My Nerdoir

A nerdy, New Wave kid in East Texas during the 1980s.

Tag: marvelcomics

Episode 9: Arena, part 1 – The Gym Class Horror

by Jeff

“Phaser banks, lock on to the enemy vessel. Stand by for firing orders. All hands, this is the Captain. We are going into battle. All hands, battle stations. Red alert. I repeat, red alert. This is no drill. This is no drill.”

Captain Kirk in the Star Trek original series episode “Arena.”

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“Bob and weave! Bob and weave! Jab! Jab!”
I hold my fists high to protect my face as I’ve seen boxers do on TV, but the gloves are too cumbersome and heavy for me. The gym is filled with the high-pitched squeaks of kids in sneakers running across the wooden floor, punctuated with occasional bursts of laughter echoing through the bleachers. I awkwardly shuffle from side to side as I hear Coach Hurry barking out orders. I’m wearing some sort of protective leather headgear that looks like it came straight out of a Little Rascals short from the 1930s as I stagger around the tumbling mats laid on the gym floor. Across from me is the blurry face of my best friend, David Gregg, peering out of another set of goofy head protection. David is also dressed in the standard P.E. uniform of an oversized Southmore Jr. High t-shirt tucked into the elastic waistband of stiff, grey running shorts, along with white, knee-high athletic socks striped at the top, and sneakers, which in Texas we called “tenny shoes.” I’m certain that we look cartoonishly ridiculous, feeling exposed and vulnerable without our glasses as we stumble around the mats hoping that the coach will soon loose interest. Instead he just keeps barking out orders, “Shuffle! Take a swing! Keep your gloves up! C’mon, FIGHT!”

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Captain Kirk prepares to fight.

P.E. is the nerd’s version of hell. Read the rest of this entry »

Episode 4: Amok Time – Triggering my Trekkie Sleeper Cell

by Jeff

“After a time, you may find that having is not so pleasing a thing after all as wanting. It is not logical, but it is often true.”
– Spock in Amok Time.

In June of 2001, I lived in a loft space in the Bushwick neighborhood of Brooklyn. Bushwick hadn’t yet become the art and fashion hub that it is today. I often saw junkies slouched inside cars as they tied up their arms for the next fix. When walking to the subway, I’d stay alert to avoid being cornered by the pack of wild dogs that roamed the neighborhood, as well as the groups of bored boys looking for an easy victim to corner. Each week a car would be abandoned on the street and set on fire, the flames just further exposing the cold, hardness of the industrial brick buildings. The bland gentrification that Mayor Giuliani force fed the city during the 1990s wouldn’t reach Bushwick for another decade.

This was an important moment, since everything I’d worked towards during the previous decade had recently aligned. I was represented by a respectable gallery in New York that had held my first solo exhibition, and it was well received and reviewed. Despite this success, I was buried in a debilitating depression unlike anything I’d experienced before. Instead of basking in my newfound freedom by enthusiastically working in my studio, I was avoiding life by sleeping as long as possible, which ideally was 2:00 in the afternoon, when a local channel showed two episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation. I’d eat a cheap sandwich while watching the shows, staving off my loneliness with the familiar comfort of the characters standing in as a rough approximation of family and friends. For the first time in my life I had no responsibilities aside from my time in the studio, but my freedom paradoxically left me feeling more depressed and trapped than I’d ever been while growing up in Texas.

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Episode 3: The Space Seed – Uncharted Paths Away From Home

by Jeff

“It is better to rule in Hell than to serve in Heaven.”
Captain Kirk quoting Milton’s Paradise Lost.

The opening phrase: “Space, the final frontier,” introduced me to the mission of the starship Enterprise, to explore strange new worlds, seek out new life and new civilizations, and boldly go where no one has gone before. This phrase, known as “The Captain’s Oath,” introduced the show by summarizing just what would occur during the following hour. It was a bold adventure I obsessed over during my youth, and by the time I graduated from high school, I’d decided that my life should also be an adventure.

Me on the Bridge in the Captain's Chair

Me on the Bridge in the Captain’s Chair

In the Houston area in the 1970s, NASA was everywhere. When I was born, my mom worked as a secretary at NASA during the height of the Apollo missions. My earliest memory of watching television is seeing the Apollo 11 moon landing with my parents when I was only about 2. The details are faint, just like the grainy images relayed from space. As I grew older, I had friends whose parents worked at NASA in specialized jobs as engineers, or astronaut training. In school, astronauts would occasionally visit as special guests, bringing beautifully detailed models of rockets to explain the fundamentals of a moon landing. From my young perspective, it was a perfect era of hope, when the world seemed to be coming together, and space exploration was a part of my daily life. This was also a time when my parents, attempting to surround me with their idea of suburban utopia, protected me from news about the war in Vietnam, the Civil Rights Movement, or anything they deemed too upsetting. Like most sheltered kids, I only experienced a small, idealized selection of a much larger, more nuanced picture, but thankfully, outer space exploration always played a key role.

After school every day, I’d watch two back-to-back episodes of Star Trek, which transported me to exotic worlds far removed from Pasadena Texas. Later I realized how much those shows informed my morals, philosophy, and sexuality, as well as provided a framework to understand the importance of teamwork and leadership. At this time I still didn’t know there was anything Trek aside from the original TV series and the fascinating but clumsy animated series, though I was familiar with a few related toys. For my 8th birthday, my aunt Carolyn gave me a paperback set of the Alan Dean Foster stories from the animated series, and the first model kit I ever built was the phaser, communicator, and tricorder combination package known as the “Exploration Set.”$_57 (1)

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Episode 2: The Changeling – Y’all Hallows’ Eve

by Jeff

I have photos from childhood Halloweens of my sister Michaelle and I wearing standard store-bought costumes that I have no memory of. There is one of me dressed as a race car driver, which must have been bought by my parents since I never cared about race car drivers, unless they were the doe-eyed, anime type like Speed Racer or his moody brother Racer X.

Thankfully, I did experience a few Halloweens that provided me with unforgettable memories: roaming door-to-door through the dark neighborhood with my family while scores of kids dressed as all sorts of shadowy creatures or bright cartoon characters paraded past under the streetlights. My memories of those muggy Texas nights trigger an indelible feeling within me. There was something unique about wearing those thin plastic masks as a part of the community of kids cutting across a well-manicured lawn, crossing the threshold onto the porch of a stranger, knocking on an unfamiliar door, and summoning up a strange voice to ask for a trick or a treat. Although I don’t remember the details of the sweaty, vinyl costumes, I remember the experiences, and thankfully I was always fortunate enough to receive treats, not tricks. Other kids in my town didn’t fare so well.

Halloween 1974 in East Texas became memorable for unfortunate reasons. I was seven years old, and my mom had taken me to Ray’s Dime Store, where in a moment of independence I selected a costume on my own. This wasn’t a premade costume in a box, but rather a variety of creepy parts and garish makeup that I planned to combine into something unknown: an unusual and grotesque monster-man. I was thrilled to finally choose my own costume, something that made sense to me only, that wasn’t simply a plastic mask and ill-fitting vinyl romper.

Batman costume sold by Ben Cooper Costumes.

Batman costume sold by Ben Cooper Costumes.

As the sun settled down that Halloween, a rainstorm swept through our town, keeping me indoors even though I begged my parents to let me out. The rain continued at a steady pace through the night, spoiling my plans for my first unique, costumed experience. The next day we heard the horrifying story of Timothy O’Bryan, a local 8-year-old who’d gone trick-or-treating with his family and friends in the rain. He died on Halloween night from eating Pixy Stix candy laced with cyanide. As the search for the killer made it to the national media, Timothy’s father, an optician named Ronald Clark O’Bryan was eventually convicted of the crime. He had poisoned his own son in an attempt to collect on Timothy’s life insurance policy. Soon afterwards, Ronald O’Bryan was nicknamed The Candy Man (incidentally, not the first child killer in Pasadena with that nickname) and sentenced to death. Aside from a few rigidly moderated church events, Halloween ceased to exist in Pasadena, Texas after the nightmare of 1974.

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Episode 1: One Way Ticket to Midnight – Discovering Taarna

by Jeff

“He had a strange feeling as the slow gurgling stream slipped by: his old life lay behind in the mists, dark adventure lay in front.”J.R.R. Tolkien – The Lord of the Rings

In 1978, when I started junior high at Southmore Intermediate School in Pasadena, Texas, I never dreamed that over thirty years later my lifelong appreciation for comic books, science fiction, fantasy, and my fellow fans would become a guide to my own adventures. IMG_134023595302473 In 6th grade most teachers seated the students alphabetically, so I quickly noticed a funny kid chatting behind me in every class. I was a skinny, pale kid with glasses, but David Gregg was a taller, impossibly skinny kid with glasses. I’m not sure how we first talked Marvel comics, Star Trek, or Tolkien, but we both had voracious appetites for anything nerdy. David also owned a copy of the Star Trek Concordance by legendary Trekkie, Bio Trimble, with its beautiful die-cut cover, and he had a memory unlike anyone else; an ideal trait for any nerd. He could see a still image from any Trek episode and name the source; with credentials like that, it wasn’t a surprise that we became great friends.

star-trek-concordance-by-bjo-trimbleOver the years I came to regard him as a brother. We would regularly talk on the phone after school, discussing the nuances of things like the new issue of the Fantastic Four, or trying our best at creating our own stories, but always laughing at how silly they seemed in comparison to the books we loved. Like many people involved in fandom, those early teen years were the most formative for my developing interests. It was only a matter of time before I attended my first comic book convention, which was at a convention center near the Astrodome. dome_postcardI don’t remember how David or I heard about the convention, but my mom dropped us off for the day, and later his mom picked us up. This was such a memorable event that I can still recall the dim fluorescent lighting, the musty basement smell, and the chilling air conditioning—a Houston staple. In one room they were showing Star Trek episodes and blooper reels, oddball cartoons, and old science fiction films. The dealer’s room felt like a large basement at a friend’s house, filled with rows of artifacts from alien worlds just waiting to be explored. That hunger for exploration and discovery filled my youth and still drives me. I’m a “digger,” such as in crates for music and books, piles for clothes, and libraries for information.

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