I offer this vignette as a bit of a counterpoint to the comic shop horror stories I have read, those anecdotes about rude, obnoxious, or sexist clerks who can't see the forest for the spandex. Comics is a lot of things, and the more the merrier, I say.
At the same time this heartwarming exchange was taking place, I was scanning the shelves, looking for my weekly supply of , um, spandex, and you know what? I came up with nothin'. Wonder Woman, the only remaining monthly (heh) that I am really interested in (since Ant-Man's rough charm is fading fast ) has apparently taken a detour into the Twilight Zone. The recently ballyhooed Countdown holds no interest for me; I dropped off the 52 bandwagon around thirty or so because the quality just wasn't there, and I have no reason to expect this "event" to be any different.
So, I think is is finally the end of my buying pamphlets: the kick just isn't worth the effort anymore. I hadn't bought anything new for years when I started this blog; all the interactions with blogger colleagues and my feeling more connected to current events tempted me back to buying new funnybooks, but the dalliance has left me unsatisfied. So, it's back to the trades for me; I have a list as long as my arm, and I'm going to start working my way through it seriously for a while.
And maybe I'll pick up some Little Lulu along the way.
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