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Say, you attended a conference, right?

Why yes, Johnny. Yes, I did. A few more words on the University of Oregon's recent "Understanding Superheroes" academic conference. I'll try to keep this post Teen Titans-sized, and not one of the Justice League-length diatribes of my last couple of superposts.

Perhaps my favorite of all the conference events I've attended to this point (yes, there are more upcoming; this conference and its schedule of attendant events are massive), was the panel "Being and Super-Beings: Existentialism, Temporality, and Eschatology." I knew I was among my own when I met a dapper Ph.D. student from UC Davis name Kane (or Caine?) who was dressed to the nines in a natty shirt, blazer, and Blue Lantern ring. I also met a wheelchair-bound comics expert from Tacoma who works for Twomorrows Publishing, who not only amused me with the tale of one Halloween when he won a costume contest dressed as a motorized Sherman tank, but recognized in me a kindred spirit when he realized he didn't have to explain the meaning of the phrase "Cei-U".

Both panel presenters were excellent. Professor Beth Davies-Stofka of Excelsior College spoke on the connection of superheroes and religion, arguing that comic book heroes are not the "modern day mythology" (yawn) fanboys make them out to be, but rather are representative of humanity, the religious themselves. Reading Comics and New York Times-published author Douglas Wolk also spoke about a connection of gods and men, helping this dubious nerd locate a logical through line in Grant Morrison's sprawling, metatextual Final Crisis storyline featuring DC Comics' so-called "Fourth World." (How could I never have noticed that the Omega Effect symbols on Darkseid's gauntlets on the cover of issue #4 form a "DC"? Jeez Louise.)

Both of the presenters were gracious and engaged in taking questions after their respective presentations, even when I pushed Wolk a bit to defend what I believe to be substandard work from Morrison. Davies-Stofka and her husband were also great fun to hang out with for the rest of the weekend.

The week prior, at one of the earliest conference talks, UO law professor Dominick Vetri, spoke about the complicated legal struggle of Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, the creators of Superman, to regain control of their golden goose after a rash adolescent decision to sell the character to DC Comics for $130(!) in 1938. Vetri spoke at length about the legal ins and outs of the case, a superhero-style "neverending battle" that has risen, phoenix-like, from its own ashes countless times over seven decades...and which, believe it or not, is still taking place as I type this, long after the principle actors have all passed along to that great comics bullpen in the sky.

Professor Bummer's Tenure Track

I have a new nickname. Or deejay name. Or maybe it’s a superhero name: “Professor Bummer.” The moniker was bestowed on me by Matt Fraction, writer of the comic books Iron Man and Casanova, at the comic creators panel, a part of the University of Oregon’s “Understanding Superheroes” academic conference that ran a week ago on campus in conjunction with the Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art’s exhibition Faster Than a Speeding Bullet: The Art of the Superhero. The conference sported panels with names like "Being and Super-Beings: Existentialism, Temporality, and Eschatology." (Yes, really.)

In fact, I have written previously about the exhibition and conference for local media.

Fraction appeared with fellow Oregonian comic writers Kurt Busiek (Trinity, The Avengers, Astro City) and Gail Simone (Wonder Woman, The All-New Atom, Birds of Prey). In the panel’s wrap-up Q-and-A, I asked the creators what it’s like writing for these sprawling, decades-old mega-storylines, considering that the DC and Marvel Universes have been rolling along since the 1930s and 40s, respectively. I may have asked it a bit bluntly, I’ll allow, as I phrased it along the lines of “…considering that you could stop writing for comics at any time, take a break of 20 or 30 years, and come back to find the same story had been told in your absence?”

Fraction’s response: “I’ve ever thought of my work in such Sisyphian terms. Thanks, Professor Bummer.”

That kind of wit was on display through the whole thing. Prof. Ben Saunders of the UO English department, conference organizer and guest curator of the exhibition, opened the panel with, “I apologize for the less than ideal angle some of you may have of our esteemed guests.”

Busiek: “Head on?”

As often happens when comics geeks and academics gather in real or virtual spaces, much of the chit-chat revolved around the agony and ecstasy of comic book continuity, the sprawling web of interconnected stories that compose a shared fictional universe, the violations of which give fanboys ample opportunity to praise or lambaste creators.

“I think continuity is the devil,” Fraction asserted, his usual timid, reticent self. He went on to explain that, so long as characters and story scenarios operate in a basically consistent manner, he’s happy with his writing.

Busiek, who along with Mark Waid represents perhaps the largest walking repository of superhero continuity lore in the industry, countered with a quote his mis-attributed to John Donne, but which actually belongs to Ralph Waldo Emerson: “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.”

(Coincidentally, Saunders specializes in Donne and Shakespeare. Reckon he was gritting his teeth.)

“I personally get continuity fatigue,” added Simone.

Affection and Nostalgia

The UO’s Jordan Schnitzer Museum gives comic books a hero’s welcome

This article, which first appeared in the September 24 issue of Eugene Weekly, afforded me the opportunity to sort of wallow in my own special brand of hedonism, thinking and reading and talking at length about comic books.  I can guarantee you I'll be returning to the museum multiple times before the exhibition has concluded, to commune with the spirits of my gurus.  I was also pleased to discover a kindred spirit in the University of Oregon's Ben Saunders, a man who walks the walk in terms of comic book nerdery.  This guy isn't taking advantage of a pop cultural trend; he's advancing an art form about which he has been passionate for decades.

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“Can I touch this?” I ask, gesturing to the 70-year-old magazine sitting on the glass top counter of Nostalgia Collectibles, a Eugene comic book store. Darrell Grimes, the owner of both the shop and the comic book in question, gives his assent, and I lift the object carefully, reverently, as if I’m handling an illuminated manuscript from the Dark Ages.

Even encased as it is in clear, hard, protective plastic, the illustration on the comic book’s cover exudes a kinetic sense of exuberance: a boyishly grinning Superman leaps high above the rooftops, his cape billowing behind him.

This is a copy of Superman #1, published in 1939. Fewer than 200 copies are thought to exist. It’s worth $50,000. The very fact this comic book resides in Eugene makes this city noteworthy, in some circles.

And I’m holding it. For me, comic book nerd that I am, that’s like touching the Holy Grail.

This comic, and the nearly 200 pieces of original comic book art it will soon be joining on the campus of the UO, matter to the dozens, perhaps hundreds, of hardcore comic book aficionados in the area.

But they’re also a point of pride to the citizens of Eugene as a whole, or at least they should be. Because the artwork that has been collected for “Faster Than a Speeding Bullet: The Art of the Superhero,” an exhibition opening Friday, Sept. 25, at the UO’s Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art, is one of the most expansive gatherings of superhero comic book art ever assembled. And it’s not hanging on a wall in N.Y. or L.A. or London, or even Portland. It’s here.

“I do think this is the best museum exhibition of superhero comic art to date,” says Ben Saunders, an associate professor of English at the UO, and curator of the exhibition. “‘Best’ in the sense of broadest, most historically comprehensive,” he continues, “and with a large number of key pieces by key artists from the 70 years of the genre.”

It may sound as if Saunders is bragging about the show he’s assembled. But to be frank, the man has a right to brag: Works are on loan from the Library of Congress as well as from 18 private collectors from around the country.

But this show is about more than just volume. Saunders is an expert on this stuff, and he has taken care to present the original artwork. Originals are created on card stock pieces larger than the comic book pages to which they will eventually be reduced, in a manner that tells a story: not just the thrilling tales of spandexed champions or the story of good winning out over evil, but the story of the creation of a wholly new and inherently American way to tell stories in the first place.

“I went in pursuit of key works by key artists,” says Saunders, who revels in name-dropping from the collection’s impressive catalog: “Not just ‘something by Jack Kirby,’ but Jack Kirby’s cover to [Fantastic Four] #74. Not just Bill Sienkiewicz, but one of his large collage poster/covers from the mid ’80s. Not just Neal Adams, but Neal Adams on Batman.” Care has also been taken, Saunders says, to include “once-influential masters of the form” of the 1940s Golden Age of comic books, “who deserve to be better known.”

Continue reading "Affection and Nostalgia" at Eugene Weekly.

Photo by Todd Cooper.

Sweet Talk: Stretching your dough on desserts

This article first appeared in the fall Chow! guide, in the September 10 issue of Eugene Weekly.

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In the 2000 film Chocolat, Juliette Binoche soothes the pain of the residents of a provincial French town with a single magic potion: chocolate, the movie’s namesake. And while the current worldwide economic recession presents a different set of problems than the 1950s conformity and heavy-handed demagoguery of the film, eating one’s way to happiness still sounds like a tempting quick-fix cure for depression...both the emotional and economic varieties.

With a disheartening 12.5 percent unemployment rate in Lane County, more than three full percentage points higher than the national average, belts are tightening across the Southern Willamette Valley, and extras like sweets seem like a natural place to start trimming the fat. But if the thought of foregoing dessert due to a limited budget makes you want to toss your cookies, some local sugar-slingers are taking steps to ensure their customers can have their cake and eat it, too.

Adam Bernstein, proprietor of eateries Café Maroc and Adam’s Sustainable Table, recently changed the name and menu of the latter from Adam’s Place, a measure to reflect not only sustainability of the environmental sort but a nod toward finances as well. “I think people tend to share more desserts” these days, says Bernstein. 

“We have a chocolate volcano, a shared dessert,” Bernstein says. Ordering a dessert, even a shared one, makes “people feel like they’re getting a bonus,” he explains.

If even half a chocolate volcano is beyond the budget, Amy Brown, manager of the Candy Baron at Fifth Street Public Market, may have the solution. Brown equates the shop’s à la carte shopping experience with a way to save a few coins, asserting that her customers “are appreciative of the fact we carry individual candies, and can buy just a couple of pieces” as a pick-me-up. All the same, Brown says, “We’ve definitely had a [sales] drop at the beginning of the year.”

Continue reading "Sweet Talk at Eugene Weekly.

Grease is the Word: Will Dickie Jo's sizzle or be fried?

This article, which originally appeared in the July 1 issue of Eugene Weekly, may have come out a tad more negative than I intended.  I really do appreciate what the Wests are doing, aesthetically.  How can I not love the checkered floor and pre-Elvis blues rock?  In researching this piece, I was surprised to learn that there seem to be no middle-of-the-road opinions on Dickie Jo's; Eugeneans feel passionate about their hamburgers, I guess.  Everyone seems to either adore the place, or detest it.  I don't think I fall into either category, but I will state for the record that I've been back twice since my initial reporting foray.  I do love me some Mucho Gusto carnitas, so, you know, bueno on ya for that one, Wests.

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The new Dickie Jo’s Burgers has a prominent spot on 13th between Pearl and High, and likely the first sign of the diner’s presence detected by many Eugeneans was the new paint job applied to the south wall of the abutting office building. And what a paint job. Snappy and sharp to some, a garish eyesore to others, the commanding, mid-20th-century-styled tile design of alternating red, pink and white visually drowns the compact building like a busy computer wallpaper overpowers a desktop icon. The owners, restaurateur siblings Jim and Phil West, are counting on the business as a sort of hardware upgrade for their family name, as well. 

The “Westraunt Concepts” partnership founded by the brothers may have a cutesy name, but don’t be fooled: These guys are playing for keeps. The company also created local Mexican eateries Mucho Gusto and Fina Taqueria, and Jim, the elder West, is already casting an eye northward, envisioning a day Portland will be home to combo outlets, with a Mucho and a Dickie’s under a single roof. The Wests planned to return to their roots by converting Fina Taqueria’s south Willamette location into a variation on their early 1990s barbecue joint, but those plans have been scrapped to concentrate on burritos and burgers.

Jim West proselytizes a form of dining known as “quick-casual,” a couple of steps above fast food but with a pointed lack of spendy table service. According to West, the lack of niceties translates to more cash in diners’ pockets. That no-frills style extends to the Wests’ day-to-day, as well. “We haven’t created any corporate positions,” Jim says. “I’m the bookkeeper,” while “Phil does all of our design.”

Continue reading "Grease is the Word" at Eugene Weekly.

Summer Vacation: The Redwood Coast

A family trip down to Trinidad, California and back up Highway 101 along the Oregon Coast provided an amazing panoply of natural sights, from majestic, rocky sea stacks rising from the pounding surf, to ancient redwoods towering to lofty, leafy canopies.  So what scenery most impressed this fan of the mid-century modern aesthetic?  Why, the kitschy neon signs of interstate travel, of course.

Ocean Grove Lodge, Trinidad, California.  We passed this multiple times throughout the week, as it's situated between our cabin and downtown Trinidad, and I kept bugging my wife that I wanted to stop and take a photo.  She was confused, thinking I meant the horrible day-glo sign of a peasant-skirted señorita advertising the Mexican joint next door.  No, no.  It don't mean a thing, if it ain't got that swing.  This sign is a beauty, though.

The Lumberjack Bar, Orick, California.  The homey, charming atmosphere of this lovely town was tempered by the large Confederate flag mural painted on the side of this watering hole, which seems to have devolved into a biker bar.  At least the owner seems to appreciate the historic nature of this vintage sign.  In other news, this bar also featured a tethered goat grazing in the yard, reminiscent of another stop on our trip.

The Egyptian Theatre, Coos Bay, Oregon.  My wife and I vacationed near Coos Bay last fall, and one of my favorite memories of the trip is seeing Hitchcock's Vertigo on the big screen of this fabulously restored movie palace... think "Walk Like an Egyptian"-style hieroglyphs, grand balcony, and opening Wurlitzer music.

Singularly unimpressed with vintage signage is my five-year-old nephew Elijah.  At least he got a kick out of Trees of Mystery, to date my favorite roadside attraction on the West Coast.  Here we're pictured chillaxin' on the fiberglass boot of a gargantuan Paul Bunyan statue along 101.  I love this place because it combines my interests in folklore, local kitsch, tourism studies, and natural beauty.  Even briefly considered writing my grad school terminal project on the attraction's history, before I committed to the ghost-hunting route.

What has your summer vacay been like, readers?  Let me know in the ol' comments corral.

Drafting a Plan for Expansion

This article originally appeared in the June 25 issue of Eugene Weekly.  If only every reporting gig involved sippin' on likker.  Special thanks to friend-of-the-blog (is there such a role?) Brendan Mahaney, who offered a lovely and savory staging ground for cider tasting.

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When I was about 11, I was chosen from a crowd to help a costumed reenactor operate a wooden cider press at a living history demonstration. Surprised at how little liquid was squeezed from each apple, I learned a lesson about the value of hard work and scarcity of resources. That was the last thought through my little bowl-cut head, in fact, before I tripped over the cider bucket and dumped the fruits of my labor into the grass.

Happily for Mimi Casteel and Nick Gunn, the married couple behind Salem’s Wandering Aengus Ciderworks, cider-making technology has evolved, now allowing the fermenting, bottling, and kegging of the stuff on a massive scale. 

Casteel and Gunn left Portland-based forestry surveying jobs in 2004, tired of the travel involved, and cast an eye toward agriculture. Casteel’s parents own the nearby Bethel Heights Vineyard, and though his wife “really had an itch to get into farming,” Gunn says, there wasn’t enough work to go around at Bethel Heights, and they didn’t want to undermine her parents’ efforts by founding a competing label. So they leased a nearby orchard and went into the hard cider business.

The cider produced by Wandering Aengus isn’t the pulpy, syrupy, kid-friendly concoction enjoyed on chilly autumn evenings. If anything, this hard cider is a bit like champagne: crisp, sweet and a little tart. Perfect for enjoying with cheese, pork or other musky savories.

The proof, says Wandering Aengus marketing director James Kohn, is in the fruit juice. “Most ciders are made of concentrated juice or dessert apples” like the ones found in grocery store produce sections, Kohn explains. Wandering Aengus cider, on the other hand, is made from apple varietals specifically for cider-making, and in fact, the ingredient list printed on the side of a bottle of the Semi-Dry cider amounts to a single item: “Fermented apple juice from certified organic cider apples.”

Continue reading "Drafting a Plan for Expansion" at Eugene Weekly.

Memorial Day

When Sallie Carter was a teenager, she used to sneak down the trellis of her family’s 19th-century Tennessee plantation house at night, to dance with her father’s slaves in their quarters.  I don’t know if her boyfriend minded.  It’s possible he wouldn’t have been able to say anything, anyway.  John Montgomery hailed from a farming family, likely of a lower social class than the Carters.  

There had been some confusion over the year of Montgomery’s birth, listed as 1832 in his front-page obituary in a 1931 Eugene Register-Guard. But descendants of the Montgomery clan have in their possession a family Bible that says he was born in 1840. Montgomery, it appears, fudged his age a bit, perhaps to collect old-age benefits from the government.

The family made sure Montgomery’s real date of death was reflected on the grave marker erected for him Eugene, Oregon’s Pioneer Cemetery:

PVT JOHN G MONTGOMERY
CO H
5 TENN CAV
CSA
DEC 18 1840
JAN 6 1931

That’s CSA as in “Confederate States of America.” The modern U.S. government recognizes even Johnny Reb as an American serviceman, and maintains a program to recognize unmarked veterans’ graves with simple slab markers.  Montgomery’s 2000-minted stone stands in sharp contrast to Sallie’s, a by-comparison ornate, almost Victorian affair, just next door in the neighboring plot. Sallie passed away in 1923, and was buried in a plot that probably cost around $30 at the time of purchase.  The family interred Montgomery next to his wife when he died eight years later, but had no money at the time for a stone.

Falling Into the Reflection

Over the past week I’ve been working on my publisher’s letter for the upcoming summer issue of Eugene Magazine.  It’s our Top Doctors of Eugene-Springfield issue, and, seeking to draw from my own experience, I open the letter with an anecdote about what it was like growing up with two psychotherapists as parents.  

In the letter, after I set the scene and (hopefully, presumably) draw the reader in with personal detail, I expand my theme and apply the anecdote’s simple lesson to the larger world. Lots of nonfiction is structured the same way… this blog post, as a matter of fact.

The publisher’s letter is a prime example of a frequent writer’s dilemma: How much of myself should I put into this thing?  Writers of fiction have to ask themselves the question, but it becomes even more pertinent to writers of poetry and nonfiction. 

Even writers who produce literary nonfiction have to gauge their involvement.  John Berendt is a central character, for example, in Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.  But I’d argue that Erik Larson may communicate almost as much about himself in The Devil in the White City (perhaps my favorite book), a narrative that takes place a good six decades before Larson was born.

The writer wants his work to convey something about himself, his values, what matters to him.  But it can be difficult to tread the line between self-inclusion and self-absorption, between personal storyline and base narcissism.  (And no, I’m not ignoring the narcissistic overtones of writing about narcissism in a personal essay, appearing on a personal blog.)

Though in essence, the writer conjures only the illusion of personal connection. After reading this mini-essay, for example, you, the reader know that I wrote a publisher’s letter, but not what was going on at the same time, or whether I produced two drafts or twenty, or whether the writing took ten minutes or ten hours, or how I feel about it, or whether I even like the thing.  You can guess, based on clues I might include here or what you know of me outside this writing, but you can never know for sure.

So how about it, writers?  Or creatives in other fields?  How much of yourself do you insert into your work?  How do you avoid sharing too much?  How much of the “you” in your work is illusion, and how much is genuine contact with your readers or audience?  My comment corral is feeling snubbed…

Et in arcadia ego.

As a theatre major at Northwestern once upon a time, I got hung up for awhile on Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia, a fantastic play melding past and present, life and death.  The play features “Et in Arcadia ego,” a Latin phrase  that translates as “And in Arcadia, there am I.” Even in paradise, death is never far.  It’s a recurring sentiment in art and culture of the Baroque period.  The concept stuck with me for over a decade.  In early January I was in a pensive mood for some reason, and even incorporated the phrase into a post on my Twitter stream.

A week and a day later, my friend Paul Carlile took his own life.

I wasn’t able to write for several days thereafter.  And I wondered why.  Other bloggers successfully and eloquently expressed their feelings for Paul in the wake of his death, but I have always been a writer who keeps something of himself reserved from his writing.  I’m the son of two clinical psychologists, and I always think a great deal about processing emotion.  But writing is seldom the way I do it.