She Comes on like a Rose…

August 29, 2008 on 6:39 pm | In Uncategorized | No Comments

I currently work at Wizard for two reasons: I lost my virginity and my Mom got cancer.

(Ewwww, gross! Too much information.)

Wait! Wait, please!

I swear I’m no diva, no narcissistic oversexed Paris-zilla who thinks You Tube hits are the qualifier of cool. I’m also really not trying to force-feed you the crap in my closet to clean it.

It’s just….my origin story. You’ve got one too, don’cha?

So… Let’s hear it!

Welcome to Chewing on Poison Ivy: A Girls, Comics and Pop Culture salad. My name is Kate, and I’m a humble feminist (undergraduate Women’s Studies minor) who loves men like Harley on Mista J. And women like Harley on Poison Ivy.

But that’s getting ahead in the story.

In this column, you’re going to find all the girl-related comics, movies and pop culture-palooza I can muster. Interviews with artists, writers, actors; discussions; reviews—I’ll always take suggestions on what you’d like to see covered, too. And men are always welcome. More than likely, always celebrated.

Why? They’ve got origins too. C’mon—tell me you’ve never wanted to give poor Wolverine a hug. (Logan, Weapon X, James Howlett—picture him trying to fill out a speed dating nametag. Or, just picture him speed dating.)

But—hey—we’re getting ahead again.

This first week, I figure I’d start with a handshake. I hate people who just hop on the internet and start ranting. Who are ya? Can I get a chance to see what you’re really about before I decide if I dig your opinion?

I promise I will always be honest with you. And yeah, hopefully a little entertaining too.

So, let’s get freakin’ started!

We’ve got three important things to figure out today: who the bamf am I, why Poison Ivy, and how can I get you, fabulous readers, involved here (scroll down: interactive opportunity below!)?

I could explain myself with whatever professional or academic credits I have, but we both know that origin’s no fun. How much do we really care where Pam Isley went to school as much as what happened to her there? (And do you know what happened to her there? According to her Post-crisis origin, Professor Jason Woodrue used Pam as his personal experimental piñata, eventually turning her into Poison Ivy. Pre-Crisis, a Professor tried to poison her outright. C’mon guys—are angry feminists really that wrong sometimes?)

I will say, though, that I first realized my complete thirst for education when I got to college. Before that, pretty much everything I accomplished academically I did to either not get in trouble, get my ego stroked, or spare my parents from horrendous college bills by shooting for different scholarships. But what real *&^% good is a scholarship if you don’t care about learning? For a long time, I was a walking contradiction.

I was also walking contraception. No danger of me getting pregnant, since my luck with men was like Batman’s shark-repellant. There was Bob, a dude who asked me out in our dorm’s elevator—and I wound up holding him while he wept during our second date over his ex-girlfriend. Then there was Adam, who literally hip-checked babies to get at free samples in the supermarket. Oy.

I was restless personally and academically. But at least I had my superheroes.

The first superhero that awoke the Nerd in me was Sam Kieth’s The Maxx. I was nine years old and stumbled onto MTV’s Liquid Television series during a sleepover with girlfriends. I touched the screen—I remember the static shock. And though my friends made me change the “boring” channel, I literally dreamed of his mind-warped jungle world that night.

Not too soon after, my Mom brought home my very first copy of Wizard magazine. For my brother.

I stole it.

She brought home another.

I stole it.

When my mother discovered me reading the latest Wizard in my huge horded pile in the basement one day, rather than hiss at her like Angela in Sleepaway Camp, I came out of my closet:

“Mama, your daughter is a Nerd. I mean—look at Witchblade—isn’t Michael Turner just the most luminous, engaging artist since Michelangelo? And did you know the Joker shattered Barbara Gordon’s spine!?”…

And thus emerged from a pile of coagulated Wizard pages, The Fangirl!

Fast forward now, back to restless college Me. It was fall of sophomore year, and I read a story in an English class by Nathaniel Hawthorne (you know, that Scarlet Letter guy) called Rappacini’s Daughter. If you haven’t, I suggest you check it out. Go on. I’ll wait. I really don’t mind….

…

Ready?

Did you notice? I didn’t get it right away myself—it wasn’t until I watched some Batman: The Animated Series that night that made me suspicious. I hopped on the net and googled the idea…

Our girl Poison Ivy was, in fact, partly inspired by the most classic of literature.

That was it for me: suddenly all of literature was one big cross-over event, true believers! I ended up an English major, set on professionally developing my Geekery. In fact, I was going to spread the Good Geek Word as an English professor. I had all the grad school applications ready (with samples of my Senior Capstone on the psychology of female Bat-villians in tow, of course).

Meanwhile, with my academic rebirth came a social one. If school could really be an adventure for me, then why not sex as well?

And no, I didn’t go start drinking in clubs and hooking up with strangers. I didn’t want to be wild. I didn’t want to risk my health. I just wanted to know what I wanted.

I had a million questions about my sexuality, and I decided not to clumsily work my way through them one partner at a time.

Maybe one day I will be comfortable enough to share all the details with you (I am not so naturally an exhibitionist), if you care to hear them. But for now, the short-form is, I went shopping on the internet, sorted through emails and dinners and phone calls, until I found the exact scenario I was satisfied with. In one very safe, happy evening, I was able to confirm that yes, I enjoy the company of both women and men, and not lose, but shake off my virginity into a new sense of confidence, self-respect, and empowerment. I had built the exact terms of my “loss” and now I honestly, truly believe I can do just about anything I put my mind to.

The real reason I’m telling you all this is because of an incidental point that came out of that night: I heard about a dating website, a free one that I should “totally check out.”

I did. The first day, I met my boyfriend Marc, and I haven’t looked at anyone, male or female, since. Love is truly an amazing thing. I’m not even going to attempt to be witty or wise on that—too many people have already said it succinctly.

On this note, though, I do want to pause again and think about our girl Ivy. She’s a plant-girl. And she keeps coming out of the closet with causes to green Gotham (lest we forget, Ivy managed to create a revolutionary bio-power source for the world in Ann Nocenti’s Cast Shadows), and keeps getting shoved back inside it. I worry sometimes about being bisexual. About knowing I am bisexual. There are so many pre-conceived notions out there—that I’m promiscuous, indiscriminating, perhaps even incapable of choosing one partner for life. And it’s not BEING perceived as one of those things that has me worried. I know I’m none of the above. It’s being LABELED at all. I submit to you all that Ivy is a special Bat-villain. The only one who isn’t crazy; just pure victim of being a bona fide outsider, the weight of human-made buildings weighing down on her natural personality. Remember that Arkham is an asylum—not a jail. What is this place really trying to “rehabilitate” her from?

I mean, imagine…truly imagine your workplace, right now, and you’ve got lips that kill with a kiss. Everyone’s typing, getting coffee and chatting around you, and you can take human life with a kiss. That’s what I truly love the most about superhero comics: it all takes place in the NOW—in our world—and that makes every character, including Ivy, pretty damn dynamic if you ask me. I think a lot of readers, myself included, can often forget that.

But I digress.

As all of my self-discovery was going on, I noticed my Mom was taking more and more trips to the doctor. One night—the day I’d mailed my grad school applications—she announced she had cancer. With the stage it was in, she’d have to stop working. If she stopped working, my Mom and Dad couldn’t afford their house. Okay. (EeeekOhmygoshhowcanthishappen???) This is what it is.

So I told them: no problem. I’m a college graduate. I’m getting a job.

I began searching job sites…for weeks…so many cubicles open and waiting for me…is this really where life is leading me? But then—

Hey—“Managing Editor needed for ToyFare Magazine?”

SAY WHAT??!!

No. No way, I decided. What sort of hope did a recent college grad (who had taken a temporary job teaching) have of landing that job? I had no networking connections or anything! I couldn’t handle the stress of being rejected by a company I so dearly loved while trying to help my Mom. So that was it. No.

And then that night, that very night, Marc met me for dinner and handed me an article.

“I thought this might help you on your search,” he said. “It’s about the best places to work in Rockland County.”

The first entry? Wizard Entertainment.

Damn you, God! Why you gotta have such a vicious sense of irony? Okay, okay…

So, the fight was on. And, like my virgin-adventure, I won.

I should pause here and say how very lucky I do, in fact, recognize I am. Fun fact: there are two men’s rooms on the first floor of Wizard. And yes, I work on ToyFare in one room surrounded by four men every day. But never once has being a girl ever been a hindrance to my acceptance among them. Why? Because they’re polite? Maybe. I like to think it’s because women have made a difference for themselves: that none of these guys actually care or notice I’m a girl, even though I do dress pretty much like Donna Reed and occasionally play John Mayer love songs when it’s my turn for music.

And, on a final note, funnily enough, my Dad got a big new job about five minutes after I got mine. No need for me to help them anymore.

Hello–Could things get much weirder?

I don’t know why things happened the way they did, but I think it’s pretty self-evident I was meant to be here right now. Either Wizard’s gonna teach me something, or I’m gonna teach something to Wizard. Or maybe both. I really can’t wait to find out, and look forward to doing so with you.

So there you have it. Here I am at Wizard because I lost my virginity and Mom got cancer. It’s my origin. Like it or not, there’s sex and disease in there, but you know what—so is that good ol’ Shakesperean pearl: to thine own self be true. If I didn’t admit to myself I was a horny/curious Jason Biggs, or look my mother’s current health issues in the face, I wouldn’t have found this new opportunity.

And now, to the more important question: what’s YOUR story?

I’m serious–if you’ve gotten this far in my loooooong first post–you deserve a virtual pat on the back! To any reader who’s down for some fun, email me at knapolitano@wizardent.com, tell me your Origin Story in 500 words or less, and you just might see yourself interviewed among the artists, celebs and creators I’ll be speaking to up here too! Us nerds gotta stick together!

So, whew! That’s enough writing for one day–especially one before a holiday! Welcome, again, to Chewing on Poison Ivy…hope I gave you a little food for thought today, and I’ll see you next time, when we’ll start looking at what makes other women in the pop culture world tick.