Super good

There’s a whole subculture of scholarship looking into comics and religion, very broadly, by nearly any imaginable definition of both “comics” and “religion” and how they might interact. Who knew?

Elementary

As I heft the pile of issues and drift into a reverie, to see how Elementals fits in my mind, it emerges as a brilliant disaster. But I want to apply some historical perspective on why I might see it that way, maybe to consider it differently.

Everyday religion

First things first: never mind “belief.” I’m talking about upbringing, expectations, habits, and unconsidered identity, and about the real-world, utterly political history of institutions and communities.

Four-color Christ Jesus

Happy birthday to me! I grant you this is an odd topic for my birthday post, as I have zero affinity or resonance with evangelical Christianity. Its impact is definite at second-hand, though, as I think about the number of friends and family who became Jesus People (the early term) and (as soon called) Saved or Born Again during my pre-teens and teens,

Now you’re a myyayun

I almost titled this post “Happy Tart?” but good sense prevailed. Not enough to keep me from mentioning the impulse, though.

Superstar

September is Cosmic Zap month here at Doctor Xaos Comics Madness. Today I’m talking about the heroes of the Zap, and their common concept: hippie Jesus.

Some love for the Naja-Naja

“WIth a bit of a mind-flip …”

I wasn’t a DC reader. The few issues included in the mother-lode I’d inherited from my brothers were obviously sub-par, and my pennies were scarce enough already. But still, I encountered Kobra in his initial appearance, the first three issues of his title comic in 1976. You might not remember or know about these three-comics in clear plastic packs that were sold at the time, either a random set of latest issues or three in a sequence like this one, but it was one of those. I think I got it as a party favor.

The beginning

Home neighborhood: Del Monte Park, in the middle of the peninsula, at the north bend in Highway 68, in the top ridges of the next-to-highest mountain range. Not as idyllic as advertised, if you’re not rich.

2010: this genetic monster is 52 in this photo

My next-oldest brother’s name is Danny. He’s an athletic bad-ass; you can see him do crazy-athlons online, and if you’re into MMA, he devised the only sensible scoring system known. But back in 1970, he was a buck-toothed 12-year-old whose big brother called him “Toothpick,” with a hyper-imaginative six-year-old brother reading at his grade level, and one thing he could do to make me less obnoxious was to read comics with me. Later, when he got all jock-ish and grew up and stuff, he left the pile to me.