Author: Dennis O'Neil

Dennis O’Neil: Are Comic Books… Invulnerable?

Call comics “the little issues that could?” Or maybe the “phoenix of mediatown?”

At least twice in my long – ye gods! – long association with the form, I thought they were going down. Not all the way down: I thought, sure, comics will survive, the way poetry and harpsichord music has survived, as entertainment for aficionados, the loyal few who are willing to make a sacrifice or two to keep something they love alive. But as something vaguely resembling a mass medium? Huh uh.

Comics’ first decline began in the late40s-early 50s, after a lot of self-righteous souls and maybe a few who were just plain ambitious condemned the funnybooks as either amusement for the mentally challenged or the devil’s pulp, luring the nation’s youth into wicked thoughts and, Lordy, Lordy, who knew what kind of naughty behavior? Dozens of publishers bit the big one and those that survived barely survived.

Then… something happened. I’m not sure exactly what. Part of it was that the country became aware and accepting of popular culture and, in the Kennedy era, maybe a little less anal, and part of it was that our two giants, Julius Schwartz and Stan Lee, reinvented superheroes and those characters were pretty much identified with the medium that begot them.

In the mid-seventies, when general interest magazines were virtually extinct – wha’d I do with my latest issue of Collier’s, anyway? – and it was becoming harder and harder for a kid to get his monthly Batman (Spider-Man, Herbie the Fat Fury, et. al.) because the small stores and newsstands where a kid could find his favorites were also becoming extinct, that crazy New Jerseyite Phil Seuling and a few like-minded visionaries created the direct market and suddenly comics had what Colliers and the other slicks and the pulp fiction magazines didn’t have: a place to sell the stuff. The direct market was a direct descendant of fan activities – the clubs, the conventions – and so, takes a bow, fans. You did your bit.

About a decade later, comics’ suffered an artificial boom when innocents with disposable income were led to believe that comics were investment: buy a hundred copies of Spawn #1 and put yourself through college! Well, no. It took the world about four years to realize that while Action Comics #1 could fetch over a hundred K at auction, it was mostly because there weren’t many copies left on the planet. It wasn’t hard to find a copy or two of the first Spawn. The boom was bust and some publishers vanished and the survivors suffered, having swollen to a size that accommodated the boom’s demand and was too big and too costly for the bust.

When I walked out of an editor’s office for the last time, a dozen years ago, I wondered if I wasn’t feeling the deck list beneath my feet. But, no. The news is that comics are again on an upswing, moving into the digital age, learning from past mistakes, benefitting from enormously popular film adaptations.

Okay, sooner or later comics publishing will end. But so will you and so will I.

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases, Bookie

 

Dennis O’Neil: Selling The Flag

Captain America, Abbie Hoffman and the sexy statue in the women’s department? What the heck do they have in common?

Hey, everyone, it’s Memorial Day here in the beautiful lower Hudson Valley and if we venture out into the sunshiny pre-summer day, we’ll be seeing some flags. Flags flapping from flagstaffs, flags draped on the front of houses, flags on cars and maybe shop windows and if we drive west, toward New City, we’ll see flags – a lot of flags – displayed along the road that passes over the reservoir because somebody – I have no idea who – hangs them from roadside poles there.

Maybe I’ll even throw them a salute or two, those flags, for old times sake. (At one point, my life was full of salutes. Not so much anymore.)

The other day, en route to a department store escalator, I passed a curvy mannequin clad in a bikini that seemed to be fashioned from, yes, a flag. I didn’t salute – hell, I didn’t even leer – but it’s just possible that I thought of Abbie Hoffman and Captain America.

Abbie, most of you may not know (because his moment happened before most of you were born) led protests of the Viet Nam war. (He was smart, charismatic and energetic and articulate and, come to think of it, a friend of ComicMix’s own Mike Gold.) In 1968, in Washington, Abbie was arrested for wearing a shirt that looked like a flag. This is not as draconian as it might seem (though it’s still plenty draconian): in those days, most states had anti-flag desecration laws. So, technically, Abbie was breaking the law.

His conviction was appealed, and overturned. Sometimes the universe is just.

I wonder: would the law have pounced on, say, a lady wearing a stars-and-stripes bathing suit? The flag code, which is promoted by patriotic organizations, specifies “no part of the flag should ever be used as a costume or athletic uniform.” Surely, a swimming suit, however minimal, qualifies as an “athletic uniform.”

And what if our swimmer lies down for a snooze on the beach? Again, the code: “The flag should never touch anything beneath it, such as the ground, the floor, water, or merchandise.” Wouldn’t sand be as insulting as water? (And what kind of “merchandise” are we talking about, anyway?)

If our hypothetical bathing beauty is in trouble, Captain America had really better watch his p’s and q’s. Remember: “No part of the flag should ever be used as a costume…” And doesn’t Cap roll around in the dirt dodging bullets and the like?

I guess, at the end of the day, it all depends on who’s wearing the symbol, and why, and on who presumes to sit in judgment. That’s what the flag is, a symbol. Or a rectangle of colored cloth. But I won’t be entirely facetious if I salute it, later today, though what I’ll be saluting is probably different from what a tea partier salutes, or what is honored by the old men who send young men to war.

That’s a problem with symbols. They’re slippery.

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases

 

Dennis O’Neil: What It Takes To Get Hired

The faithful among you may recall that last week we did a backflip through time to the sixties and beheld a young journalist taking a test and being offered a comic book job that changed virtually everything about his life forever. But this same journalist, now wizened and hard of hearing and just a bit crotchety around the edges, said that no comics aptitude test exists. Eh?

That was then and this is now. To the best of my knowledge, I am the only Marvel Comics employee, past or present, to take the test. I got to know both my predecessor and my successor in the job, and neither mentioned pre-employment testing.

But people do get hired by comics companies. So – how? Darned if I know. When I sat behind an editor’s desk, I did my share of job-giving, both to hopefuls applying for staff gigs and to freelancers, and usually my choices were pretty good-to-excellent. If I had a secret, I don’t know what it was. Something to do with hunches and intuition, maybe.

But there were things I liked to see in applicants. First: simple literacy. Does this person know that the big letter goes at the beginning of the sentence and the little dot goes at the end? (Don’t laugh. Instead, ask any middle school-and-up teacher you know if all his/her pupils have this competence.) Has s/he read a book or two? Did s/he enjoy reading the book or two? Second: interest in writing (and/or editing) per se? Not just writing comics – storytelling! Until I’m proven wrong, which could happen any second now, I’ll believe that most good comics writers are writers who have a liking or aptitude (or, ideally, both) for this particular medium and if comics didn’t exist, the person would be doing poems or plays or short fiction or novels or whatever.

We’ll take a paragraph break here, mostly because I feel like doing it, and move on to third: willingness to learn. Nobody knows it all, and that includes you and me, and nobody will ever know it all, but you can know more than you do now and if you want to get good at this job, or any job, you should. (Besides, its fun to know stuff. But don’t tell the no-child-left-behind crowd.)

And finally, fourth: Does the job applicant seem to be a reasonably adult human being?  Willing and able to deliver on promises? Willing to accept compromise? Able to play well with others? Respecting but not worshipping the rules, whatever they may be? Having a closetful of Brooks Brothers suits and Hermes ties?

Just joshing about that last one.

I’m tempted to add a fifth: loyalty. But that’s something you learn about someone over time and so it’s hard to detect during a job interview and anyway, my veneration of it is probably rooted in my own insecurities.

Recommended reading: Crazy Wisdom Saves the World Again! by Wes Nisker

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases, Neil Gaiman, and Failure

 


Dennis O’Neil: Comic Book Career Day

I leaned across the desk and shook his hand.

“Congratulations, young man,” I said. “You scored in the ninety seventh percentile on the comic book writing aptitude exam and so you’re my new Batman writer. I’ll need twenty-two pages by the end of the week.”

He smiled and left my office. A moment later, I glanced through the open door and saw him waiting for the elevator, straightening his tie. From forty feet away I could admire the gleam on his shoes.

Okay, it didn’t happen that way, or any way like that. It couldn’t, because there is no aptitude exam for aspiring comics writers. There is, as a matter of woeful fact, no defined career path, and if there were one, it would probably be changing about now.

But the god of full disclosure, if such there be, compels me to admit that, matter of fact, once there was a test for comics writing wannabes and I took it and I passed and that explains my life from about age 25 on. Roy Thomas, who had recently joined Stan Lee at Marvel Comics, sent the test to me at the office of the small newspaper where I was working and pissing people off. It consisted of four pages drawn by, I’m pretty sure, Jack Kirby, a piece of a comic book that was lacking words. The task was to add word balloons and maybe captions. Well, wouldn’t you have done it? Simple, easy, kind of fun. I typed something or other and sent it to Roy and late one evening a week or so later, he called offering me a job. I got into my battered station wagon and started trekking east…

I can’t say that I began a career in comics because I don’t consider what I’ve done a “career.” That term – career – implies planning and goals and maybe a timetable.  None of that for me, thank you. It was catch-as-catch-can, a series of jobs, meeting the right people at the right time, screwing up, being given second chances, getting fired, getting hired, finally settling into a position that was everything a butcher’s kid from north St. Louis could ask for and retiring still young enough to get angry at politicians.

So I am not the guy you come to for advice on how to become the next Neil Gaiman or Frank Miller or pick your personal favorite comic book success story. I didn’t do what those guys did and maybe I couldn’t do what those guys did. But will that stop me from pontificating on the subject? Who you talking to?

Ergo: next week I’ll share with you the paltry few strategies I employed when my various editorial gigs required me to hire staff members or freelance creative types.

The thrills just keep coming…

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases is Whedon Out Women

 

Dennis O’Neil: So, Who Didn’t Like The Avengers?

Yeah, yeah. I know it’s early in the summer movie season – I do have a calendar, after all – and two of the three big superhero flicks won’t be on screens for weeks yet. But for now, let us proclaim; Joss Whedon is king of the superheroes!

A couple of days ago, Mari suggested we go to the movies and I said no, I had work to do, and then, about ten minutes later I said yes, let’s go to the movies, and we did.

Marvel’s The Avengers, of course.

I don’t attend the 21-plex to criticize – to pry faults out of what’s intended to entertain me and maybe convince myself that I’m really a smart guy. I used to do that for money – the fault-prying part – and though it was okay for me then, it wouldn’t be okay now. I don’t want to criticize, I want to get out from under it. Not to have to think for a little while.

And yet… I don’t want my intelligence insulted, either. When that happens, the magic is gone and there I am, right back under it. So, for example, I loved the Indiana Jones flicks because they delivered the escapism I sought and didn’t expect me to forgive plot glitches, which tend to get in the way of enjoying the escapism. Anything that pulls me out of the story, that makes me question did he director and writer intend what I just saw or is it a mistake? – anything that does that sabotages the experience.

The Avengers verdict: not guilty.

Mr. Whedon understands the appeal of the early Marvel comics, the ones he read as a kid, and what made them work: the broad, extravagant action, the rough edges on the heroes, the occasional flashes of humor, the juxtaposition of larger-than-life characters with realistic settings. (That sure looks like the real New York City the villains are trashing.) He’s translated these from the language of comic books to the language of movies, filled in some blanks, provided some motivations, hired good actors who didn’t condescend to the material any more than he did, gave them decent dialogue and then put the special effects wizards to work and…

Presto! Behold what I think is the best Marvel movie yet (though the first Iron Man might also be worthy of that title).

Did I mention that Joss Whedon, of teevee’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the Dollhouse and Firefly wrote and directed The Avengers? No, I didn’t – my bad – but you figured that out, if you didn’t already know it before you started reading this. Well, that same Joss Whedon had this to say to a Time magazine journalist: “I love fantasy…I love it because of the scope and the chance to talk about humanity that is very close to the heart but not wearing the same skin.”

Go buy yourself a movie ticket and see what he’s talking about.

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases On Alien Sex

 

Dennis O’Neil: The Avengers Internationale

I blame our tyrant-in-chief, that miserable cur of a backstabbing foreigner who lives in the White House. Yes, who else? Barack Hussein Obama. Stands to reason – it has to be his fault. There is no other reasonable explanation – hell, no possible explanation.

Last weekend, the Avengers movie opened in 39 overseas markets, made a whopping $178.4 million. What opened here? The Five Year Engagement. Oh sure, all us guys want to see that! We won’t get our Avengers fix until tomorrow. I have to wait almost a week before, movie money clutched in my sweaty grip, I ask the nice lady or gentleman at the monsterplex for a ticket, creep into the semi-dark theater, sink into a seat and prepare for moviegoing bliss. (My cell phone will be turned off. I don’t even have a laptop or a tablet. I’m a good audience member!)

What I’ll be seeing, in the following two-hour ecstasy fest, is the latest manifestation of the genius of Stan Lee. Years ago, before you were born, Mr. Lee revolutionized comic book publishing by… well, maybe by several things, but one of them was doing something there wasn’t even a name for back then (at least none that I ever heard): branding. Using what I think was a combination of intuition, native smarts, and years of sitting behind an editorial desk, Stan didn’t give us just comic books, he gave us Marvel Comics. So you didn’t go to he newsstand (this was before comic book shops existed) and buy an issue, say, The Amazing Spider-Man, you bought a Marvel comic that was about your friendly neighborhood web-slinger. And you were encouraged to get – to collect! – other Marvels, like Fantastic Four and The Incredible Hulk. These heroes seemed know each other and sometimes one of them would appear in another’s comic and so Stan wasn’t presenting mere stories, he was presenting stories that were park of a (more-or-less) coherent universe that you could (kind of) get to now and it was a lot more fun than the universe outside your window and you couldn’t wait until you could get the next issue

Stan’s pals at the movie studios are following his example and putting on our screens, not superhero movies, but Marvel superhero movies. They’ve been building the brand by such ploys as adding teasers to the end credits, brief scenes that referred to forthcoming films, thereby helping to create the theater version of the Marvel universe and, incidentally, creating anticipation for the next set of astonishments, much as the young Stan Lee did with coming issue blurbs and text pages.

Does the still-spry Stan approve? Hey, true believer, he does make those cameo appearances in the movies, doesn’t he?

At this point, if you have a wandering, non-linear mind, you might be wondering why Comrade Obama played us dirty and allowed the Avengers flick to debut in far places. Isn’t it obvious? We all know that Barack Hussein Obama wasn’t born in the land of the free. (Surely you heard that.) He isn’t a real American. So of course he favors the foreigners.

Stands to reason, doesn’t it?

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases Takes Us To Cleveland

 

Dennis O’Neil Is NOT Tony Stark!

I’m not as good-looking as Tony Stark – not even close. And I’m not a billionaire – not even closer. And as for technology…well, let’s just say that I’m not exactly an early adopter – more like an after-the-sun-cools adopter.

About two feet from where I sit, there languishes an iPod Touch that Mari got at no cost when we bought this computer because she’s a teacher. I don’t know how to make it work. Neither does she.

Her Kindle sat on a table for a month before the lovely and accommodating Perri Pivovar did some wizardry and now Mari’s reading the second volume of the Hunger Games trilogy off the Kindle screen (and enjoying it, you very much.) But without Perri’s kindness? Maybe Mari could have used the Kindle as a bookmark.

I’m reluctant to buy electronica because I fear the frustration I feel when the things don’t perform.

So when the editorial fates landed me the job of writing the monthly Iron Man comics a couple-three decades ago, I wondered what there was in the Tony Stark/Iron Man character for me to identify with. The first Iron Man I ever did was a single issue fill-in and I had Tony able to solve a problem only by shedding the armor that enabled him to claim superhero status (and feel free to read into that anything you like.) But when I agreed to do 12 Iron Mans a year, I knew that Tony’s metallic striptease was a one-time-only trope, best not repeated anytime soon, if ever.

So I had a hero whose very existence was based on gadgetry and I was cursed by Crankus, the evil god of technology, and how was I to bridge the gap between high tech fiction and the Luddite real life me?

Ah. A realization. I drive cars, don’t I? And Tony “drives” his armor and maybe therein lies the commonality between Mr. Stark and me that would save me whatever woe might come from doing stories about a guy I neither knew nor liked. Anyway, good enough. I embarked on what was, for me, a very satisfactory three-years as Iron Man’s chronicler-in-chief.

But I still had trouble with technology, even after I dropped dead in a café and was revived by John Ingallinera, Lizzie Fagan, Michael O’Shea and Bryan Holihan, who knew where a defibrillator was and how to use it. The gadget literally brought me back to life.

Maybe Crankus was easing up?

So a month ago, I decided that I’d had enough of not being able to understand song lyrics, conversations at parties and my wife’s comments on television shows we were watching, among other irritants. I had hearing loss. And a technological remedy existed. And that being the case, it was foolish vanity to go through life saying, “Huh?”

We went to the hearing aid place in a nearby town. I got tested and yep! – loss of hearing in both ears. Conversation was held, a down payment proffered and off we went, to return a few weeks later. I now owned two nearly invisible hearing aids. A new dawning? Should I have another shot at the iPod? Maybe get my own Kindle? A tablet with a Skype attachment? How about those video games the youngsters like?

I put ‘em on, went home and…

Discovered that the one for the right ear didn’t work.

Maybe Crankus has downgraded me to half-cursed.

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases

 

Dennis O’Neil: Touch Jake

He’s not faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, nor able to leap tall buildings at a single bound. He doesn’t wear tights and a cape and he has only one identity. But, I hereby submit, he is a superhero – indeed, the only superhero who currently appears in a weekly television series.

He’s a kid named Jake. The show is Touch. You can see it on Fox on Thursday nights.

Okay, so lacking everything mentioned above, what, exactly, qualifies young Jake for superherodom? Well, that’s hard to say. In fact, the continuing subplot has to do with Jake’s father and some other sympathetic adults, trying to figure out what it is that the boy does and how he manages to do it.

What they (and we) see is: Jake looks at seemingly unrelated numbers and geometric patterns, discerns connections and consequences and acting on the information/intuition, prods his father into action that averts unpleasant consequences for strangers.

So: Jake uses extraordinary powers for a common good. That alone qualifies him for a membership in the superhero club. He seems to have a Big Mission, though maybe he doesn’t and if he does, neither his old man nor we know what it is. Finally, the matter of the costume: well… Jake is either autistic or doing a darn fine job of faking it and, I suggest, the oddities of autistic behavior serve as a kind of costume – something that distinguishes Jake from the guy downstairs.

Take a bow, Jake. You’re the twenty first century superhero precisely because you don’t resemble the others of the tribe. I mean… lifting heavy stuff and shedding bullets and crashing through walls and flying and…all so last century, abilities conferred on heroes when we as a species really didn’t know much about how the universe works, when we tended to identify power with physical force and rugged – in Superman’s case, very rugged – individualism. We now know, those of us who care to know, that our world is more subtle and vastly more complicated than the world of the costumed do-gooders who popped up in the comic books of the 1930s. Their creators worked with the information they had. We have different information, and if you want to claim that ours is better, I won’t be the one to contradict you.

As the biologist J.B.S. Haldane said, “My own suspicion is that the universe is not only queerer than we suppose, but queerer than we can suppose.”

What Touch gives us, in easily digested, plot driven melodrama, is a metaphor for a truth agreed on by Zen masters and quantum physicists alike: everything in existence – and especially everything on planet Earth – is interconnected. The collapse of an industry in Tokyo today will gobsmack Wall Street tomorrow and the most infinitesimal alteration in the components of subatomic particles would make human beings impossible.

Young Jake seems to know that and maybe we can learn from him. And if we can’t…well, what he does is still fun to watch.

SATURDAY: Marc Alan Fishman

 

DENNIS O’NEIL: Springtime For Superheroes

DENNIS O’NEIL: Springtime For Superheroes

So how’s the resurrecting going in your neighborhood? Despite a very warm March, it’s pretty much on schedule here in Rockland County. Oh, most of the trees are still barren, but here and there, some of them are getting beleaved; the dogwood in the front yard is growing buds and wow! – the forsythia bush in the back is covered with bright yellow flowers. So fecundity is returning to southern New York and I guess Gaia will make it through another growing season.

I’m thinking of death and resurrection partly because I’m typing this the day after Easter – a real holiday, this, because it acknowledges and celebrates something real and vital, the aforementioned fecundity. The proof, I guess, is that it – the return of the fecund – is reflected in a lot of myth/religion, the area in which we humans often attend to stuff like this. Give a quick Google to Persephone, Osiris, Adonis if you doubt. (Am I leaving a name off that list? An obvious name? Ummmm….) And don’t forget that the word itself – “Easter” – is derived from the name of a pagan goddess of fertility, Eostre.

For a while now, I’ve had an unparsed and maybe dunderheaded notion that the history of comics recapitulates the history of religion (the way ontogeny is supposed to recapitulate phylogeny?) Maybe I’ll someday do something with the idea, maybe not, but for our present purposes I’m happy to remind you that resurrection is not a stranger to comic books, though sometimes it has been more reincarnation than resurrection. I have (he said, thrusting out his chest) personally presided over the demise of Jason Todd, a.k.a. Robin The Second and, editing Marvel’s Daredevil when Frank Miller was doing the title, the very thorough scragging of Elektra and behold! – both characters are back in business, seemingly unharmed by their stays in the afterlife.

Superman is probably comics’ best known resurrectee. His fans know that, in a long, much-crossed-over storyline that appeared in the early 90s, our favorite Man of Steel was put down by the villainous Doomsday and later revived by a visit to the regeneration matrix in his Fortress of Solitude. (Should I have prefaced that last sentence with a spoiler alert? Sorry…)

Superman may be the numero uno returner-to-life in the DC Comics universe, but there are others, including Green Arrow, the Flash, Donna Troy, Elongated Man, Green Lantern…You might want to complete the list yourself.

Across town, in Marvel’s universe, the death of Jean Gray, known as Dark Phoenix, was a big deal in the X-Men saga and generated some pretty a deluge of fan mail from – brace for it! – die hard fans. I’ve already told you about Elektra. Again, the list can undoubtedly be amplified.

There are pros and cons to this reviving the dead and they might be worth a longer discussion. Maybe later. For now…get your nose out of the damn comic book and look out the window. The dogwood’s blooming!

RECOMMENDED READING: The Superman stories mentioned above are available in book collections that your comics shop or online book purveyor will be happy to sell.

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases Takes Us From To Kill a Mockingbird to Mein Kampf

 

DENNIS O’NEIL: Batwoman

Whenever my old employer, DC Comics, reprints some of my ancient work, it’s gratifying, particularly if what’s reprinted is one of the “socially relevant” stories Neal Adams and I did in the early 70s, but it can be a little disheartening, too.

The problem is, the stories are for the most part still relevant, and what does that say about the state of the nation? Environmental upset? Yep, still got it. Racism? The folks down in Florida could tell you about that. Addiction? That lovely singer is no longer with us. Overpopulation? Hasn’t improved. American Indians? Some of the nation’s worst poverty is found on reservations that don’t house casinos.

As one of Bill Maher’s guests said on his show last week, it seems unbelievable that birth control could be a factor in presidential politics in the in the twenty first century. I mean…birth control?

But occasionally a glimmer of light shows through the gloom. So let us smile and extend a salute to Batwoman.

Digression: Batwoman and I go way, way back. Fact is, I killed her 40-something years ago. Why? Don’t remember, exactly. Her demise was almost certainly a plot point in the days when comics stories were largely plot-driven, and she must have seemed to be good cannon fodder: a character who, although she was in the continuity, hadn’t done much in a long time and if we needed a snuffee, and I guess we did, she was a good candidate. I do regret ending her offstage; she probably deserved a death scene at the very least.

End of digression: Batwoman is back. Wait – make that a Batwoman, who has the same name(s) as the original, but a different lifestyle. She’s a redhead and…oh yeah, a lesbian. Big deal? In our world, it kind of is since, from the beginning of mass-marketed comics, redheads were forbidden.

Just kidding: it’s gay people who could not grace our little sagas and in this we were one with most other media. In television and most movies, sex of any kind was antiseptic – all those cardboard kisses! – and gay sex was way outside the limits. And if gayness was an element in a story, as in some of Tennessee Williams’ film material, it was no more than hinted at and its practitioners were going to suffer plenty before the last reel.

In comics? Well, one of the characters John Byrne created for his series Alpha Flight was gay, but not too obviously; John’s editor knew of Northstar’s orientation, but I’m not sure anyone else in the editorial department did, not at first. (I’m informed that later creative teams pulled Northstar further out of the closet.) And a couple of years back, Marvel let us know that the ol’ rannie from the western titles, the Rawhide Kid, was gay, news that managed not to shake any foundations. But on the whole, the Kid and Northstar and a few others, including the revamped Question, in private did icky stuff that wasn’t mentioned, except, maybe, in he gutters.

Now, Batwoman. Last week she received a media award from the Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation and nobody’s making any secret of the recognition.

Call it one of those glimmers I mentioned earlier. And be grateful for it.

RECOMMENDED READING: Free Will, by Sam Harris.

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases

 

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