Tagged: Elayne Riggs

Foster Children, by Elayne Riggs

  • News
  • July 30, 2008

It’s finally official. On Saturday in San Diego, IDW announced a new project based on Peter David’s Sir Apropos of Nothing series of novels, to be written by Peter with art by Robin Riggs. “Art” as in pencils, inks and colors — or, as those wacky Brits say, “colours.” Don’t ask me why, they have enough trouble pronouncing words correctly without trying to spell them right as well. Anyway, Robin and I are both pretty excited about this miniseries, and not only because the offer came at the same time as my current job offer so it means we both get to celebrate employment at the same time.

First of all, it’s Peter, whom we’ve both known for a long while and who’s an absolute delight even though he’s never introduced us to his equally-famous friends like Harlan Ellison and Billy Mumy. Secondly, I love the character of Apropos… well, not exactly “love,” he’s kind of a despicable rogue, but I love his adventures, and I love the conceit of a character who’s supposed to be secondary and an afterthought suddenly being the protagonist of his own stories. It’s kind of like if women were lead characters in their own right instead of love interests and fridge fodder! What a concept!

Anyway, the other reason I’m loving the idea of Robin doing a Sir Apropos comic book series is, even though it’s going to be parodying bits of Stephen King’s The Dark Tower, art-wise Robin wants to bring to it a sort of Hal Foster Prince Valiant vibe. I think the first story Rob and I ever did together, a 2-pager called Sailor’s Wife, had this sort of feel to it, and the whole medieval atmosphere worked really well with his penciling style.

So Rob has been immersed in Foster these past few weeks, going over all his Prince Valiant collections, studying them for inspiration and visual ideas. He even taped together a number of 11 x 17 sheets to make a page (see photo) the size at which Hal Foster originally worked. It’s easy to see how much more illustrative you can get when you’re working 30 x 40. But it takes a true master to know how to draw so that no detail is entirely lost in the reproduction. (more…)

The Comics Confluence, by Elayne Riggs

  • News
  • July 23, 2008

As The Dark Knight breaks more box-office records (with its accompanying Watchman trailer leading to orders for the original book jumping up near the top of the Amazon charts) and Hollywood relocates to San Diego for the coming four-day weekend that used to be known primarily as Geek Prom, it’s clear that comics continue to affect the wider culture as never before. Two recent examples of this seepage and mingling have reared their heads in the world of toys and politics – respectively, as reported here on ComicMix and lots of other places, Mattel’s decision to release a special-edition Barbie dressed as Black Canary, and the New Yorker cover featuring a scare-fantasy version of Barack and Michelle Obama. Lots of comics folk have weighed in quite nicely on the latter, including our own Mike Gold, but heaven forfend I don’t take my turn before the subject is completely eclipsed by the next manufactured controversy in the ever-spinning news cycle!

To the Barbie matter first. For whatever reason, the UK newspaper The Sun took the wacko group Christian Voice seriously (which is like American media taking Bill Donohue’s Catholic League seriously) when the CV nutbars complained about the incarnation. And you just know an organization that supports marital rape has the moral authority to comment on how the Canary costume is “irresponsible” and “filth”!

I can sort of see the sighing over fishnets. I’ve never liked fishnets. I think I tried to wear them when I was a teenager, years before wearing ripped ones became fashionable (I think I would have liked ripped ones), and they were just all itchy and made marks on my skin and were simply uncomfortable. They seemed like something made for guys to leer at on women, rather than something made for women to enjoy. Likewise, I don’t care for the way high heels can cripple a woman’s legs, and I don’t wear ’em myself because I figure I’m tall enough, but the heels on those boots aren’t really that high. And leather? Seriously? A leather jacket and gloves, some sign of the impending Apocalypse? Didn’t the outrage about this clothing choice reach its peak around the era of Marlon Brando and James Dean? (more…)

Filthy Lucre, by Elayne Riggs

  • News
  • July 16, 2008

Being once again financially secure, with a job that will take less out of my paycheck for things like health insurance, and having a husband who’s also financially secure with his upcoming Big Project, I’ve been thinking a lot about money lately. Okay, I thought about it even more when I didn’t know where it would be coming from after my unemployment insurance ran out. Bu t now, my thoughts are turning to the strange notion of, as we used to call it in the ’90s back before Bush & co. ran the economy (and just about everything else) into the toilet, a budget surplus.

I was raised by two practical, fairly frugal people. We had our family holidays in upstate New York, we even took a trip once to Israel and Romania to see relatives, but for the most part we went to the shore or camp or just hung around the neighborhood when school let out. My parents were year-round wage earners, and encouraged the same sensibilities in me and my brothers. My mom was a school nurse for nine months out of the year and the de facto day camp nurse at Ashbrook Swim Club in the summers, where my brothers and I became counselors.

My first real paycheck at age 14 or so was from Ashbrook; I dimly remember getting a Social Security number so I could be paid. (Nowadays you’re assumed them at birth, aren’t you?) Because both Mom and Dad worked in an era when many families could afford to live on only one salary, I was never exposed to "mommy track" thinking, where I’d go to college to get my "M.R.S. degree." It was always assumed that, like my brothers, I’d go to university to acquire skills so I’d be able to support myself upon graduation. My brothers became accountants, like Dad. I was, um, er… well, I was an English major.

But after temping for about a year and a half I discovered, contrary to previous fears, that I was in no danger of losing my unique personality to become a cog in a faceless machine and that, in fact, I rather liked being a secretary. So that became my chosen profession. Yes yes, stereotypical female career, pink collar ghetto and all that — but hey, I enjoyed typing. I’d made pin money senior year of high school by running a buck-a-page typing service, back in the days before personal computers (and when dollar bills meant a bit more, as it was also in the days before plentiful ATMs). I figured I did about 40wpm in those days on a newfangled electric typewriter; later in my career that would jump to 80wpm on a Selectric and early PCs, and nowadays I regularly break 100. Hey, it’s my way of playing keyboard, since I never did have the reach to tackle the piano the way my grandmother and Dad’s cousins could. But I digress. (more…)

The Devil Made Me Do It, by Elayne Riggs

I haven’t had a lot of free time lately, but what little I’ve had on the weekends has been devoted to my Zen-relaxation hobbies of sleeping, watching baseball, reading blogs and playing computer games. I’m not big on the kill-em-all-let-fictional-dieties-sort-em-out ones, I much prefer the puzzle games like Atlantis Quest or Bejeweled or Chuzzle (I got my mom addicted to Chuzzle!) or Bookworm. But I do confess to a soft spot for a little phenom from Blizzard Entertainment known as Diablo.

Being cursed with a pretty bad memory for entertainment ephemera, I can’t remember if I ever played the first version of Diablo. I suppose I must have, way back, but it never really caught my interest except as a spectator sport. I loved to watch Robin play it, and he was was quite the fan, so when Diablo II came out I decided to learn its ins and outs and play alongside him. It wasn’t easy, neither of the two computers we had at the time had really fast processing speed, so when we played a round together either or both or our monitors would be pretty messed up, would freeze then go into fast-motion, all the stuff that tells you This Game Is Beyond Your Machine’s Puny Capabilities. Nonetheless, we persisted, more apart than together, and there was a stretch of some months when Diablo II took up most of our computer time, particularly with the debut of the expansion set, entitled “Lord of Destruction” (or as Robin and I, and apparently the creator of the above illustration, preferred to think of it, “Lord of the Dance”).

And I mean, it’s weird to like Diablo so much, not only as a woman who does tend to fall into the stereotypical story preference trends (i.e., preferring characterization to explosions, the evolution of relationships and personal growth to battles and gore, participation of interesting female characters in their own life stories rather than objectification and “love interest” secondary leads), but as someone who just isn’t into entertainment violence, period. I can look at sex far more easily than I can look at violence. Sexual parity is nowhere near accomplished, so most of the stuff in that realm still caters to the male gaze, as I’ve previously observed, but violence as entertainment (at least to me) really seems to cater to the male gaze. I just don’t find it fun. Even when it’s at the level of embarrassment comedy, I still feel for the victim. Maybe it’s because I’m something of a klutz, and the atmosphere around the Riggs Residence often resembles a slapstick sitcom. When I go to give my husband a mock smack on the head and wind up hurting my hand (and wrist, and elbow) instead, it may be amusing at the time in a karmic-justice kinda way, but I know my arm’s going to be killing me the next couple days and I’ll have all these “where did I get those?” bruises and, oh kiddies, it’s just not worth the pain. (more…)

The Weakly Haul, by Elayne Riggs

Apologies to Van Jensen (now with correct surname spelling!) for sort-of swiping his title, but as I’m pretty weak after hauling my body back and forth this past few workdays, I thought it appropriate.

First off, it must be said, I love my new job. My primary boss is amusing, intelligent and nice, my coworkers are terrific and friendly, the salary is good and the benefits outstanding. In a few months my health insurance premiums will drop by hundreds of dollars as I transition from my old job’s bennies to the new one’s, and the PTO (Paid Time Off) allotment is more than generous. Between my job and Rob’s current and future assignments, we might even be able to afford to visit England again next year, and perhaps some more out-of-town conventions. I miss going to Heroes Con! (Heck, Mid-Ohio is even a possibility this year; I dare to dream!) So all is more than copacetic in the Riggs Residence now. Right?

Maybe it’s because I was raised Jewish, I don’t seem to be able to function without kvetching about something. And that something is, as I suspected it would be, my commute. (more…)

Hold the Phone, by Elayne Riggs

  • News
  • June 25, 2008

I’ve admitted it before, I have no idea how to text message. Oh, I think I understand the basic principle behind texting; it’s like IM’ing using a handheld device, right? Only, I’ve never done it. I’ve sat through television shows that use instant polling via cell phone text devices for viewers to cast pointless votes for their favorite this-and-thats, but it all seemed like so much mysterious, impenetrable jargon. "Text 12345 to 67890"? In what world is this plain English?

In the world of the "late aughts," apparently. By the way, I’ve never used a PDA either, although I’ve "hot-sync’ed" my ex-boss’ Palm Pilot with a PC. Again, I get the principle, but the idea somewhat alarms me. During my recent 6-month job search I saw so many ads for executive assistants that required knowledge of a Blackberry that I was seriously considering taking some sort of tutorial just to familiarize myself with exactly how it worked. As it is, we don’t even have a text messaging plan for our cell phones. Every time I get a text message, which 90% of the time is a spam offer from T-Mobile, we get billed 5 cents. That’s right, they get to spam me and charge me for the privilege. Shouldn’t that be illegal or something to do to customers who have opted out of texting?

I’m still getting used to the idea of the ubiquity of cell phones on the New York City streets. The last time Robin and I visited England, that’s the main thing he noticed about Londoners that hadn’t been present when he lived in the UK, all the folks who had a cell phone practically attached to their ears. I was in the East Village last week, and just from a quick glance around at pedestrian traffic I approximated one of every three people was using a cell phone as they traversed the intersections. (This is something comic book artists, particularly at Marvel as so many of that company’s titles are based in New York City, should note if they’re going to draw a lot of city scenes.)

I have a theory that there are probably fewer cigarette smokers in urban areas now than there were even a few years ago because, if you need one hand free to swing as you walk or to hold a shoulder bag or briefcase, and therefore you leave your other hand the choice between lighting up and dialing up, more people will currently choose their electronic toys to satisfy their oral fixations than the drag on the cancer stick. Plus, if you’re smoking you’re going to be too short of breath to be able to carry on a phone conversation while you walk! (more…)

Gainfully Employed, by Elayne Riggs

  • News
  • June 18, 2008

secretary-8425249Kids, it’s been a rough six months for me. Well no, I take that back, it hasn’t. I should start off by saying that I’ve had a lot of advantages to take me through my most recent period of unemployment. I was eligible to collect over $300 a week in unemployment insurance (thank you, FDR!). My former job kept me on COBRA so I also had health insurance, of which I took full advantage during my involuntary extended vacation to get all my medical and dental check-ups out of the way. The premiums rose considerably a couple months ago, but the unemployment payments (which ran out two weeks ago) helped a lot, as long as Robin took care of the rent and bills. Which he did, as fortunately he’s been employed during the entire time (thank you, DC Comics!). Plus, my mom has been there to help out when I’ve needed it.

Even with all that, even with the other built-in advantages (living in a big city, having a college degree, cultivating a pretty solid set of skills), it’s been scary. My heart goes out to people who don’t have that second income, that familial support system, that safety net for when stuff goes wrong. I can’t imagine how they get through it. My stress level was through the roof.

The illusion of job security has always been very important to me. I’m married to a freelancer, but I couldn’t see adopting that lifestyle myself. I’m a creature of habit, I like having set routines; in fact, I like having other people set them. Being a freelancer takes too much self-discipline. I tried catching up on my writing during this last six months, but couldn’t manage more than my usual ComicMix column, weekly roundup, and daily blog post. I was just too consumed with anxiety over my workless state.

Fortunately, I was able to summon up enough wherewithall to undertake an extremely detailed and organized job search, an avocation in and of itself, but the thing about looking for work is, it’s never in the same office from one day to the next, is it? And it’s exhausting, rather like I’d imagine it would be when you’re finishing up an assignment and your brain is busy worrying about where the next assignment is coming from. Nope, one freelancer in the family is quite enough!

(more…)

Safe Space, by Elayne Riggs

I first came across the concept of "safe spaces" for women when I was in high school. I went to an all-girls religious school (yeshiva) in 9th and 10th grades. The idea didn’t make sense to me at the time, separating boys and girls just when they were beginning to find out about each other, to really relate to one another as fully-realized people. I was convinced then that the segregation could only come to no good, that we’d grow up completely lacking in social skills regarding how to communicate with the opposite sex, and that it was all doomed to end in tears.

And while I think I was partially correct, at least in my case, Bruriah was the first place I remember feeling this inexplicable sense of female safety (at least when the male instructors weren’t around), of proto-feminist solidarity. It even (temporarily) helped me break some bad personal habits, I’m pretty sure that was the first time I stopped biting my nails for an appreciable period. There was just something amazing about having all that support around me that made it seem anything was possible.

At Rutgers University in New Brunswick, I minored in feminism, which at the time was called Women’s Studies. So naturally, everyone assumed, and still does, that I attended not Rutgers College, but the University’s "female auxiliary" affiliate, Douglass. I didn’t go to Douglass, which by that time was trending from all-female to co-ed anyway. But it was still considered a relative safe space for women, and there were a number of Douglass students in my feminism classes. There, we learned that "safety" didn’t just mean shelter from potential violence (rape awareness was a big part of my curriculum, and I never did figure out why more of it wasn’t aimed at the gender that committed the most rapes — i.e., the guilty party — rather than the gender that was raped most often) but from male aggression in general, even when that aggression took the form of vigorous debate. We analyzed how women in co-ed classes and curricula tended to be more withdrawn and reticent than the men, who interrupted far more and were paid more academic (rather than prurient) attention by the instructors. Without so many men around to hog the limelight and make us feel scholastically intimidated, we were able to blossom more into our own diverse personalities. (more…)

Touchstones, by Elayne Riggs

Has anybody here seen my old friend Bobby
Can you tell me where he’s gone
I thought I saw him walkin’ up over the hill
With Abraham, Martin and John.

Well, last time I did an actual comic book review, and as expected it received almost no comments. So I don’t want to hear from anyone about how this column isn’t about comics!

I could probably make it about comics. After all, I’m going to be discussing the ’60s, which were about many things. Many people my age cut their fanboy and fangirl teeth on Marvel comics of the ’60s. (Me, I didn’t start reading until the mid-’80s or so, even though my late best friend Bill Marcinko tried pretty hard to get me interested in the Marvels of the late ’70s.) But, despite my trepidation about the kind of Google ads this column will attract, today I want to write about something else that happened in the ’60s, and about the persistence of memory.

Last week on the campaign trail, in an interview given to South Dakota’s Argus Leader, a frustrated Hillary Clinton reiterated her response to the "why won’t that bitch just quit?" crowd of media pundits that she’d initially articulated in a Time magazine interview back in March. Her original words: "I think people have short memories. Primary contests used to last a lot longer. We all remember the great tragedy of Bobby Kennedy being assassinated in June in L.A. My husband didn’t wrap up the nomination in 1992 until June. Having a primary contest go through June is nothing particularly unusual."

This time around the phrasing was only slightly different: "My husband didn’t wrap up the nomination in 1992 until he won the California primary somewhere in the middle of June. We all remember Bobby Kennedy was assassinated in June in California. You know I just don’t understand it," the "it" in question being the pundits’ incessant and unprecedented calls for a leading candidate to step aside (as if the media were orchestrating the process rather than the voters of each state). In March, nobody seemed to notice; this time, with the anti-Clinton hysteria ratcheted up as high as it’s been since the Whitewater nonsense, suddenly all sorts of folks were up in arms. (more…)

Hereville, Thereville and Everywhereville, by Elayne Riggs

Oregon has become the latest state to garner the national spotlight in this Democratic Presidential campaign "silly season." Just about every liberal blog I read had effusive reports of the huge turnout at last weekend’s rally for Barack Obama in Portland’s Waterfront Park. Now me, I can’t think of Oregon without thinking of two things: the annual Stumptown Comics Festival, which I’ve never attended but which sounds pretty neat; and the person who first introduced me to the idea of Stumptown, my friend of many years, Barry Deutsch.

Barry and I go back so long that, like ComicMix commenter Vinnie Bartilucci, he knew me before my first marriage. As I recall, he visited me a few times back when I worked in the East Village, we probably even shopped at St. Mark’s Comics together, and he was an utter delight to be around. He still is, whenever he comes back east to visit. But he currently makes his home in the wilds of Oregon, so I pretty much see him around MoCCA time and that’s it. Fortunately, I get to see his art whenever I want to.

Barry’s been sketching and doing comic strips for awhile now. His political work reminds me a lot of Matt Wuerker’s style, the way it relies on gentle caricature and well-thought-out illustration to get his points across easily and without straining the reader’s credulity. He’d been bending my ear for awhile about a special long-form project of his, and that project has finally come out. It’s called Hereville.  You’ve probably seen lots of reviews about it online already. Here’s another one. (more…)

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