Comic Geeks Speak as I Ramble.

Have you ever cooked something really delicious, and then eaten it alone at a small table? No matter what your mouth tells you, such an experience pales in comparison to a dinner party with your nearest and dearest. Food is to be shared and enjoyed. A blissful scoop of icecream tastes better when you can look into the eyes of a friend and see your happiness reflected back.

Digesting art and entertainment is the same. One of my favourite parts of the cinema experience is the boistorous, rushed conversation to be had in those ten minutes between leaving the theatre and everyone heading off to their respective homes. Loving something is rewarding, but sharing that love magnifies that reward. I don't know why, but simply saying "it was awesome when that thing happened" fills me with happy.

Why do I labour under the above to paragraphs as they threaten to topple under the weight of their own melodrama?

It's about comics.

Anticlimactic? Maybe. Personally important? Indeed.

I've loved comics as long as I can remember. I have scattered memories of my older brother giving us a stack of old Wolverine titles. I know my twin brother and I wrangled new books from my dad each and every week. I don't recall exactly how I started reading them, but I think it had something to do with some scallywags in Riverdale.

Geek tangent: My older brother would grow to regret giving over his old Wolverine titles to us. To him they were rare acquisitions and early black-and-white printings. To our young minds? Not so much. I remember the sound he made when he visited us soon after and found the covers ripped apart and turned into posters. Like a wet branch cracking under the weight of a heart full of snow.

I voraciously read Spiderman and X-Men, 2099 and What-If. My friends did too. My brother cared for and retained his books. I ripped mine to shreds in a re-reading frenzy. A small group of us would talk about all the things we were reading about. More often, we would dream up our own scenarios with the building blocks provided, like all the ways Wolverine could be killed.

Geek Tangent: We decided there was exactly one way to kill Wolverine - exploding bullet to the eye.

Like all the best bits of being a kid, comics were a shared experience. I was too young to notice anything happening below the surface, and growing up in the 90s there wasn't a lot to be had anyway. Maximum Carnage was easily the coolest thing I had ever read at the time, but alas, it did not withstand the test of time.

As I grew up I drifted from comics for a number of reasons. A main one was living in a desert and realising that it was impossible to reliably collect any one title. A few years ago it hadn't mattered, but now I couldn't read a cohesive story and that hurt. My friends and I grew away from comics and things like music and movies took their place at the watercooler.

Years later, when I found a way to get comics again, I did, and set about reading everything that had ever been written by anyone even if it was with their fingernail in a cave one time. I was swimming through amazing stuff. I revisited old friends and met new ones. Much like I re-watched The Golden Girls as a teenager and was struck by the thought: "Gee, this is filthy", I was now able to see themes, recognise artists and identify with writers.

But it was a hollow pursuit. I knew no-one who shared my passion. Walk into a house party and say "Watchmen changed my life" and only the crickets will respond.

Geek Tangent: there is a gigantic exception here. Leen and my shared love of Sandman. Long nights with new trades, rapid-fire discussion and cigarette smoke. She also has the uncanny knack to pick up seemingly random books and deliver brilliance upon our household. She rules.

But as the internet continued to open like a flower seen through David Attenborough;s favourite camera, I discovered podcasts. The idea was immediately appealing. Radio anywhere! Any time! Glorious sound! Power to people!

And I found Comic Geek Speak. Again, I can't remember the circumstances but I stumbled across a few shows and downloaded a few episodes. I played them in the background of my life.
For some reason CGS took up residence in my brain and would not leave. In essence the show is a group of comic fans sitting in a room and talking about comics. I didn't know why but I kept listening.

After a while I figured out that this was what I was missing. It sounds faintly depressing but, despite the obvious listener/broadcaster divide, this was a way for me to talk comics with my friends again. In a place with no comic shops and no fellow readers, that was important.
The reason the show works so well is that, while there's a microphone in the room, it doesn't feel like an integral part of the process. You feel like these guys would be having a discussion about their top ten trades anyway. There's also the natural dynamic that only arises on its own. There's the guy I always agree with. The guy I never agree with and want to shout at. there's the guy who takes all the put-downs. It's real.

I'm thankful for it, and it's a real symbol of the power of the internet. My desire - for a means to discuss comics with a group of like-minded fans, or simulate such a thing - is obscure. But it is possible through podcasting. Through these podcasters.

It's also done wonders for my reading. Some of the more verbose members of the group are DC fans. As a Marvel child, I had long been indoctrinated against DC, but now I realise the truth - the divide is between good comics and bad comics, not publishers. Through recommendations and general discussion I found and read Blankets (which made me cry), Crisis on Infinite Earths (which made me confused) and Crying Freeman (which made me back slowly out of the room before whispering "awesome").





This ... did not begin as the longest essay ever.