For a second time, I was called upon for my curatorial expertise in filling the display case in the childrens’ section of the library. The basic instructions? Bring in something you have a lot of, preferably relating to books. And, oh yeah, fill four shelves with it.

Immediately, my mind spun into the possibilities… collections of robots or dragons, Star Wars or Trek, Batman… what DON’T I collect? I settled on my Marvel character collection, exclusively in Marvel Legends form (with one Marvel Select, but who’s counting?). I’ve lamented and rhapsodized over these figures before, their shaky transition between the hands of ToyBiz and Hasbro, excitement over future figures and disappointment in how the final produced figures might have looked, but I figured that I could absolutely fill four shelves with them… and I had to make it good. I was going to set it up this time.

There was a time when I was unconcerned with what character fit onto which team, as long as they all looked neat together. Having a Dr. Octopus right next to a Hulk didn’t create any cognitive dissonance, but as I became more familiar with the literary history and exploits of the characters, these concerns emerged. Sure, I’ve always kept my Marvel stuff and my DC stuff in very different areas of the room, lest we be stuck in some kind of poorly-written Marvel / DC crossover (because really, they all sucked bigtime), or even worse, another Amalgam universe. Or, holy jeez, another ‘Stan Lee re-writes the DC Universe’ train wreck and the survivor’s guilt that we all felt. So Marvel was going to take a trip to the library, and DC was staying home this time, perhaps for a later display.

[An array of Avengers, including Thor, Giant Man, Wasp, Spider-Woman, Iron Man, Ms. Marvel, Quicksilver, Captain America, She-Hulk, Luke Cage, Hawkeye, Vision and Scarlet Witch]

I settled on dividing the display shelves into four main areas : the X-Men, the Avengers, some Bad Guys and the Fantastic Four & Miscellaneous other heroic folk. The library’s director had made a comment that the orcs from my previous Lord of the Rings display might alarm children, so I decided to keep the bad guys on the top shelf, out of the eyeline of smaller children. I was also told that my Scarface-with-ape-head shirt might scare kids, and to stop dropkicking the more obnoxious runts into the stream. I’m not allowed to do anything, man.

Ultimately, though, any display including a 16” Galactus would be an automatic winner. He’s my piece de resistance. Which is French for ‘awesome space-conqueror’.

[Thanos, Green Goblin, Loki, MODOK, Galactus, Dr. Doom, Mojo, Blob, Magneto]

I’ve never really has such a nice space to display these guys in, since I’m usually relegated to Wal-Mart-purchased do-it-yourself shelving in a very dusty area of the house. I made an effort to determine the most widely recognized and traditional costumes for these characters, since many Marvel figures have movie versions, Ultimate versions, ‘New’ versions, First Appearance versions, and even ‘that one time in 1992 when Rob Liefeld got ahold of us and we still have nightmares about’ versions.

The thing about the childrens’ floor is that it’s a sweltering little division of Hell itself. Not so much in theme or content or even amicability, just in temperature. For some reason, out cooling units have perennial problems, and the upstairs floor is nigh unbearable. Since plastic is such a pliable, resilient and ultimately malleable material, even slight fluctuations in temperature will cause knees to expand and buckle, toppling figures from wherever they might be standing. I know it’s summer not by the crickets or leaves on the trees or my thoughts turning to romance, but by being woken up at 4 AM by Martian Manhunter clattering to the floor and taking Flash and Mr. Terrific with him. These things don’t happen in the winter, leading me to conclude that either our ghosts hibernate, or it’s a product of atmospheric heating.

The display figures take the occasional faceplant. It was at least two days before I got back into the display case and thwarted Dr. Doom’s obvious attempt to project himself through the restraining glass. More often than not, though, the Marvel display is met with delighted inquiries and enthusiasm, and I bashfully admit to ownership of the items contained therein. I’ve met a woman who used to illustrate for Marvel Comics right in my own hometown, and when someone asked “Top shelf, far left?”, I could tell them, “Why, that’s Ultron! Enemy of the Avengers!” I very quietly added ‘please kill me’, but no one heeded my pleas.

I’ve found so much more pleasure in interacting ABOUT the collection than owning it, and just keeping it in Tupperware drawers until I find the next opportunity to display it. In addition to continually inspiring me, the odd guilt I have about collecting (and not, you know, saving the world) is being alleviated by being able to share the fun and joy that I get from looking at these things with the strange denizens of my tiny mountain valley town.

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As mentioned, we stopped at Georgine’s on our way home from Wisconsin on Sunday. What we didn’t tell you was that at Georgine’s I got a pheasant. Not a live one, but a dead one. A taxedermy, mounted pheasant.

I spotted him immediately, what with his vibrant colors and all, and studied him as long and hard as his (presumably) glass eyes studied me. A tag ’round his foot said he was priced at $95 at the estate sale, not that the tag means much at Georgine’s, and as my dad would say, “It didn’t sell for that now, did it.” But such a large price tag scared me off a bit. What did I know about taxidermy? Nothing. And then too, there was the matter of his broken-off tail. Could that be repaired? If so, how much? I made myself walk away.

But I was enthralled. I felt him staring at me from across the warehouse. Not in a creepy “eyes following you everywhere” sort of a way, but a compelling way. Like a doll, the pheasant seemed to be saying, “Give me a home, please.” I tired to resist, really. But by the time we were done, and he’d been rejected by the fifth interested shopper, I finally placed him on top of one of our other boxes and admitted I had to have him. (Georgine charged me $4 for him and told me how to lift him gently off his piece of driftwoof, removing his wire ‘peg legs’ from the drilled holes so that I could make sure he traveled safely.)

The kids were a bit spooked. Hunter, the youngest, said it was scary and that he “didn’t want dead things in his room.” I comforted him that it was dead, but preserved so it wasn’t rotting or anything and that it wouldn’t go in his room.

Once home with Alfie (short for Alphalpha for his three quirky head feathers), my homework began.

Since I knew nothing about taxidermy I wasn’t sure what I’d discover. Would my $4 find need a $100 repair and turn out to be a bird-brained idea?

Searching the Internet I first discovered the horrors behind collecting taxidermy animals. Most horrific were the potential bug problems. Once I verified that Alfie was clean and I stopped itching (and Derek stopped sneaking up behind me to tickle my neck — the meanie), I continued to research for the tail feather repair.

I discovered that all I need to do to re-attach his tail was use fine insect pins and super glue to splice them back together. That sounds both doable and affordable.

Delighted to discover that Alfie is ‘healthy’ and that I can return him to full glory, I was excited to learn more about taxidermy collecting.

In reading the history of taxidermy I learned that while taxidermy dates back to the 16th century, it was in Victorian times, heavily influenced by the works of Charles Darwin, that the practice flourished. In fact, many of the animals and birds you see in museums today date back to Victorian times.

Victorians, with their love of travel and fascination with souvenirs, undoubtedly saw the preservation of exotic animals in their natural habitats as both charming and educational. Many animals and birds were not merely mounted, but put in elaborate cases with realistic environments with painted backgrounds.

As with most collectibles, there are many big names in Victorian taxidermy collecting, such as Peter Spicer, Thomas Hall, and Henry Shaw.

But there was also another style. Anthropomorphic taxidermy caricature work, deemed macabre by many, was popularized in the Victorian era.

This style is typified by the work of one taxidermy master named Walter Potter.

Potter posed animals in very human situations, such as rats stealing wine, kittens at a wedding, a marching band of mice, and squirrels relaxing in a parlor (Interesting side note: While Walter Potter and Beatrix Potter may or may not have been related, they were contemporaries and some argue that her work was inspired by Walter’s taxidermy style.)

Walter Potter made many very large tableaus with fanciful details. Walter also seemed drawn to abnormalities, mounting two-headed animals and other freakish abworks He made so many of these oddities that he opened the Museum of Curiosities in 1861 in the village of Bramber in West Sussex. Eventually the whole collection was purchased in the 60’s by the Jamaica Inn in Cornwall. There they remained until 2003 when the entire collection was auctioned off in bits and pieces. The highest price of the sale, £23,500, was paid for ‘The Death and Burial of Cock Robin,’ Potter’s earliest and most well known tableau.

Now I was utterly smitten with taxidermy. Nothing against Alfie, but these strange dead animal vignettes have much more appeal for me than your standard mounted buck or howling coyote. And I am not alone.

Not only are old taxidermy collectibles popular, but there are new artists creating fantastic works. One such person is Tia Resleure.

Resleure bought her first piece of taxidermy at age 11 and has continued to do so for 37 years. In the past 12 years she’s become more serious about collecting, having paid as much as $5,000 or one piece. In 1981, she started using animal remains in assemblage pieces and nine years ago she trained at a taxidermy school in Wisconsin. From here Resleure went onto creating what she calls fancifully grotesque and anthropomorphic taxidermy.

She moves past Potter’s works, creating reliquaries, small caskets or shrines made out of vinyl-faced plush dolls into which she inserts the taxidermy. Completely creepy, compelling and captivating.

Resleure also makes ‘frisks,’ freaks of nature; monstrosities made from her mind — and dead animals. Her website is a must see for all her curiosities. (As well as for her well articulated thoughts on the ethics of taxidermy.)

Natural or strange, taxidermy collectibles are becoming quite hot. Along with brisk and big price sales in Victorian taxidermy, there’s the World Championships of Taxidermy (covered by ESPN no less).

Even kids are starting to practice taxidermy — like Amy Ritchie-Carter who began at the age of 13. In a re-use, recycle world, it makes sense to use all of the animal whether it be legally hunted, roadkill or die of natural causes.

Along with prices currently increasing in this area of collecting there are legal matters to consider. Since many animals are on the endangered lists, even if they’ve been killed years ago it may be illegal to transport and/or buy them.

As Resleure recalls, shipping alone can be problematic:

“I had a real tough time finding out the legality of having this shipped. I was calling customs and I was like, ‘OK, so what does it get reported as?’ And he goes, ‘Well, if it’s taxidermy, it’s fish and game.’ I said, ‘No, it’s not wildlife. It’s domestic.’

“And he’s like, ‘Oh, it’s food.’ And I’m like, ‘No this isn’t food, this is a scientific specimen.’ And he goes, ‘What is it?’ I said, ‘It’s a Cyclops piglet.’

“And he goes, ‘Why would anybody want that?’

“And I said, ‘I don’t know. Why would anybody want Beanie Babies?’”

After seeing all the possibilities of taxidermy collecting, I’m with Resleure. Why have a stuffed animal when you can have a mounted one?

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On our way back from Wisconsin (to Fargo), we’ve been stopping here and there at sales we find along the way.

Our next stop, Ripon. Here I find a retro vinyl Barbie case (#1002, copyright 1982). It’s not perfect, but it’s just five cents. (Another empty box, “Sold!”)

In Princeton, Wisconsin, we stop at American Garage and Garden. It’s a place we’ve passed by often but never stopped in yet. Today’s the day!

Outside I spot a few old metal bicycle baskets. I’ve been looking for one for my old bike for quite some time now and here’s a beauty for just $8. We grab it and head on inside to look around.

Mostly architectural pieces and furniture, the place has all sorts of goodies. We only bought the bike basket because everything else we loved was well past today’s budget — very reasonably priced mind you, but more than we have on us.

In fact, when it’s time to pay we discover that we’re short on cash so we have to ask the 10 year old to float us a short-term loan. Des scampers off to the van to dig out her wallet and we wait while the shop owner writes out our receipt. He’s laughing that we have to use a little girl as our bank, but we comfort him with the fact that she knows we are good for it.

Is it time to stop just because we’re out of cash? Maybe that’s a sign. We don’t think so. So back in the car we go, and Derek and I continue to look for real signs along the roadside.

Just west of Oxford, Wisconsin, Derek spots a home made sign for a “Giant Sale” and he makes a right-hand turn onto a ‘road less traveled.’ Another sign of the same design directs us to a gravel drive. Derek pulls in and there looms a large metal warehouse of a garage — next to a gloomy forbidding pine tree forest. The light eerily pours through the trees and as Derek parks I say, “And this was the place they were last seen…”

But neither a lack of our own cash nor spooky environments can stop us. And for good reason — inside we found quite a few goodies.

Immediately I spot and grab this vintage tin of Max Factor’s Society Make-Up, Hollywood face power (circa 1940’s, early 50’s). The top is tin, the bottom is cardboard and while I’ve got tins and cardboard cosmetic containers, I do not have one that is both. (Likely the cardboard bottom is a refill to the ‘keeper’ tin cover.)

Most importantly it’s only a dollar.

I also found a few plates (which I need to research first, so they’ll be ‘here’ later) and an ashtray from a Wisconsin bowling alley (no Laverne and Shirley jokes, please). Arms full, I head toward the check out when I spy this small wooden bench.

Being a girl, I am drawn to it’s charming details and small size (just 22.5 inches wide, 27 inches tall, and 15 inches deep). But I become entranced when I discover the storage nooks: the lower half of the front face of the seat’s “box” has a small latched door, perfect for hiding away dirty shoes, and the seat lifts open for anything else that might be better placed out of eyesight. (We women just love things like this.)

I immediately begin to run numbers in my head… It’s only $6, but I put the ashtray back and then I begin to work on Derek. (“I’ll make room for it, I promise! It’s soooo neat and practical!”) Next I ask the lady if she’ll accept $10 for the $11 worth of items I’ve got. She agrees — so the cute and practical bench is only $5. As if I needed the one dollar savings to rationalize it to Derek! By this point, he’s been eyeballing it from a construction point of view…

The seat is a fine example of genuine rustic farm furniture. To get finely crafted furniture in the early 20th century, a farm family had to invest in either a drive to a larger town or devote time to waiting for the Sears Roebuck order to arrive. Utilitarian furniture, those useful furnishings that valued function over form, were often built to purpose right there on the farm from whatever was available. This seat wasn’t designed to be beautiful — it was built to give Ole a place to sit when he takes off his muddy shoes, and then conveniently hides them away.

A finer woodworker probably wouldn’t have mounted hinges in a place where they might snag on the seat of someone’s trousers, and they’d have countersunk screws rather than assembling it with raised panhead screws, but that’s all part of the charm.

The wood on the sides and back are clearly from a much older piece of furnutire, probably late 19th century, but the rest was cobbled together from available materials, probably in the 1930s. The hinges, screws, and latch all appear to have been pulled off other furniture.

The screws were inserted irregularly, more for strength than aesthetic purposes. Despite the hackish way the seat was built, it cannot be disregarded as sloppy. The joints are tight and strong, edges and corners are straight and even, and the various doors were designed well (I don’t think I’ve ever bought modern furniture that fits together so well, let alone expect it to in the next century). Furniture like this is hard to come by, and you can tell why $5 was a steal to us.

Over all, a wonderful way to travel home.

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So, Monday night was the season finale of Heroes on NBC. Allow me to say here, in case I slip up and some crystalline gem of plot passes through my keyboard, SPOILER ALERT. There. Now no one can do nothin’.

I’ve been a loyal viewer of Heroes since the premiere back in September of last year, reserving every Monday night for huddlings in front of the TV with cocoa and rapt attention, suspending disbelief longer than any sensible human ever should be asked to, and I loved every moment of it. Sometimes, it’s just nice to have something to look forward to or come home to… but the Heroes finale raised a good handful of questions. Not of the ‘man, I wonder what’s going to happen next!’ variety - more of the ‘wait, there’s no reason that should have ever happened’ variety. My disbelief was shattered for the first time, and I went looking for answers. You don’t invest that much time and interest into something without wanting to see it through to its completion. Seriously, Jim and Pam? I had intensely emotional dreams about their affection for each other while The Office was on a break. Because I’m a 45-year old spinstress in the body of a 25-year old nerd.

In my search for Heroes answers, I began to unwind the complex network of Heroes-related multimedia that NBC has been weaving around the show. TV shows aren’t just TV shows anymore - they’re interactive, they’re evolving, and growing increasingly complex. It’s TV 2.0, and we’re all invited. Just take your shoes off at the door and stay far, far away from The View. Those ladies seem innocent enough when they’re on the other side of the screen, but I swear that they’ll eat your legs. And then complain about them for 35 minutes. That’s how they keep their studio audience - no one can walk out under their own power anymore.

In addition to inviting Heroes viewers to submit their own YouTube-style webcam confessions with their theories about the show, and chat on their message boards, NBC has been releasing a Heroes webcomic weekly for 34 mini-issues. These issues provide small anecdotes about existing characters, revealing actions or decisions that they’ve made in their pasts, or even off-screen during the course of the episodes. In one instance, the comics served as the introduction of a character who had not yet even appeared on the show, only to appear a few episodes later (to the slight bewilderment of those viewers who had not read the comics yet, such as myself). While these comics enrich the characters and the experience of the show, the best part is that they’re completely free to download and collect, all in convenient PDF format.

While the notable comics team of Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale were involved in the production of the show (Sale providing the prophetic artwork ‘created’ by character Isaac Mendez), show creator Tim Kring approached the show with almost no knowledge or experience in comic storytelling at all. This kind of ‘outsider’ approach provided the fresh voice that was presented in Heroes, but the free Heroes webcomics invite in some more traditional comic artists and writers, including Michael Turner, to present the stories in a more familiar format to comic readers. Did I mention that these were all free?

Next season promises a time-travelling storyline, as well as a spin-off show called Origins, which will feature non-episodic, one-hour explorations into new characters. Viewers will then get to vote on which characters get included in the main show. Surely, more free comics are in the cards.

But seriously, who would have thought that the creative team behind Teen Wolf Too would come so far? Or anywhere at all? Or be allowed to live?

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In 1993, DC Comics had decided that some of their comics (such as Swamp Thing, Sandman and Hellblazer) were growing too ‘mature’ for their usual superhero audience. No spandex costumes, no overly-buxom ladies fighting crime like their stripper poles depended on it, no intergalactic death rays. This was the stuff of grown-ups. A fair selection of DC’s ‘mature’ comics simply involved people…. talking, and working out emotional issues, mixed with mildly supernatural phenomena, or upon occasion, a bit of nudity or a bad word that wasn’t expressed with a string of nonsensical punctuation and symbols. With this increasingly surreal, mature and decidedly non-heroic batch of comics gathering their own audiences, DC split off some of their books to their newly-formed Vertigo imprint.

It was an era in which art was taking precedence over story, but writers were given a much wider berth and freedom under the Vertigo banner, and unlimited profanity and frontal nudity were to be had by all. I’m not talking just female nudity here, folks. All kinds of nudity. Male, female, and everything in between, and since these were Vertigo stories, there was plenty of ‘in betweens’. One of the writers that benefitted from this imprint was the perennially ‘out there’ Grant Morrison, who had writing duties on Doom Patrol, among other things. While the original Drake / Premiani Doom Patrol was one of the best of the Silver Age books, the Patrol was killed off after 121 issues, but went on to experience various creative rebirths after that, and on into the present day. The most successful and creative rebirth included Morrison, who created a large gallery of new and stunning characters, both good and evil, during his run. One of these heroic, utterly bizarre characters was Flex Mentallo, who was spun off into his own four-issue miniseries.

As is Morrison’s tendency to break the fourth wall, the character of Flex Mentallo is actually an acknowledgment and parody of the Charles Atlas ads that ran in many Silver Age comics, preying upon the wiry and physically unimpressive demographic. Charles Atlas, of course, purported to provide the magical secrets to develop an impressive physique to the formerly-skinny boy on the beach who gets sand kicked in his face. Mr. Atlas was treading the delicate borderline of being a hyperbolic parody of himself anyhow, but the character of Flex Mentallo brought this to the next level.

And the Charles Atlas company sued DC comics.

DC Comics subsequently won the lawsuit and did not have to pay retroactive royalties for the parody, but were ordered to pay future royalties for any reprints that they decided to publish. Because of this unfortunate legal tangle, DC has declined to reprint these issues in a trade format as they have for most of their other series. While the original four comic issues are not exceptionally rare, since the lawsuit came to fruition after the full publication of these had completed and all saw normal print runs, they remain prized by readers and collectors because of the impressive creative team involved in their creation, and the intellectual quality of the books themselves.

In addition to the cult-favorite Grant Morrison, Frank Quitely (born Vincent Deighan) provided the meticulous artwork, which was his breakout illustration job. Morrison and Quitely would work together on JLA : Earth 2, and more recently on New X-Men and All Star Superman, though Quitely’s apparent difficulty meeting deadlines seems to result in frustrated readers and publishers all around. The creative team, however, is an amazing force, and certainly worth following.

I’m still seeking out a copy of my own, after falling in love with the Morrison / Quitely team on New X-Men, and reminiscing about how it was Vertigo Comics that lured me into the gritty underbelly of graphic fiction to begin with. I’ll spend the summer in my friend’s garage, helping him sell off all of his longboxes of comics to the highest bidder, and if I’m lucky, I’ll unearth a readable copy of Flex Mentallo among the regrettable Warriors of Plasm backissues.

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