The original mission statement of this blog, if it's something more than just an outlet for my ramblings, was to showcase incidents of history being reflected through our pop culture. To show what we can learn about our culture and history by digging through the entertainment of decades past.
Let's take a side step down a similar hallway for a moment. And allow me to showcase something from my own history that's reflective of our cultural development.
I'm a fairly technical guy. I'm not the biggest geek on programmer row, but I've become pretty involved with the tech of our time. I strongly believe in the advancements our society is making, and I'm quick to adapt something new. I've already mentioned how the iPad has changed my life as a comic book collector for the better. When I'm at work I never take notes with a pad of paper and a pen. To me the efficiencies of writing things down in my iPhone and transferring them to OneNote when I get back to my desk far outweigh the drawbacks of a physical system.
But it wasn't always this way. In fact, it took me quite awhile to embrace my gadget leanings.
I remember clearly the first time I ever spoke to an answering machine. It was the fall of 1983 and I was a gawky, awkward, smelly, dorky, eighth grader. I was also the Patrol Leader of our Boy Scout Patrol. I don't even remember the name of our patrol. But I do know that our group was comprised of the rejects from all the other patrols. The nerds. The comic geeks. The guys that the rest of the Boy Scout troop wished didn't exist. We submitted a name for our patrol to the Troop leader that celebrated our difference and ballyhooed our nerdism. It was quickly shot down. I don't remember what our original idea for the name was, but we were dejected by our consistent rejection and took a boring, standard name. The Panthers, or the Cougars, or some such nonsense.
The Boy Scouts sucked. Hard.
At any rate, I was the designated Patrol Leader of a patrol made up of comic geeks. Natch. And it was my duty to call every patrol member on Monday afternoons and find out if they were coming to the Troop meeting that night. I did this every week dutifully. And, as it turns out, I was the only Patrol Leader that actually did it. I was able to make my report as to who was present, who was absent and why, and who was unaccounted for.
Impressed? Neither were my crappy Scout Leaders.
I remember calling the home of brothers and Patrol members Brad and Tom one Monday afternoon. Their Dad answered, but sounded a little off. I sprang into my spiel, asking to speak with either Brad or Tom.
It took me a few moments to fully realize what was going on. Brad and Tom's dad was not... interactive. He was speaking some sort of message and giving me instructions. I slowly realized what was happening and got a little excited about the whole thing.
At the beep, I gave off my standard, scripted Patrol Leader message trying to get the information I needed and asking to be called back. I didn't know that Brad and Tom were on vacation, and I wouldn't speak to them again for a whole week.
Once off the phone, I ran upstairs to tell my mom. An answering machine!! I spoke to an answering machine! Brad and Tom have an answering machine! Those dudes must be rich!
Mom was not impressed. She saw no reason for the technological horror that is the answering machine. To this day, if she hears the phrase "call waiting" she spits on the ground and stamps twice to ward off evil demons.
When Brad and Tom got back from vacation, they were just as excited as I was. Although, from the other side of the coin. They, of course, were the super-advanced duo that had such technology and I was just the guy on the phone. However, they were a little jazzed to actually have a call for them get recorded on their Dad's new answering machine. Even if it was from their dorky Patrol Leader reading his dorky script for his dorky task that no one else took seriously.
Even amongst geeks, I'm considered a nerd.
These days we take the phone for granted. I'm annoyed by the space my desk phone takes up and we don't even have a land line at the house. How archaic. I carry around the world's most advanced pocket computer in my khakis. Why would I want to bother with tethering myself to the wall in order to make a call.
But thirty years ago, my first encounter with an answering machine was mind-blowing.
Thanks,
DCD
Showing posts with label Development. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Development. Show all posts
Friday, April 26, 2013
Friday, April 12, 2013
Reading Comics in Public
There are certain stigmas that come with reading comics. I'm sure I don't have to tell you. Ever since Dr. Wertham and the comic witch hunts of the early fifties, comics have been seen as something that's strictly for kids. It's not true, but it's also not a battle that I particular care to fight. The comics that I personally enjoy reading were definitely aimed at kids. I still enjoy them just as adult women can enjoy books aimed at teenage girls. So I stopped taking up that baton long ago.
However, when you sit down at a place like doctor's office and open up a comic book to pass the time, you're bound to get noticed.
When Lorie was pregnant with our first kid, we went to every doctor's appointment together. I didn't yet have a job as a computer programmer, and our life was drastically different. We would sit in the waiting room, I would reach into my bag and bring out a comic book to read, pop the tape, slip it out of the protective bag and board, open it up, and Lorie would die of embarrassment.
Lorie and I don't really have knock-down drag-out fights, as some couples do. We have quiet disagreements and make sure our stance is known by the other person. Lorie has made sure her stance on my reading comics in public is well known.
When my family goes to the beach, we usually sit in a semi-circle and read. All of us. the first time Lorie went to the beach with my family, after we had been married, she was shocked. We rolled down to the beach, spread out the blanket, set up the chairs, and pulled out books (Dad), magazines (Mom), and comics (me). Lorie was expecting sand castle making and swimming and ball throwing and long walks and boardwalking. We read. It drove her nuts.
I remember sitting at the beach a few years ago while the kids played in the sand. I was trying to read a trade paperback reprinting 1970's stories of Captain America and the Falcon by Jack Kirby. But with the kids at the beach, I'm constantly 'doing inventory'. Meaning my eyes slide from one kid to the other to the other making sure everyone's staying safe. Between that, assorted bikini girls, and the general beauty of the ocean, it's hard to get reading done. Nevertheless, the open book sat in my lap. One of my cousins, now an adult and in college, was less than impressed with me. He wanted to know how I could possibly be entertained by such juvenile entertainment. Rather than launch into any high-fallutin answers concerning historical criticism or 'comics as an art form', I chose to embrace my passion and cop to just loving them because I love them.
The iPad makes reading comics in doctor's offices with my wife a little easier. I can sit there with an iPad and no one would ever know what I'm reading. And Lorie's next to me with her iPad, usually playing video games. As is the kid next to her. Or the adult across the aisle with a mobile phone. The video game playing in our society is abundant, but it doesn't have the same stigmas that comics do.
Should a grown man be reading comics? Should he be reading comics in public? I'll tell you my answer. I don't care. Never have and never will. I'll read what I want to read, when and where I want to read it. And chances are... I'll be reading it while wearing my Aquaman t-shirt.
And my wife will be dying of embarrassment.
Thanks,
DCD
However, when you sit down at a place like doctor's office and open up a comic book to pass the time, you're bound to get noticed.
When Lorie was pregnant with our first kid, we went to every doctor's appointment together. I didn't yet have a job as a computer programmer, and our life was drastically different. We would sit in the waiting room, I would reach into my bag and bring out a comic book to read, pop the tape, slip it out of the protective bag and board, open it up, and Lorie would die of embarrassment.
Lorie and I don't really have knock-down drag-out fights, as some couples do. We have quiet disagreements and make sure our stance is known by the other person. Lorie has made sure her stance on my reading comics in public is well known.
When my family goes to the beach, we usually sit in a semi-circle and read. All of us. the first time Lorie went to the beach with my family, after we had been married, she was shocked. We rolled down to the beach, spread out the blanket, set up the chairs, and pulled out books (Dad), magazines (Mom), and comics (me). Lorie was expecting sand castle making and swimming and ball throwing and long walks and boardwalking. We read. It drove her nuts.
I remember sitting at the beach a few years ago while the kids played in the sand. I was trying to read a trade paperback reprinting 1970's stories of Captain America and the Falcon by Jack Kirby. But with the kids at the beach, I'm constantly 'doing inventory'. Meaning my eyes slide from one kid to the other to the other making sure everyone's staying safe. Between that, assorted bikini girls, and the general beauty of the ocean, it's hard to get reading done. Nevertheless, the open book sat in my lap. One of my cousins, now an adult and in college, was less than impressed with me. He wanted to know how I could possibly be entertained by such juvenile entertainment. Rather than launch into any high-fallutin answers concerning historical criticism or 'comics as an art form', I chose to embrace my passion and cop to just loving them because I love them.
The iPad makes reading comics in doctor's offices with my wife a little easier. I can sit there with an iPad and no one would ever know what I'm reading. And Lorie's next to me with her iPad, usually playing video games. As is the kid next to her. Or the adult across the aisle with a mobile phone. The video game playing in our society is abundant, but it doesn't have the same stigmas that comics do.
Should a grown man be reading comics? Should he be reading comics in public? I'll tell you my answer. I don't care. Never have and never will. I'll read what I want to read, when and where I want to read it. And chances are... I'll be reading it while wearing my Aquaman t-shirt.
And my wife will be dying of embarrassment.
Thanks,
DCD
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Cutting Comics in College
Some memories of my childhood are crystal clear. I can remember events, circumstances, relationships, nuances, perspectives, comics, TV shows, books, road trips, houses, playgrounds, schools and more with crystal clarity.
My memories of my college years are blurry and quick and diluted. I can't summon those nearly as well. And the blurriness can't be attributed to alcohol or drugs, as I just wasn't that kind of guy. There might be a scientific reason for this lack of clarity concerning these years, but I think it's part-and-parcel with the arrogance of being at that age.
So I'm going to try to punch through that blurry curtain today so I can tell you a story.
The first time I quit comics was in the Spring of 1988. I was graduating college and moving away. Not only was I going off to college in West Chester, Pennsylvania, but my parents were moving out of our home in Fairfax, VA to attend my father's next Air Force assignment in South Dakota. There truly was no going home again.
I can barely remember this time. And I know almost nothing about what my parents and sisters may have been going through. All I can remember is my own extremely narrow viewpoint. I remember that all I cared about was my friends, girlfriend, and social concerns. My thoughts certainly weren't on grades or the future or who I would be in the next five years. It was a different Chuck entirely.
The decision to quit comics was a purposeful one. I don't remember all the factors. I remember not being really thrilled with what was going on with the DC Characters at the time. I remember feeling peer pressure that I was too old for such things. I remember my parents vigorously supporting the decision to give up comics. I remember my Father's advice... "Just re-read the ones you already have." I remember not knowing if there was a comic book store in the town I was moving too. (Pre-internet days.) I remember being worried about getting a job in order to afford the rent I would have to pay to my Grandparents, who I would be living with, and gas money to come back occasionally and visit my girlfriend and my gang of guy friends.
There were four titles that I still enjoyed enough that I didn't want to let them go. I ordered subscriptions to these titles, and set it up so they would be mailed to my new address at my Grandmother's house. THE PLAN WAS... that these four titles would be my only link to comics. And in a year's time when the subscription was up I would re-evaluate the need to re-up the subscriptions.
Plans, plans, plans.
As an adult looking back, I can't help but think how stupid this was.
I was moving. Headed from high school to college. Losing my friends and my girl friend, at least their proximity. Living in a new place with a new job with a new school reality and with no friends and family. I should have been looking for anchors, not looking to cast more away.
And yet, it should be obvious to everyone that my plans did not work. I remember sitting in my grandparents house bored out of my mind. Quite obviously depressed and headed towards the worst semester of what would be a lackluster college career. And like a drug addict or alcoholic, I turned to what I knew would make me happy. At least temporarily, until I needed a new 'fix'. And one comic, or picking up one new title to follow, was never enough.
It was the beginnings of a bad behavioral pattern. Miserable? Go buy comics. Something bad happened? Go buy even more comics. Class not going so well? Cut it and head to the comic store. No comics left to buy? Pick up some new toys.
The 1990's were rough for many reasons. And as an adult looking back I see an unhealthy addict looking to fill a void of unhappiness using methods that I felt were harmless but were in actuality setting bad reality-avoidance behavior patterns that would stay with me for years. Until I was adult enough, mature enough, to understand more about myself and my place in the world.
I'm not saying I never have unhappy moments anymore. Quite the opposite is true. But I do feel that I'm armed well enough to understand the best ways to handle those moments. And I certainly don't spend money to fill a void anymore. I have other, more healthy methods for wrestling with these concerns. They don't always work, but I know enough now to know that hopping on the internet and winning an eBay auction will be the worst kind of quick fix that won't do a damn thing to help.
The kid that couldn't see outside of his own immediate concerns is now the adult that tries his best to stay hyper-aware of what's going on around him. And I've begun to try to focus this awareness internally.
Is this what getting old is about?
Thanks,
DCD
My memories of my college years are blurry and quick and diluted. I can't summon those nearly as well. And the blurriness can't be attributed to alcohol or drugs, as I just wasn't that kind of guy. There might be a scientific reason for this lack of clarity concerning these years, but I think it's part-and-parcel with the arrogance of being at that age.
So I'm going to try to punch through that blurry curtain today so I can tell you a story.
The first time I quit comics was in the Spring of 1988. I was graduating college and moving away. Not only was I going off to college in West Chester, Pennsylvania, but my parents were moving out of our home in Fairfax, VA to attend my father's next Air Force assignment in South Dakota. There truly was no going home again.
I can barely remember this time. And I know almost nothing about what my parents and sisters may have been going through. All I can remember is my own extremely narrow viewpoint. I remember that all I cared about was my friends, girlfriend, and social concerns. My thoughts certainly weren't on grades or the future or who I would be in the next five years. It was a different Chuck entirely.
The decision to quit comics was a purposeful one. I don't remember all the factors. I remember not being really thrilled with what was going on with the DC Characters at the time. I remember feeling peer pressure that I was too old for such things. I remember my parents vigorously supporting the decision to give up comics. I remember my Father's advice... "Just re-read the ones you already have." I remember not knowing if there was a comic book store in the town I was moving too. (Pre-internet days.) I remember being worried about getting a job in order to afford the rent I would have to pay to my Grandparents, who I would be living with, and gas money to come back occasionally and visit my girlfriend and my gang of guy friends.
There were four titles that I still enjoyed enough that I didn't want to let them go. I ordered subscriptions to these titles, and set it up so they would be mailed to my new address at my Grandmother's house. THE PLAN WAS... that these four titles would be my only link to comics. And in a year's time when the subscription was up I would re-evaluate the need to re-up the subscriptions.
Plans, plans, plans.
As an adult looking back, I can't help but think how stupid this was.
I was moving. Headed from high school to college. Losing my friends and my girl friend, at least their proximity. Living in a new place with a new job with a new school reality and with no friends and family. I should have been looking for anchors, not looking to cast more away.
And yet, it should be obvious to everyone that my plans did not work. I remember sitting in my grandparents house bored out of my mind. Quite obviously depressed and headed towards the worst semester of what would be a lackluster college career. And like a drug addict or alcoholic, I turned to what I knew would make me happy. At least temporarily, until I needed a new 'fix'. And one comic, or picking up one new title to follow, was never enough.
It was the beginnings of a bad behavioral pattern. Miserable? Go buy comics. Something bad happened? Go buy even more comics. Class not going so well? Cut it and head to the comic store. No comics left to buy? Pick up some new toys.
The 1990's were rough for many reasons. And as an adult looking back I see an unhealthy addict looking to fill a void of unhappiness using methods that I felt were harmless but were in actuality setting bad reality-avoidance behavior patterns that would stay with me for years. Until I was adult enough, mature enough, to understand more about myself and my place in the world.
I'm not saying I never have unhappy moments anymore. Quite the opposite is true. But I do feel that I'm armed well enough to understand the best ways to handle those moments. And I certainly don't spend money to fill a void anymore. I have other, more healthy methods for wrestling with these concerns. They don't always work, but I know enough now to know that hopping on the internet and winning an eBay auction will be the worst kind of quick fix that won't do a damn thing to help.
The kid that couldn't see outside of his own immediate concerns is now the adult that tries his best to stay hyper-aware of what's going on around him. And I've begun to try to focus this awareness internally.
Is this what getting old is about?
Thanks,
DCD
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