ID: Okay, Halloween is a big time for people in costume, so what were you up to this year?
S: Lois actually had a Batwoman costume custom-made this year.
ID: Batwoman? Now that is kinky.
S: I don’t follow.
ID: Well, on the one hand, the current Batwoman is, I believe, a lesbian, so it plays into that straight man with a curvy woman fantasy, and it also means next time you see Bruce you’ll have a weird imprint of disrobing the feminine version of his namesake in your brain. Man, a Superman/Batwoman sextape would sell like hot hot hot cakes. If you want, I could produce- I mean, I’m no Sleez but I do happen to know my way around an HD camera.
S: You think I wore my own costume for Halloween?
ID: You didn’t?
S: Nope. I went as Deadman. I figured, since you can see my ribs poking out, and my skins taken on this pale hue- I figured I could pull it off. Plus there’s the whole macabre joke about me being a dead man.
ID: That is dark. Did Lois laugh?
S: Not at first. But I kept doing my Boston Brand imitation all night long, and frankly, it sounds a bit like Warwick Davis from the Leprechaun movies, and by the end of the night I’d just started rolling with that and introducing myself by saying, “I’m the Leprechaun.”
ID: That’s, um, that’s actually not much like Warwick Davis at all. That’s a bad Mike Myers impression doing a bad Warwick Davis impression in Wayne’s World. And I’m actually not entirely sure what to think about the fact that you A) have seen that movie, and B) apparently quote it when drinking.
S: Hey, I was still moderately young and hip in the early nineties… or maybe Jimmy made me watch it- I don’t really know.
But I wanted to comment upon a phenomenon. I think it was last year that Plastic Man said to me that you could tell how highly regarded (or at least reviled) you were by the amount of people dressed as you at Halloween. Last year, Bruce “accidentally” forwarded a sales report on licensed costumes, detailing that Batman had outsold Superman costumes nearly 2 to 1. Granted, my survey this year isn't scientific, but judging from the sample that came to my door, it seemed I'd overtaken him by a slim margin- and that's despite not having a follow up movie last year (like he did). So yeah... I'm a little happy.
Granted, neither one of us were anywhere near the Harry Potter numbers- and I'm also a bit weirded out by the number of Harry Potter women in drag, with too-short skirts and shirts and expressions that were less-than-wholesome.
Oh, but that made me remember something I forgot last week, and you know I’ve been forgetting things more, but I remembered part of why I wanted to talk about Harry Potter. You know, I wrote a book, once. And I don’t mean Under A Yellow Sun- that barely qualifies as a novella (or literature, for that matter). I remember thinking greedily at the time that that was it, my big break, my chance to escape my own mediocrity- as Clark Kent, anyway. I mean, in the other personae, wearing the costume and being that other person who is smarter and more confident and just better than me in every way, I could do all kinds of things. But as Clark Kent, there were, and sometimes still are, days when I really did feel like the dumb, naïve hick son of a farmer out of Kansas.
ID: You’ve won a Pulitzer.
S: I know, but that doesn’t mean I felt I deserved it, or that even if I sometimes do that I don’t have moments of insecurity. But we’re not talking about that, or at least I wasn’t meaning to, my point, and you know how hard it’s getting for me to focus, is that I wrote something fictional. Maybe even literary. I’d written a novel about a teenager who one day finds out he has abilities, and then joins up with superheroes. It was very much a Harry Potter for the tights set- in fact, there’s a pretty good chance I was writing it around the same time as Rowling was writing her first Potter. But then Ja- one of the Robins passed away. And at that point I couldn’t stomach the idea of encouraging children to think about what we did in a positive light. I mean, if even one kid had got themselves hurt… I haven’t even thought about publishing it, honestly, until just now. I put it out of my mind, because the alternative, it’s too much to even think about.
I mean, I fail, regularly. There’s people I should be nicer to, some I can’t save, even problems I can’t tackle, like Perry smoking cigars, but I recognized that I would be creating failure. That it was an inevitability that children would read that book and think, “Hey, heroes are real, I should do this-” it was only a question of when something would go wrong and not if.
ID: I’m not sure what to say to any of that.
S: You don’t have to. I’m not changing my mind about the book- I’m not saying it should be published posthumously. If anything I’m saying it shouldn’t. But a small part of me just wanted it out there in the world, that the book exists. I think there’s a small part of writing that’s about being heard- not even heard clearly or understood, those are separate from it- I just wanted its existence, and maybe by extension mine, to be known. It seems stupid to say it out loud. But a story about an awkward kid with glasses, and competence no one knows about- that idea hits pretty close to home with me. I guess putting it away all this time, without acknowledging it, it was kind of like trapping that person in his awkward stage, shuttered away and unable to grow into the impressive person he was supposed to emerge as by story’s end. I guess, in a way, that’s what Halloween’s about: we all want to be something, something funnier or scarier or more heroic or even sexier, but we all want to be someone better.
We’ll be trying to bring you a new section of the interview every Tuesday. Some of the questions have already been prepared by the interviewer, but to ask Superman a question, leave a comment or send an email to DeathofSuperman@gmail.com.
Showing posts with label Costume. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Costume. Show all posts
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Monday, January 19, 2009
It's a Plane
S: I’m actually a little talked out from that last speech.
ID: Yeah, I thought that might happen, so I came prepared to start over.
S: Oh no.
ID: Yep. Origin story. Well, sort of. I want to talk about your first “appearance,” as it were. Do you need me to refresh your memory, or
S: The plane, yeah.
ID: My first question’s kind of easy- you weren’t a superhero, then. There really wasn’t such a thing as superheroes, really. So what was with the long underwear?
S: The cape was actually a red cloak, one of the family heirlooms my parents sent me to Earth with, wrapped in, like a blanket, with the family crest on the back in gold.
ID: So your father sent his only begotten son in swaddling cloth to watch over humanity...
S: Don't even start with that. It's not funny.
Anyway, as a kid, I was never any kind of a “Superboy,” so I didn’t have a costume or anything- I mean, I’d help people sometimes, but it was always about flying below the radar and trying to blend in and go back to being normal after that- which, now that I think on it, probably didn’t work so well. I mean, my hometown was a small, small town, where everybody knew your name, your daddy’s name, and what he did for a living. I imagine a lot of folks knew who I was back then, but bless them nobody ever said a word- even years later, when I imagine there would have been some big tabloid dollars for their stories. But college was really where I got my footing. My senses kept expanding, just as my other abilities did, and it got to a point where there was no avoiding the fact that I had to use what I could do to help people.
Well Lana, a, uh, friend from back then, one time, eating dinner with us back at the farm, accidentally let slip about some of my do-gooding, and mom couldn’t let it go. I think she’d been watching too many sci-fi shows, and decided I needed some kind of a policeman uniform- only far less conservative. And it was just incredibly sweet of her, but she sewed me this costume, using the red and gold from the blanket, and adding in blue, I think because she wanted to make sure I seemed patriotic and noble to the people I met, to help them trust me- and blue is of course the classic police uniform color. Of course, I didn’t wear it- I mean, it was kind of silly. But it was also sweet, and I kept it, all through college. It was really hard to explain to girls uh, friends, when they’d see it hanging in my dormroom closet.
But when I graduated, I got hired on to work at the Daily Planet in Metropolis. I attended this get-to-know-you luncheon, and shook hands with everybody. Perry White was just one of those terse but friendly old-reporter-types you sometimes run into in the business, you know, guys who grew up with ink on their fingers. Jimmy didn’t work there at the time, but I think his uncle or cousin, something, did, though he was kind of a useless drunk by then. He’d hire on freelance photographers, pretty girls if he could find them, and skim part of the fee off their photos while passing them off to Perry as his own work. But I got to meet Lois, and we talked for all of three minutes, during which time she came up with no less than five diminutive nicknames for me, all based roughly around my hometown.
But the next day I was settling into my apartment. I heard the first boom of this experimental jet, different from a normal jet, and that got me to the window. Then I heard the second boom, and saw the wing strut tear. I knew, I knew I couldn’t just fly out of my window as Clark Kent, but it’s not like I lived above a costume shop, or even had kept my graduation robes (I rented them), but on top of my clothes box, folded very neatly, was that uniform mom sewed with a note pinned to the chest that said, “Wear it with pride, Mom”. And I glanced out the window again, and the plane was already going down- I didn’t have time for modesty. I dressed and leapt out the window. I managed to set the plane down safely, and there was a moment where Lois caught my eyes through one of the windows, and the look she gave me, it’s the look every man wants to get, it’s admiration, and intrigue, and affection with a hint of lust beneath. At that moment I realized what that look might do to me in my skintight uniform, so I flew away.
But the most embarrassing thing was I got back to the apartment, my heart racing, as much from seeing Lois look at me that way as from saving an experimental plane-load of reporters, and I looked down, and the note, from my mother, “Wear it with pride, Mom,” was still pinned to my chest. Can you think of anything worse?
ID: I guess your pants could have come down.
S: “Flasher saves Plane.” Barry and Wally would have had to use different names. Maybe Lightningmen or something. But sure enough, the next day, blurry pictures of me in my mom’s science fiction police uniform were on the front page of every paper in the city. And Lana showed up at my apartment, with a copy of the front page, her sewing kit and the biggest grin on her face. This was before she became a famous fashion designer, but she said if I was determined to spend my time in garish clothing, at least it could be professionally sewn. And, you know, after Lana had taken a whack at it, I sort of, liked the design my mom had come up with, and, I suppose, truth be told, I liked the way it had made Lois look at me.
ID: That explains most of it, actually, but what about the glasses?
S: The glasses were mom’s idea, too. She wore glasses, and… well, I knew I’d messed up. I mean, I worked with Lois, and she was bound to recognize my face. I could comb my hair differently, but what else was I going to do? Wear a mask into the office. Cake on make-up? Glasses were the best solution we could think of, and I started with these just ridiculous Coke-bottle lenses that made me look like a mole. I figured between those and steering clear of Lois, that would be enough, at least until her fascination with her “Superman” ended. But of course I never took into account that she’d fall in love with him, or that I’d fall in love with her. The best laid plans, and all that. Still, for all of the self-consciousness, and silliness throughout the years, I wouldn't change any of it, because, I'm proud of how everything has turned out, and happy with the life I've got.
We’ll be trying to bring you a new section to the interview every Monday. Some of the questions have already been prepared by the interviewer, but to ask Superman a question, leave a comment or send an email to DeathofSuperman@gmail.com.
ID: Yeah, I thought that might happen, so I came prepared to start over.
S: Oh no.
ID: Yep. Origin story. Well, sort of. I want to talk about your first “appearance,” as it were. Do you need me to refresh your memory, or
S: The plane, yeah.
ID: My first question’s kind of easy- you weren’t a superhero, then. There really wasn’t such a thing as superheroes, really. So what was with the long underwear?
S: The cape was actually a red cloak, one of the family heirlooms my parents sent me to Earth with, wrapped in, like a blanket, with the family crest on the back in gold.
ID: So your father sent his only begotten son in swaddling cloth to watch over humanity...
S: Don't even start with that. It's not funny.
Anyway, as a kid, I was never any kind of a “Superboy,” so I didn’t have a costume or anything- I mean, I’d help people sometimes, but it was always about flying below the radar and trying to blend in and go back to being normal after that- which, now that I think on it, probably didn’t work so well. I mean, my hometown was a small, small town, where everybody knew your name, your daddy’s name, and what he did for a living. I imagine a lot of folks knew who I was back then, but bless them nobody ever said a word- even years later, when I imagine there would have been some big tabloid dollars for their stories. But college was really where I got my footing. My senses kept expanding, just as my other abilities did, and it got to a point where there was no avoiding the fact that I had to use what I could do to help people.
Well Lana, a, uh, friend from back then, one time, eating dinner with us back at the farm, accidentally let slip about some of my do-gooding, and mom couldn’t let it go. I think she’d been watching too many sci-fi shows, and decided I needed some kind of a policeman uniform- only far less conservative. And it was just incredibly sweet of her, but she sewed me this costume, using the red and gold from the blanket, and adding in blue, I think because she wanted to make sure I seemed patriotic and noble to the people I met, to help them trust me- and blue is of course the classic police uniform color. Of course, I didn’t wear it- I mean, it was kind of silly. But it was also sweet, and I kept it, all through college. It was really hard to explain to girls uh, friends, when they’d see it hanging in my dormroom closet.
But when I graduated, I got hired on to work at the Daily Planet in Metropolis. I attended this get-to-know-you luncheon, and shook hands with everybody. Perry White was just one of those terse but friendly old-reporter-types you sometimes run into in the business, you know, guys who grew up with ink on their fingers. Jimmy didn’t work there at the time, but I think his uncle or cousin, something, did, though he was kind of a useless drunk by then. He’d hire on freelance photographers, pretty girls if he could find them, and skim part of the fee off their photos while passing them off to Perry as his own work. But I got to meet Lois, and we talked for all of three minutes, during which time she came up with no less than five diminutive nicknames for me, all based roughly around my hometown.
But the next day I was settling into my apartment. I heard the first boom of this experimental jet, different from a normal jet, and that got me to the window. Then I heard the second boom, and saw the wing strut tear. I knew, I knew I couldn’t just fly out of my window as Clark Kent, but it’s not like I lived above a costume shop, or even had kept my graduation robes (I rented them), but on top of my clothes box, folded very neatly, was that uniform mom sewed with a note pinned to the chest that said, “Wear it with pride, Mom”. And I glanced out the window again, and the plane was already going down- I didn’t have time for modesty. I dressed and leapt out the window. I managed to set the plane down safely, and there was a moment where Lois caught my eyes through one of the windows, and the look she gave me, it’s the look every man wants to get, it’s admiration, and intrigue, and affection with a hint of lust beneath. At that moment I realized what that look might do to me in my skintight uniform, so I flew away.
But the most embarrassing thing was I got back to the apartment, my heart racing, as much from seeing Lois look at me that way as from saving an experimental plane-load of reporters, and I looked down, and the note, from my mother, “Wear it with pride, Mom,” was still pinned to my chest. Can you think of anything worse?
ID: I guess your pants could have come down.
S: “Flasher saves Plane.” Barry and Wally would have had to use different names. Maybe Lightningmen or something. But sure enough, the next day, blurry pictures of me in my mom’s science fiction police uniform were on the front page of every paper in the city. And Lana showed up at my apartment, with a copy of the front page, her sewing kit and the biggest grin on her face. This was before she became a famous fashion designer, but she said if I was determined to spend my time in garish clothing, at least it could be professionally sewn. And, you know, after Lana had taken a whack at it, I sort of, liked the design my mom had come up with, and, I suppose, truth be told, I liked the way it had made Lois look at me.
ID: That explains most of it, actually, but what about the glasses?
S: The glasses were mom’s idea, too. She wore glasses, and… well, I knew I’d messed up. I mean, I worked with Lois, and she was bound to recognize my face. I could comb my hair differently, but what else was I going to do? Wear a mask into the office. Cake on make-up? Glasses were the best solution we could think of, and I started with these just ridiculous Coke-bottle lenses that made me look like a mole. I figured between those and steering clear of Lois, that would be enough, at least until her fascination with her “Superman” ended. But of course I never took into account that she’d fall in love with him, or that I’d fall in love with her. The best laid plans, and all that. Still, for all of the self-consciousness, and silliness throughout the years, I wouldn't change any of it, because, I'm proud of how everything has turned out, and happy with the life I've got.
We’ll be trying to bring you a new section to the interview every Monday. Some of the questions have already been prepared by the interviewer, but to ask Superman a question, leave a comment or send an email to DeathofSuperman@gmail.com.
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