A toyetic epiphany
It gets the least love and attention of all the comic room's displays, yet it's my greatest source of geeky pride. My Spider-Man collection is deceptive that way.
G1 Transformers are easy to collect. Expensive, yes, and sometimes hard-to-find, but not difficult. Every G1 Bludgeon, for example, shares its design with every other G1 Bludgeon; save and except for condition and paint apps, you're only really ever going to buy one Decepticon martial arts warrior. Green Lantern? Sure, Kyle Rayner action figures come in all shapes and sizes but, once you have them, that's it. Kenner's Super Powers Collection and Star Wars Micro Collection didn't go through revisions, either.
But the Spidey shelf, ah... that's taken some doing. Since 1990, there have been countless Spider-Man toy lines. Some have been amazing (spectacular, sensational), some cheap and nasty. Building an iconic display of the web-slinger and his primary villains isn't a matter of snatching every figure from the rack, or buying a sealed case of toys online. No sir. It's a long undertaking that involves buying characters as they're made and upgrading them when a better version is released. And, if no replacement is issued, holding tight to that first figure you hunted down. It's unlike any other toyline I own; it's all comparative, subjective and I get such a kick out of changing it up and making it better.
There's more than 15 years of curating on that shelf. That's the third Scorpion figure, seventh Venom, second Green Goblin and, mind-bogglingly, the ninth Spidey to have taken part in the diorama (which I've subtitled "Peter Parker's Worst Nightmare"). The delight I felt upon finding a better Electro matched the keen disappointment endured every time a new... and more woeful... Doctor Octopus arrived in toy stores. The Mysterio came from a Canadian $2 store; the Hobgoblin after a three-week search of this the city. I picked up J Jonah Jameson (the jewel, as far as I'm concerned, of the collection) from a shop in my home town back in my university days. The phrase "labor of love" comes to mind.
I've been thinking about Spidey a lot lately, thanks to LJ. Like any geeky kid going through tough times at school, she's turned to the web-head for adventure and escape. Yesterday she wanted her Iron Spider-Man chibi for our latest game, which meant I needed to go under the stairs and retrieve it from storage. I returned with the box to find her staring at the Spidey shelf. "I've never really sat and looked at this before," she said, gaze still locked on the toys. "It's really good, Dad. Everyone looks just like they do in the comic books. Spidey's more muscular than I'm used to, but I suppose if he's older, married Spidey then he'd be all bulked-up." She giggled when I admitted I'm still waiting for a decent "MJ-in-peril" to fill the gap in front.
I put the storage box on the floor and we began to dig for her Stark-enhanced arachnid. As we moved other toys out the way... Transformers: Animated characters, chibis and vehicles from Star Wars and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles... LJ's eyes went misty. Iron Spidey was forgotten; her attention lingered, longer and longer, on each (re)discovery. I asked if she was okay. "Yeah," she said, a little choked, "it's fine, these are happy tears. I'm just remembering all the great adventures we had with these guys, and how much I love them. It's not that I want to play with them again or anything, though. They all got happy endings, their stories finished and I'm good with the guys I use now. But... well..."
My Transformers went into storage when I hit high school. The DC characters, Rebellion and Empire were packed away long before that. The only characters who survived the period during which my innate geekiness clashed with that natural desire to "not be weird" were Spidey and his rogues gallery. The forerunners of the display that had so captivated my daughter, just moments earlier. My daughter who, last week, told me she's uncomfortable being called a geek at school and hates the teasing it brings, yet refuses to surrender her Avengers lunchbox. My daughter who spends hours playing on her bedroom floor then watches A & E and wonders, aloud, how much her toys would be worth to someone like Jordan Hembrough.
"You know the reason I buy toys, kiddo?" I asked. "It's got nothing to do with value, nothing to do with rarity. It's about memories. I look at my little Star Wars guys and think of my Nana. I can recall just about every comic book, cartoon and story of my own by glancing at the Transformers. And the Spidey stuff, I'm just proud of that." I ruffled her hair. "That's why I don't want you to sell your toys and, just now, you've proven my instinct right. Having all of these guys, even in storage, will make you a thousand times happier than could any wad of cash. They'll remind you not only of all the fun times you've had, all the amazing adventures you've dreamed up, but who you went on those adventures with."
"You," she grinned. "Yeah. I get it now."
"Tell you what," I said, mentally winding the clock forward a few years. "I've always promised you glass display cabinets if you decide to stop playing, right? Well, if you decide to stop playing and you feel a little... weird... about having super heroes in your room, we'll set up those displays down here. In the comic room. Right alongside everything else. That way you'll have the necessary... social distance... for when friends come over, but your guys, girls and mechs will be close at hand whenever you need them. Sound good?"
Based on the crashtacklehug I received, I'm guessing it did.
Greet the Fire as Your Friend,
SF
G1 Transformers are easy to collect. Expensive, yes, and sometimes hard-to-find, but not difficult. Every G1 Bludgeon, for example, shares its design with every other G1 Bludgeon; save and except for condition and paint apps, you're only really ever going to buy one Decepticon martial arts warrior. Green Lantern? Sure, Kyle Rayner action figures come in all shapes and sizes but, once you have them, that's it. Kenner's Super Powers Collection and Star Wars Micro Collection didn't go through revisions, either.
But the Spidey shelf, ah... that's taken some doing. Since 1990, there have been countless Spider-Man toy lines. Some have been amazing (spectacular, sensational), some cheap and nasty. Building an iconic display of the web-slinger and his primary villains isn't a matter of snatching every figure from the rack, or buying a sealed case of toys online. No sir. It's a long undertaking that involves buying characters as they're made and upgrading them when a better version is released. And, if no replacement is issued, holding tight to that first figure you hunted down. It's unlike any other toyline I own; it's all comparative, subjective and I get such a kick out of changing it up and making it better.
There's more than 15 years of curating on that shelf. That's the third Scorpion figure, seventh Venom, second Green Goblin and, mind-bogglingly, the ninth Spidey to have taken part in the diorama (which I've subtitled "Peter Parker's Worst Nightmare"). The delight I felt upon finding a better Electro matched the keen disappointment endured every time a new... and more woeful... Doctor Octopus arrived in toy stores. The Mysterio came from a Canadian $2 store; the Hobgoblin after a three-week search of this the city. I picked up J Jonah Jameson (the jewel, as far as I'm concerned, of the collection) from a shop in my home town back in my university days. The phrase "labor of love" comes to mind.
I've been thinking about Spidey a lot lately, thanks to LJ. Like any geeky kid going through tough times at school, she's turned to the web-head for adventure and escape. Yesterday she wanted her Iron Spider-Man chibi for our latest game, which meant I needed to go under the stairs and retrieve it from storage. I returned with the box to find her staring at the Spidey shelf. "I've never really sat and looked at this before," she said, gaze still locked on the toys. "It's really good, Dad. Everyone looks just like they do in the comic books. Spidey's more muscular than I'm used to, but I suppose if he's older, married Spidey then he'd be all bulked-up." She giggled when I admitted I'm still waiting for a decent "MJ-in-peril" to fill the gap in front.
I put the storage box on the floor and we began to dig for her Stark-enhanced arachnid. As we moved other toys out the way... Transformers: Animated characters, chibis and vehicles from Star Wars and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles... LJ's eyes went misty. Iron Spidey was forgotten; her attention lingered, longer and longer, on each (re)discovery. I asked if she was okay. "Yeah," she said, a little choked, "it's fine, these are happy tears. I'm just remembering all the great adventures we had with these guys, and how much I love them. It's not that I want to play with them again or anything, though. They all got happy endings, their stories finished and I'm good with the guys I use now. But... well..."
My Transformers went into storage when I hit high school. The DC characters, Rebellion and Empire were packed away long before that. The only characters who survived the period during which my innate geekiness clashed with that natural desire to "not be weird" were Spidey and his rogues gallery. The forerunners of the display that had so captivated my daughter, just moments earlier. My daughter who, last week, told me she's uncomfortable being called a geek at school and hates the teasing it brings, yet refuses to surrender her Avengers lunchbox. My daughter who spends hours playing on her bedroom floor then watches A & E and wonders, aloud, how much her toys would be worth to someone like Jordan Hembrough.
"You know the reason I buy toys, kiddo?" I asked. "It's got nothing to do with value, nothing to do with rarity. It's about memories. I look at my little Star Wars guys and think of my Nana. I can recall just about every comic book, cartoon and story of my own by glancing at the Transformers. And the Spidey stuff, I'm just proud of that." I ruffled her hair. "That's why I don't want you to sell your toys and, just now, you've proven my instinct right. Having all of these guys, even in storage, will make you a thousand times happier than could any wad of cash. They'll remind you not only of all the fun times you've had, all the amazing adventures you've dreamed up, but who you went on those adventures with."
"You," she grinned. "Yeah. I get it now."
"Tell you what," I said, mentally winding the clock forward a few years. "I've always promised you glass display cabinets if you decide to stop playing, right? Well, if you decide to stop playing and you feel a little... weird... about having super heroes in your room, we'll set up those displays down here. In the comic room. Right alongside everything else. That way you'll have the necessary... social distance... for when friends come over, but your guys, girls and mechs will be close at hand whenever you need them. Sound good?"
Based on the crashtacklehug I received, I'm guessing it did.
Greet the Fire as Your Friend,
SF