with me and pretty quickly became musically snobby once again. I tuned completely away from contemporary music because I felt it wasn't as good as the music Matt had taught me to like in high school. I kept the radio in my 1982 Volkswagen Rabbit tuned into classical stations so that I would seem smarter than I actually was. Hopefully Leslie Plummer (Rutherford) isn't reading this, as she's the only person that can testify to its accuracy and level of pretentiousness. The whole point being, at some point in your life you define yourself as better than other groups of people by something as simple as what music you listen to. Or what music you don't listen to.

In closing, I'm finding myself eager to point out what I'm listening to today. My latest album. Spaced Out: the VERY best music of Leonard Nimoy and William Shatner. See? Music gives me an identity and it's better than you! See? See?


Their earlier stuff was better.

Thanks,
DCD

Where I've lived

I've lived in Martinsburg, WV ever since I fell in love with my wife and chased her out here. I moved into the little house she was living in when we got married in October, 1997. Conventional math would say that I've lived here over fifteen years. Both in Martinsburg, WV and in the same tiny little house, now twice as big with a looming house addition that we've almost got complete.

This is a very odd feeling for me, to claim one place as 'home' for so many years. I grew up with a father in the Air Force, and our moves were many and constant.

When I was going to high school in Fairfax, VA, it was common to run into other kids with this problem. Military families peppered Fairfax and Robinson High School because of the suburbs proximity to Washington D.C. I always admired my friend Matt Rusnak for this reason, as he had lived in the same house in Clifton for years. Even to this day that awesome Clifton house has an attic full of Matt's childhood toys. I envy him that.

But all the friends I've made here in West Virginia are unfamiliar with this idea. For the most part, they've all lived in the area for their whole lives. There are some sharp differences between a childhood on the move and one with strong roots. Extended family is the most obvious. We had grandparents in North Carolina and Pennsylvania that we only got to see once or twice a year. Aunts, uncles, and cousins that were distant and rare rather than ever present and down the street. In fact, our somewhat close proximity to Lorie's parents are what's kept us from looking for jobs outside of the immediate area.

When you move around constantly for awhile, you begin to mark events and years by where you lived when that event happened. We lived in Texas when I was born, New York when my sister Robyn was born, we lived in Fairfax when I graduated high school and left the house in 1988. Things like that.

Living in the same house for fifteen years has skewed my senses because of this method of marking time. Have we really accomplished so much? Have we really lived in the same place so long? I seem to be losing time.

Recently, I asked my parents for a list of the places we lived. It was to help me put my thoughts and memories into context for myself when writing blogs. I got two very interesting pieces, one from each of them.

First, my mother sent me this picture:


It's my grandmother Lomax's old address book entries for my family. How frustrating this method must have been for keeping track of such things and how quaint the idea seems today. A couple of observations hit me, the first being that there are entries for all of us individually. The second is that they're crossed out. We probably drove the poor woman nuts with entries in her address book. If only she had a spreadsheet system or online database!

Second, my father collected the addresses of our many houses and sent me a list, broken down by the months/years we lived there. You can check that out below. It might be a little boring to you, but I find it another interesting time machine method to take me back. Not only that... but with this information I can Google Earth the addresses and become more familiar with the places I grew up. Houses, towns, and communities that I'll probably never see again.

Thanks,
DCD

Dec 68-Mar 70 801 Marcy Dr., #14, Big Spring, TX 79720

Mar 70-Jun 70 Jet Stream Trailer Court, Panama City, FL 32401

Jun 70-Nov 70 1102A Lincoln, Big Spring, TX 79720

Nov 70-Apr 71 2509 Siminole Drive, Big Spring, TX 79720

Apr 71-May 73 83A Ent (Base Housing), Big Spring, TX 79720

Jun 73-Sept 73 Lot 122, Briarcliff Mobile Home Park, Dalzell, SC 29040

Oct 73-Oct 75 8327 Glen Breeze, San Antonio, TX 78239

Oct 75-Jul 77 106 Wayne Drive, Universal City, TX 78239

Jul 77-Aug 78 6236C Maryland Road, Plattsburgh AFB, NY 12903

Aug 78-Jul 81 12 Silver Street, Rochester, NH 03867

Jul 81-Jun 82 4000 Llyde Lane, Montgomery, AL 36106

Jun 82-May 88 9803 Ward Court, Fairfax, VA 22032

May 88-Sept 89 10041 Deadwood Drive, Ellsworth AFB, SD 57706

Oct 89-May 90 43 Cusack Road, Hampton, NH 03842

World's Finest Contradiction

I think I've made it a little more than obvious by now that I prefer comics and entertainment from previous decades. It certainly wasn't always this way with me. I have to pinpoint the 1990's as the decade that started to create the biggest gap between my sensibilities and modern day entertainment.

I didn't keep up with TV much in the 1990's. And meeting my wife Lorie sealed the deal on the TV coffin as I suddenly didn't even have time for Star Trek or shows like Lois and Clark: the new Adventures of Superman. But I was up-to-date with movies, as I was involved with Blockbuster video for most of the 1990's.

And comics. I read comics. I wasn't happy about it in the slightest, but I read them.

The 1990's was a wasteland of good comics and the decade that would see the most change for what comics were about and who their audience was. I never really got the perspective on the subject to understand that's what was going on. I kept buying comics for the reasons that I always bought comics, only the entire industry changed around me and I didn't really recognize that fact until I gained the perspective to look back on myself and the entertainment I had grown to love so much.

I would like to illustrate with a specific example. The relationship between Superman and Batman.

In 1999, DC ran a huge storyline dealing with an earthquake that devastated Gotham City. During that storyline of a destroyed city and people in obvious dire peril, the big question was where were all the DC heroes that were supposed to avert disasters of such proportion. This was dealt with in Batman #566 with a visit from Superman.












As you'll notice from this example, Superman and Batman are treated as far from equals and far from friends. This issue will forever rest in my memory because of the level of disgust and anger it created within me. There was no reason for this at all. And it spits on the characters of DC and the decades of growing those characters.

Thing is... the whole earthquake hitting Gotham storyline was a swipe from a 1977 one issue story with a costumed villain creating earthquakes in Gotham.











As you can see, Batman even makes a mental note to get help from Superman on re-establishing the status quo. The Batman here is very admirable, doing things within human limits and shown to be striving to push himself to the limit. To never give up and help other people regardless of the effort it would entail. This Batman is no thug out to prove that he's in charge and how tough he is. This is a Batman clear of head and purpose and free of selfish motivation. This Batman is secure enough in his identity that he's not threatened by the idea of help from Superman, whose obviously more powerful.

Here's a story I found from World's Finest comics #271 published in 1981. In it, there's a sequence where a firefighter forgets himself for a moment and questions Superman's involvement in Gotham City affairs. Batman does what a stand-up man would do and makes the man realize that some things are bigger than such petty concerns as territory and who's in charge of what. In the end of the story, Superman and Batman are celebrated as partners and friends... the World's Finest team.








The story was written to celebrate the fact that Superman and Batman had been teaming up in World's Finest Comics for two hundred issues.

Here are some sequences from their first team-up in the title from World's Finest comics #71, 1954.





Let's jump from this sequence in 1954 to thirty-two years later and the last issue of World's Finest comics, #323 in 1986. It was decided that these two characters were in for big changes and a title teaming them both up was inappropriate at the time. The severing was handled less-than-gracefully.








So... what happened? Why would DC comics shy away from the most famous super-friends in comics? Why would things go from switching costumes to trick a villain and shaking hands in the end of an adventure to downright animosity between these two characters.

As with anything, there are several factors that built this up. But for me, the straight answer is obvious and disturbing. Comic books used to be published for kids, and the super heroes were moral stories teaching kids right from wrong and how to behave in society. And that worked and worked well. Somewhere along the line the comic book companies felt there was more money in aiming their audience to an older generation. And they had to compete with video games, movies and TV that were getting more and more violent and adult with every passing year.

They stopped trying to teach us morals and behavior, and started fighting for our dollars.

Batman can't be a symbol for the pinnacle of human achievement. Batman has to be a tough talking badass who doesn't get along well with anybody. Why? Because Batman wants your dollars. He doesn't care about teaching you the right thing to do. He cares about making sure you buy his books again next month. He doesn't want to show a small child the best way to behave in a bad situation. He wants to seem like a big man to an adolescent with a fist full of cash.

It's just that simple. At least in my opinion it is.

Have things gotten better since the 1990's? They have and they haven't. Both Marvel and DC publish cartoons and books aimed at young kids that use their characters for the original intended purpose. To teach morals and to show kids what's expected of a hero in society. The comic book themselves continue to get older with their audiences. They've passed the adolescent phase of the 1990's, but they're so adult now that I won't give them to my young son or young nephews. And they're still doing everything they can to attract your dollar. And unfortunately one of the things that attracts money is character death. The companies are killing characters to drive up sales of the books. NOT because that's what the audience wants. But because the public at large thinks if they buy the special "death" issue that it will go up in price and be a collector's item and be part of history. Conceits that just are not true anymore. But shhhhh... don't tell the general public.

SO YEAH! I want the comics of my childhood back. And the reasons are far more than purely nostalgic. Our society and culture is going to Hell in a hand-basket. And where are the heroes that show us the stand-up way to behave?

Thanks,
DCD


Batman #566 - 1999
Kelley Puckett
Jon Bogdanove


DC Special #28 - 1977
Bob Rozakis
John Calnan

World's Finest #271 - 1981
Roy Thomas
Rich Buckler

World's Finest #323 - 1986
Joey Cavalieri
Jose Delbo

World's Finest #71 - 1954
Alvin Schwartz
Curt Swan

World's Finest debuted in 1941
Superman-Batman teams ups started in - World's Finest #71; 1954
They ended in - World's Finest #323; 1986

Lorie's Ornaments

It's the early days of the new year and we're dismantling the Christmas tree.

Like many husbands and wives, Lorie and I get each other an ornament every year. You've seen many of the super hero themed ornaments she's gotten for me already. So as we pack up I thought I'd post a couple of pics of what I've gotten for her.

Side note, she's always had a thing for Tweety bird from Looney Tunes. Although in more recent years her tastes have changed to a bird of a decidedly different temperament.




































































Thanks,
DCD

The Robe

This year for Christmas, my wife Lorie got me two major gifts that I wanted to share with you briefly. The first is a Mego Batgirl. For those of you unfamiliar, Mego is the toy company that produced super hero action figures in the 1970’s. They were GI Joe-esque in that they were articulated dolls with removable clothing and often many accessories. This Mego Batgirl is missing a lot, but I still love it. I’ve been able to order pieces for it from a noted Mego restoration outfit to complete it for display. So I’ll be eagerly adding her to my Mego display once my new comic room is set up. Look forward to that post.

Second is a robe. A robe with super heroes on it. A child’s robe. With pictures of Batman, Superman, and Captain Marvel. The robe is from the late seventies and had to be acquired through eBay from an antique dealer in California.

Here’s a picture of the robe, held by my go-to model for such things.


And after seeing the robe on display on Instagram and recognizing its significance, my mother sent this:


That’s me in 1978… wearing the same robe on Christmas morning and sporting a magnificent haircut. You see… it’s not just a robe. It’s a freaking time machine to my childhood. I’ll (most likely) never wear the robe. But I can display it and maybe even get this picture framed for my wall. So many thanks to my wife for getting me the robe and many thanks to my mother for sending the picture.

NOW….

HOWEVER…

Let’s look at that picture again. The one from Christmas morning, 1978.


I’ve asked my mother to go ahead and forward any pictures she might stumble upon with me and my old toys. I don’t really think the old toys bit registers on my mother, as this is the first time I remember seeing this particular picture.

You’ll notice several of Mego’s Micronauts figures spread on the floor in front of me? I treasured the Micronauts that year, as they were the big thing for boys in 1978. And there you can see in my Father’s ever-present Christmas morning “trash box” the discarded packaging for these Mego figures. Also, you’ll notice I’m holding a boxed Mego Micronauts Giant Acroyear. I’m sure your sharp eye recognized these details.

Also, on the other side of me, are several Corgi character cars from the seventies. I can make out the Charlie’s Angels van, James Bond’s car from Moonraker, and a packaging boasting Spider-Man. I can also make out a “Heroes in Action” figure, which was a little soldier that when you twisted his waist made machine gun sounds. And there on top of it all was one of my favorites. A Matchbox Mobile Action Command police car with figure… still in package. That was a cool figure that saw hours of play. And when I lost all his accessories and his police car, I simply made-believe he was the Atom.


You can read more about Micronauts here.

You can see more about the Mobile Action Command here.

Thanks,
DCD

Stacks of Comics

In my last blog post, I told you about Ashton's trouble with the car keys. It's part of a deeper mentality for not feeling the need to put things back where they belong. I've hit on a similar theme with Lorie and her iPhone troubles and you can check that out here.

It's a constant point of mental exasperation. Lorie and Ashton are constantly losing things or unable to find things. Katie and I stay fairly organized and don't have this problem. Alex is still just a six-year-old mass of chaos, but I think he's leaning in the Lorie/Ashton side of disorganization. It's slowly driving me crazy.

Getting Ashton to put things away and keep his room clean is an ongoing battle that I'm having difficulty understanding. It's like the kid can't really SEE things. He'll look at his hellaciously disorganized room and not be able to see what I see. He just doesn't hold the same importance in staying organized that I do.

The other night I had just gotten over a particularly bad bout of having the kids clean up their rooms and the living room. I was sitting on the couch watching TV with Lorie and my eyes fell on the entertainment center; where two Wii game boxes sit hastily discarded from earlier that day.

A small part of my soul just up and died as I sat staring at the Wii boxes.



Why am I the only one that can see these things? Why do I feel this way? Why does it bother me so much and what can I do about it? I believe right down to my toes that there is power, efficiency, and a good way of life in staying neat and organized. But why does it bother me so much when I see two Wii game boxes out of place?

My brain turned away from the TV show we were watching and ran down introspective lane looking for the cause.

I was in the Boy Scouts. I was a particularly bad Boy Scout and hated camping. So I hated disorganized campsites because it took longer to pack up and get out of there. No... that wasn't it. Didn't feel important enough to be a root cause.

Before I went digital, I had to carry around my reading material, usually a stack of comics, around with me everywhere. It was ponderous and heavy and inefficient and there was always the danger of losing the stacks of comics. As a result, I always made sure I knew where my bag was at all times. No... this isn't it. It feels more like symptom than cause.

We constantly moved in my childhood. My father was in the Air Force and we never stayed in one house more than a few years. We were also constantly leaving stuff behind, as the amount of belongings we could bring from house to house was limited. Not only that, but having your own space was kind of a premium. It was usually the first thing I worried about when we got to a new house.

This may have something to do with it. It feels closer to the mark than the Boy Scouts or my ever-present bag of reading material. But it's not quite the whole enchilada.

1979. I was ten. Our house in New Hampshire was three stories and a basement. Going up and down the stairs was a pain in the butt. So I would go up to my room and get some comics to read, then bring them downstairs to the living room to read there. Mom was constantly on me about keeping my toys and comics in my room. I... like Ashton... seemed hesitant to learn my lesson. One afternoon I cherry-picked the best and most loved comics out of my collection, a good solid stack twenty or thirty comics deep, and went down to the living room to read. I was negligent. I left the comics there and got distracted. Mom found them and by then she had enough. She took the comics and said they were gone for good.

I was devastated. Much more angry at myself then upset with my mother. How could I be so careless. My chest felt empty, like it does today when I realize a prized possession has been lost or broken.

A month or so later, when cleaning part of the basement, I found the stack of comics hidden on the floor behind a stack of boxes. She hadn't thrown them away after all. I asked her about them and she gave them back to me. I know that ever since then I've been very careful with my belongings.

Is that it? Is that the moment I learned this life lesson of the value of cleanliness and organization? (Would Ashton even notice if I took away the things he leaves out?)

As an adult, I never lose track of anything. I can be trusted to keep track of objects because I generally don't trust myself and constantly double and triple check. When we're out at the grocery store, I check the location of my keys, wallet, and iPhone constantly. To the casual observer it looks like a nervous habit. Touch the pocket, touch the other pocket, touch the shirt pocket, repeat. It's so ingrained on me that I became furious beyond believe when I thought I had lost my own car keys a few weeks back. Someone else had misplaced them and that wasn't my fault, sure. But it WAS my fault that it had been several hours before I noticed that they were gone. And I was livid with myself over it.

I get frustrated with the kids for not being able to learn the lesson of organization and taking care of their belongings. My concern is that these are tools that I know will serve them later in life. But with myself... I become mindlessly angry if I feel I've lost something.

Now, if you'll excuse me... I have to go help my wife. As I write this it's a few days before Christmas and she can't find a bag of presents that she bought. Sigh.

Thanks,
DCD

Ashton and the Car Keys

Being a parent is really really hard. It's my personal belief that a father has to involve himself as much as possible and follow up on everything. Now... Having said that... I can tell you I hate my daily, self-imposed 'To Do' list and have come to dread Saturdays. And my kids aren’t too thrilled about my ‘following up’ philosophies.

And sometimes.... Sometimes....

My oldest son Ashton is growing into a teenager. It’s tough having three kids, because you spend so much time multi-tasking their development you never really feel like you’re getting the one-on-one time you need and you’re always missing something.

So Ashton, being the oldest and most advanced developmentally, is the one that seems to be growing up fastest. He doesn’t need the kind of oversight that the other two need.

HOWEVER… however…

I’m fully aware that Ashton is head and shoulders over his peers according to his capabilities. He’s in honors classes, he reads voraciously and has since an early age, he’s the only kid in his age group who sought out a job last summer, he exercises regularly, and he is responsible for most of the household chores.

BUT…

A few months ago, I asked Ashton to load up the trunk of the Volvo with the recycling so I could take it to the recycling center after work. This is a task that he’s performed many times before. Every time something goes wrong with one of these chores, my first indication is the amount of time that goes by before he goes back to his iPad or the TV or whatever he would rather be doing. My second indication is the scurrying. I mean the silent walks through the hallways, always carefully planned out to avoid me and get to my wife. Lorie participates in the scurrying, silently walking down the hallway with whatever kid is in unacknowledged trouble to help them deal with whatever situation that no one wants me to know about.

See... the thing you don’t know is that I’m a horrible beast. Sigh

During this particular incident of scurrying, all involved were madly trying to find the car key to the Volvo. Which Ashton had lost. According to Ashton, he has a recycling-loading process. (Which is good!) The process involves putting the spare key to the Volvo on the bumper while loading the trunk. (This is dubious.) Never before has this resulted in the loss of the spare key. (This is a miracle.) But this time, the key was gone. (This was inevitable.)

Lorie and Ashton searched everywhere. The yard, the driveway, the trunk, the car, the house, they backtracked steps, they checked pants pockets, bathrooms, and even the mounted hooks where the key is normally kept. Nothing.

I’m taking a huge risk in telling you this. If you were to come to my house and search the yard, there’s a chance you could find the key to the Volvo and drive off with it. Please. Please come take my car. You could be EVEN MORE fashionable than I am while driving it.

It concerned me that Ashton’s main stake in this was whether or not he was going to get in trouble. Yes… I KNOW he’s only thirteen. I don’t accept that excuse and neither should you, knowing what we were capable of and what was expected of us decades past at age thirteen. He’s more than capable of securing the keys. I was disappointed in what I perceived as his lack of responsibility.

But this wasn't his concern at all. I was being a pessimist. He was feeling the weight of responsibility in losing the car keys. And he wasn't happy with himself. He proved this the very next day.

Ashton went across the street for his lawn mowing job on my neighbor’s lawn. It’s something that has been quite lucrative for him this last summer. It’s also, lest I should forget, his idea. I didn’t push him to get out and make money this summer. He’s doing it of his own accord. He’s enjoyed it, and he’s certainly enjoyed padding out his bank account.

I became aware of the scurrying while I was sitting on the couch in the living room working on the budget. I’m not a fan of being distracted from the budget, so I didn’t try to butt in. But obviously something was up. Ashton was making multiple trips from our house to the neighbors house and back again. Lorie was involved. Lorie was handling whatever it was. I stayed back.

The scurrying ended after awhile and Ashton settled in and went about taking a shower and cleaning up for dinner. When he was out of earshot, I hunted down Lorie and got the scoop.

"What's up?" I cornered Lorie in the kitchen. She turned to face me and leaned against the counter.

"Ashton lost the money Joe gave him. Including a ten dollar tip." Lorie sighed.

I stood there stunned. It had been ONE DAY since the dreaded Volvo car key incident.

"He's searched everywhere." Lorie continued. "Joe gave him the money, Ashton says he stuffed it in his pocket, and then it was just gone."

"Wow." I sighed.

"But here's the thing," Lorie said. "Ashton won't let me help him look for it. He thinks that Joe will see me, figure out what happened, and try to pay him again. He doesn't want that to happen because he says it's not fair to Joe."

This news was like a blow to my head. I thought for sure that Ashton would be bemoaning the loss of money or the fact that he had done all that work for free. I was half expecting Ashton to ask us to 'fix' it in some way. But no, I underestimated him yet again. He IS responsible, he HAS been learning these lessons. And this was a glimpse of the mindset that he's started to build for himself.

A week later, Joe knocked on our door. He had found a twenty dollar bill stuck against the fence and was more than a little confused. Lorie explained what happened and how Ashton handled it. Joe walked off chuckling to himself and shaking his head.

Thanks,
DCD