Tagged: Elayne Riggs

What I Can’t Write About, by Elayne Riggs

So last week my column was criticized for not being primarily about comics, the same day that my fellow columnist John Ostrander got over a dozen comments writing about politics, not one of which queried the appropriateness of his subject matter. Obviously people who have written and drawn comics for a living (Denny, Michael, etc.) can get a little more slack than someone who’s only ever written four comic book stories and had them all published. Not that I’m bitter! Oh no, indeedy; I’m actually grateful those critiques have given me fodder for this week’s column!

As I mentioned in my reply to this criticism, I understand some readers’ frustration with me not writing about comics more often. Even my mom asks me why I don’t focus on comics more often, and she doesn’t even read the stuff! But after all, ComicMix is a pop-culture site dominated by people heavily invested in the artform. Heck, that’s what CM 2.0 is all about, giving our readers original comics content. And we haven’t yet introduced a separate tab for our columns to distinguish them from our regular pop-culture news, so it’s probably reasonable to expect that we columnists will focus on comics as much as our news reporters do. And I love reading comics, but… but…

But nowadays, when I talk about my favorite reading material and hobby and community, I can usually only discuss what’s happened recently, not what’s going to happen in the near future or even Right This Very Week. As many of you know, this wasn’t always the case. About 10-15 years ago I did weekly comic book reviews on Usenet and CompuServe under the header "Pen-Elayne For Your Thoughts." I’d get the books on a Wednesday and most of the reviews would be up by Friday. My job at the time allowed me to do this, I was being somewhat under-used (technology and outsourcing would eliminate that position in ’97) and I had plenty of energy when I got home. Then I got a new job which proceeded to harness a lot of that energy, so the reviews had to go, I just couldn’t keep them up any more.

When I married Robin, I stopped buying most DC books the week they hit the stores, because as a regular freelancer for DC he receives a comp box each month of all the "pamphlets" they put out. For a time the comps were usually current to within a couple weeks of what was in the stores, so I could still keep up as plot discussions moved from Usenet to message boards. But by the time blogs became big, the synching had fallen a bit behind. (The new comp box arrived at our house on Monday, and I now have all the Countdown issues up until "04," when of course the current big discussion is about the final issue.

I also now have the first issue of Tangent: Superman’s Reign so I can finally read issue #2 which Robin inked and which came out in stores the Wednesday prior to the NY Comic Con. Just to give you an idea of the lag time here.) Four years ago, when my boss moved the office out to Westchester, my weekly visits to Midtown Comics to view the new books and collect my non-DC haul became an every other (or every third) week mail order. And because I no longer had the new comics when most of the active online discussions took place, I could no longer participate. By the time I acquire and read the book featuring the return of Barry Allen, or the mostly-Spanish issue of Blue Beetle that has this xenophobe’s drawers in a bunch, it will be well into June and everyone will have long since moved on. (more…)

Unsporting Behaviour, by Elayne Riggs

  • News
  • April 30, 2008

headbutt-3718782The 2008 Major League Baseball season is now well underway, so much so that broadcasters tend to get bored already and search around for anything else sports-related about which to pontificate; last weekend, as I recall, it was the NFL draft. Heaven forfend we stick to one sport at a time, after all. Or that we enjoy the leisurely pace of a game that used to be America’s Pastime until what happened between the lines got crowded out by commercial concerns, steroids and Americans’ need for speed.

Still, I’ll take the off-topic prattling of networks like FOX and ESPN over some of the local shmoes. Yankees broadcaster Michael Kay is particularly infuriating. Do he and his colleagues really need to make it so obvious how beholden they are to the Steinbrenner family by being completely unable to criticize the home team when the Yankees objectively act like schmucks?

Last month in spring training, the Yankees were playing the Tampa Bay Rays when Ray infielder Elliott Johnson, trying to score in the ninth inning, hit rookie Yankee catcher Francisco Cervelli hard, breaking Cervelli’s right wrist. His immediate strategy didn’t work, as Cervelli held onto the ball, but it precipitated retaliation, as these things often do. On March 12 outfielder Shelley Duncan (whom Robin and I have nicknamed "Mongo") slid spikes-high into the Rays’ second baseman Akinori Iwamuri, and naturally a benches-clearing brawl ensued. It was all Kay & co. could talk about — from a strictly Yankee-centric standpoint, naturally. Those awful Rays, breaking that young catcher’s wrist! Those brave Yankees, suspended for a paltry couple of games for their rally of revenge! It’s enough to make tonstant viewer fwow up.

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We Become What We Deserve To Be, by Elayne Riggs

  • News
  • April 23, 2008

It’s now been three days since NY Comic Con 2008 ended, but I had to save my con report until now because it usually takes me this long to fully recover and gather my thoughts. The older I get and the more convention time I’ve logged, the more a few patterns begin to present themselves, and this con pretty much ran the gamut for me.

Friday was our longest stint at the con, and is pretty much a blur to me now. I’d had no set plan other than touching base with the ComicMix office and wandering around Artists’ Alley to see friends, but I was determined to give the exhibition hall as thorough a perusal as possible during the "trade only" portion of the con in the morning. But between the non-comics media stuff and the dealers in which I had little interest, it all ran together far sooner than I’d expected, and I quickly found myself in "seen one, seen ’em all" mode, wishing I’d prearranged specific meetups with blog friends and such. Thing of it was, though, I wanted to wing it. I’ve had to insert so much structure into my life what with the job search that I just wasn’t up to organizing anything having to do with fun, leisure activities.

Speaking of organization, I should mention that this was hands-down the best run NYCC yet, even with the reported surge in attendance. The volunteers were helpful without being intrusive, polite to a fault (one even asked if we needed help finding anyone in Artists’ Alley) and extremely professional. What a total pleasure! We saw a queue on Friday to get into the Javits, but nothing like the chaos of previous years. And here I must confess that part of the reason we may have seen only the sunny side was that we’d decided to truncate our time on Saturday and Sunday to about four hours rather than the entire day.

We have to face facts — these days, even in our home town, a full convention day takes a lot out of us, between all the walking and the hour-plus bus rides (which turned into two hours going back, as the crosstown bus from the Javits tended to arrive at Sixth Avenue moments after our express bus departed, leaving us to wait another 30 minutes for the connection). We’re not about to keel over or anything, we make it up and down the two flights between our apartment and the sidewalk just fine, but neither are we cut out any longer for the more frenzied activity we could handle ten years ago. (more…)

The Bronx is Up and My Battery’s Down, by Elayne Riggs

  • News
  • April 16, 2008

As you probably know, except for the LA-based Michael Davis, every ComicMix columnist lives in the NY-NJ-CT metropolitan area. The famous magazine cover at right chides our perspective as somewhat skewed, but in reality I think New York City and its surrounding suburbs offer a pretty good microcosm of modern civilization. Not for nothing are we the melting pot of the world.

The thing is, for a relatively small island, Manhattan is so much bigger than most people can cover, either on foot or in the media. Leaving aside for a moment the vast array of cultures inhabiting the "outer" boroughs (our northeast Bronx neighborhood seems to be a mix of mostly Jews and Irish but it appears to be diversifying at last), there’s just so much within NYC (the way many of us in the boroughs abbreviate New York, New York) itself that you can hardly take it all in. Manhattan never ceases to fascinate me, and I’ve been lucky enough to see a lot of it these past few months while searching for a job.

Job search hours tend to be peculiar, because you’re usually coming into or leaving The City while other people around you are either on holiday or working. So I see the passing parade in a different way than I would if I were cooped up in an office for the better part of eight ours, only coming out to commute with the masses. And I’ve been able to pretend I’m sightseeing at the same time, revisiting old haunts as well as traveling to areas I never had the time or inclination to check out when I actually worked in NYC. (more…)

The Way the Music Died, by Elayne Riggs

  • News
  • April 9, 2008

The older I get, the more there is to keep track of. I realized this some time ago; part of being a grown-up, particularly if you’re on your own, is making hard choices. When I moved out of my parents’ house, I suddenly had to consider expenditures like rent, food, cat litter… and something had to give.

It wasn’t going to be my zine, INSIDE JOKE was my baby and my outlet and my connection to like-minded folk, and I knew that’d take up the majority of my disposable income. (See, in those days you couldn’t self-publish for free like you can do today with blogging and so forth, so those of us who tended to be responsible about our hobbies knew enough to apportion x-amount of dollars that we knew we’d never see again due to printing and postage costs, even if we charged subscribers the requisite buck or two for each issue.) And I couldn’t give up my books, I needed something to do on the subways. I just can’t stare into space, even wearing a Walkman. So music was what went by the wayside. Not kicking and screaming, just sort of fading away.

I’d chosen my hobbies. And reading and writing are activities for which I need silence, which is why to this day it irks me when religious wackos and wandering troubadors come traipsing through the subway car in which I happen to be sitting. (Why do I always get the ones with the bongos? And honestly, religious wackos with bongos are just not going to convert a lot of people, ba dum bum.) Music seemed too important to be treated as background; it demanded my aural attention in the same way reading demands attention from my eyes and imagination. And I just couldn’t spare the awareness any more. (more…)

The Oppression Olympics, by Elayne Riggs

  • News
  • April 2, 2008

As much as I’d like to use this column’s title to segue into a discussion about Beijing and Tibet and Stephen Spielberg and so forth, that’s not my chosen subject matter this time. Although I reserve the right to swipe my own header again once the XXIX Olympiad gets going. No, the title refers to the phenomenon of all kinds of different people believing, and loudly proclaiming, that systemic discrimination against the particular group with which they identify (and sometimes, if they’re "concern trolls," against a group of which they’re not a member but with which they’ve chosen to sympathize to the point of condescension) is "the last acceptable prejudice."

A few weeks ago, Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama wrote and presented his now-famous speech about dealing with questions of race as though citizens were, you know, adults. As hoped for, it started a lot of interesting discussions, as adults who’d been speaking about race and gender and privilege all along were once more thrust into the consciousness of others who hadn’t. One of the more interesting comments I read came from a Native American rights activist who was disappointed that the speech seemed to define the issue of race as, once again, mostly a black and white divide. While I believe Obama did include Asians and Latinos in his speech, I’m pretty sure Native Americans received no mention. However, I’m not prepared to ascribe this omission to deliberate exclusionism; any orator knows there’s a point where your rhetorical cadence gets bogged down by too many "and"s.

And yet, that commenter had a point. When we’re talking about rights and justice for everyone in this country, it’s not a good idea to leave out an entire series of cultures that flourished on this continent before Europeans came along, many of which have managed against all genocidal odds to continue to exist. Nor is it a good idea to belittle those same cultures in bad analogies. Even speeches about racial divides can’t "win" sometimes. It’s a tricky tightrope we all walk, ever since the days when "politically correct" was defined as "well-meaning (usually white) liberals who bend over backwards so much to include everyone that they wind up saying nothing at all." There were jokes about breaking down identity politics into such absurd subcategories one wound up worrying about catering to one-eyed left-handed lesbian Inuit vegans. At some point, most of these subcategories must be assumed to exist for purposes of receiving social justice, without needing to be the recipient of shout-outs at every single turn. (more…)

In My Ears and In My Eyes (Part 2), by Elayne Riggs

  • News
  • March 26, 2008

whirledpeace-8842297So as I was saying last week, by the time I hit college I went full-force into my first round of Beatlemania. I must have frequented my share of Beatlefests (as noted in the comments to last week’s column, there’s one coming up in NJ this weekend), but really only remember going to one because that’s where I got Harry Nilsson’s autograph, on the cover of his album A Little Touch of Schmilsson in the Night (for a reason I no longer remember, I have Jimmy Webb’s autograph on the back). From what I hear, they’re still going on. But the Beatles started influencing pretty much everything else in my life.

I named my fictitious corporation Pen-Elayne (wordplay on "Penny Lane" and "the pen of Elayne") Enterprises, which pun I borrowed again for my weekly comics reviews Pen-Elayne for Your Thoughts and my current blog Pen-Elayne on the Web. Penny Lane really became my theme song; I’d always envisaged something I can only describe as God’s Hidden Camera following my every move, so the line "And though she feels as if she’s in a play, she is anyway" really resonated. Particularly now with Google’s Street View!

Having already gone through two years of Shakespeare in high school, I was primed to expand my Anglophilia, and the Beatles were a perfect outlet for my fascination of all things English. That interest has since culminated in marriage to an actual Englishman who, although four years my junior, is probably more knowledgeable about Beatles trivia than I’ll ever be, has hundreds of bootleg songs, keeps up on all the news items of what’s happening with their music, and generally makes my head spin. Oh, and even though Robin is a southern country boy, we like to goof around with pretty bad imitations of Liverpool accents (okay, his is better than mine, as you’d expect). Through Rob I also met artist Alan Davis and my lettering goddess Pat Prentice, who both share a birthday with Sir Paul. I seem to remember Alan introducing me to Pat by joking that she "sounds like Ringo," since she’s also from Mersey-way. (She doesn’t, although I find a female Liverpool accent as cute as a male one.)

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In My Ears and In My Eyes (Part 1), by Elayne Riggs

  • News
  • March 19, 2008

Last week we were casting about, as usual, for something interesting to watch in the 100-200 channel range of our cable system. The local PBS stations were hip-deep in pledge drives, which meant 20-minute breaks between segments of shows that would otherwise have been enjoyable but which we’d mostly seen anyway by this point. (Did anyone else think it just a tad disconcerting that WLIW, the Long Island-based PBS station, could afford to send its two high muckety-mucks out to broadcast from Innsbruck during the pledge breaks for Visions of Austria, but made sure to keep reminding us that Viewers Like You made all that possible? Oh great, I should give to their station to sponsor their executives’ vacations?)

The few writers’ strike-delayed shows that we usually watch on the networks haven’t begun running new episodes, and in their place were the same tired crop of cringeworthy reality shows. Keith Olbermann and MSNBC are turning into FOX-lite (but that’s another column). And how many times can I watch the Ghana episode of Tony Bourdain’s No Reservations? (Not including subconscious reruns during REM sleep, approximately ten, but not consecutively; give me a break, Travel Channel!)

So it was that we found our way up the dial to a delightful programme all about amber hosted by "Dickie-Love’s" brother David Attenborough — and now little impressionable ol’ me suddenly wants some new amber earrings — which we then followed up with a Biography Channel episode on The Beatles’ Wives, which itself preceded two recent Paul McCartney concerts, one from 2005 and the other from 2007, on that same channel, both horribly chopped from the originals. And suddenly there I was, fascinated all over again. (more…)

Confessions of an Armchair Feminist, by Elayne Riggs

  • News
  • March 12, 2008

elayne-riggs-100-8233602Last Saturday was International Women’s Day, the first IWD where women in the United States were facing the very strong possibility that an Estrogen-American would become their next President — and the equally strong reality that lots of people (mostly men, but a surprising number of women as well) are committed to seeing that she never breaks that ultimate glass ceiling. Not because they (like me) don’t necessarily consider her the best person for the job; it’s not like the Presidency has been a meritocracy for a long time. But because many harbor a deep and irrational resentment of the very idea of a woman in power, particularly wielding the type of nigh-imperial power that the current administration and its cronies in the other two branches of government have ceded to the executive branch.

This resentment, nay, this seething hatred, has manifested itself in some scary ways that us second-wave feminists could have sworn went out with disco. One prominent pundit speculated that Senator Clinton was "pimping out" her daughter for working on her campaign, like pretty much every adult child of a candidate from Mary Cheney to the Romney boys has done. That same daughter was once the butt of a particularly nasty joke from the current Republican Presidential candidate, who made the sexist jape a two-fer by including a reference to the "manliness" of Janet Reno. These days it’s former Secretary of State Madeleine Albright who receives remarks about how cadaverish she appears (funny, she looked fine to me when I saw her on The Daily Show last month).

Of course, the progressives who once espoused Stokeley Carmichael’s adage that "the only position for women in [the movement] is prone" aren’t immune from sexist remarks either. Folks who should know better choose to attack right-wing lunatics like Ann Coulter and Michelle Malkin not on their lunacy but on their looks. Even for some on "our side," biology would appear to be destiny.

And while a part of me seethes at all this with the same rage I felt in high school and college every time I heard "women can’t" do one thing or the other, with no further explanation needed but that we were women — I also confess that a part of me just doesn’t care any more. After fifty years of this stuff, I’m more than suffering from outrage burnout.

 

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The Lost Art of Longhand, by Elayne Riggs

  • News
  • March 5, 2008

elayne-riggs-100-30724648:30 AM, Bx7 bus southbound to subway: It’s favored by Luddites and techies alike. Early adopter Neil Gaiman, for instance, writes all his first drafts this way, using various fancy pens. (Me, I use my Uniball blue roller ’cause it’s what I carry in my pocketbook.) It’s physically draining, at least if you’re not used to it. It requires both concentration to keep your hand steady, and a heightened awareness of your surroundings, particularly on moving vehicles. It certainly isn’t for everyone; I’d rarely recommend it for myself. But a pad of paper is a lot lighter and more flexible than my laptop, and not having the distractions of checking email and blogs and playing online games forces me to focus on the here-and-now of completing this week’s column. Besides, I need the practice in transcribing relatively illegible handwriting.

My Dad had beautiful longhand. Which amazed me, because he was naturally left-handed which was a no-no in hyper-superstitious Romania in the ’30s. His schoolteachers beat that left-handedness out of him — not entirely, I think he still shaved and did a few other things lefty, but he became right-handed for purposes of writing. I inherited his "sinister" gene, but by 1960s secular America children were allowed to retain such peculiar proclivities.

8:55 AM, "1" train southbound into Manhattan: Unfortunately, I never inherited Dad’s longhand flair. I can add a few flourishes here and there, but only if I slow down and write very carefully and deliberately, and that starts my hand aching again. I figure I’m okay as long as I’m just legible enough to make out a check (I’m mired enough in the 20th century to still use checks on occasion). Damn, I have to put this away now, someone just sat down next to me and I can no longer comfortably use my right arm to prop this up… (more…)

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