Optional Music Accompaniment: The theme to the X-MEN animated series. On repeat. 

I’ve always been a man defined by his hobbies and obsessions, whether it be Ninja Turtles, baseball, Beanie Babies, Star Wars, fantasy sports, or TV. From 2000 to 2007, my Northstar was comic books, and I’d argue, was the most important hobby I ever had, irrevocably changing how I view pop culture and discovering what kind of stories and worlds and characters that I love.

I’m a devourer of superhero-related pop culture, someone whose calendar is dictated by big movie releases or TV premieres. My consumption of sci-fi, fantasy and comics has paralleled the incredible rise to prominence that these genres have imprinted on our culture. I like to think I had something to do with it all, because the timing is uncanny (sorry).

But without the original X-MEN, the superhero film that in many ways, started it all, we might never have seen a world where comic book heroes are the most popular characters in the world, where movie theaters are filled with the biggest characters from our youth, or the most eclectic. ANT-MAN is going to have his own movie, and that’s not weird. That’s exciting. The best filmmakers and actors in the world do some of their best work bringing to life characters that we grew up so urgently pretending they were real. Perhaps even without X-MEN, another movie would’ve sparked a superhero renaissance, an age when Captain America or Iron Man shares equal footing (or towers above) James Bond, Sherlock Holmes, Darth Vader and Indiana Jones. But maybe we’d still be waiting for AVENGERS. Or JUSTICE LEAGUE, because the punch line writes itself.

X-MEN’s success led to Sam Raimi getting his hands on SPIDER-MAN, and that paved the way for Christopher Nolan to reboot BATMAN, and for all of our movie going lives to change forever. It certainly mutated mine (oops).

If I hadn’t seen X-MEN, or if it hadn’t had a profound impact on me, I might not have been as invested in the incredible fantasy world that we geeks live in today. When the film came out in 2000, I had never read a comic book before. I was aware of them, having spent most of my money on MAGIC: THE GATHERING, POKEMON and baseball cards at Bigfoot’s Cards & Comics (now and forever closed ). I think I knew I’d like them, but I didn’t know if I was ready to fully commit to my nerd-dom, or admit to myself that that was the path I was going down. I was an extremely shy person back then, and not at all comfortable in my own skin, preferring to shield my personality from other people.

I was also a fairly accomplished baseball player at the time (but I was only 12, so that means nothing), and I’m not sure if I was able to reconcile the two worlds together. Being a LORD OF THE RINGS geek on your baseball team in 2000 was a hard sell, and I don’t think it’s an accident that my playing days became more frustrating, difficult and fewer and far between once I embraced comic books and the like. I wish I had juggled the two better (one of my bigger regrets), but I wasn’t very good at managing my obsessions.

When Bryan Singer, a director known for THE USUAL SUSPECTS, took on X-MEN, and brought it into theaters in 2000, I was more than familiar with the X-MEN. Like almost everyone in my generation, I had grown up on the awesome aforementioned cartoon. Jubilee was the worst, Cyclops was lame, the Phoenix Saga was fucking great, etc. I would’ve told you Wolverine was my favorite character (revel in his best quotes, though none top “JEEAANNNNNNN”), but I probably secretly believed Beast to be my fave, since he was the most Donatello-like of the mutant brigade.

Every summer, I’d go with my family to visit Granny in North Lake Tahoe. After a day spent on the beach (likely playing “amazing catches,” a forced childish version of ESPN’s Web Gems with a splash ball), we’d often play a round or two of miniature (don’t call it pee wee) golf at Magic Carpet Golf. While there were many highlights of the experience (including some shooting game that featured a terrifying cowboy/drunk that shot water and hollered at you), I was never satisfied until AFTER I got done in the Arcade Room. Why? Because they had the X-MEN Arcade Game. Magic Carpet was probably one of two places I’ve ever seen it, or played it (until very recently, it was still there; now my childhood is dead).

While I loved playing as Wolverine (in his spectacular brown and tan/yellow duds that need to make it on film) and Nightcrawler (also one of my faves; I wasn’t too creative in my choices), Colossus was the true breakout character of that game in my mind. I would play him the most, and would yell “Hyogen” to emulate the yell Piotr Rasputin makes when he explodes/whatever the fuck he does to destroy all competition. For awhile I think I just figured his name was Hyogen, and that became a talking point with my father for years (he’ll still say it). I shouted Hyogen around the house well after I should’ve stopped, and am still a little upset how awful my ears were, since my approximation of his yell left a lot to be desired in translation:

I like Hyogen better, but there’s a lot to be said for MAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUGH. Or maybe it’s WHOOOOOOOOREE. One of life’s greatest mysteries.

All of this was a long-winded, rambling way to say that I had been primed, and ready for the moment a young Erik Lehnnsherr mangled barb-wire fence at a Nazi internment camp to open X-MEN, and tearing down the barrier to comics and genre in my life forever.

I was thrilled to discover the absolute perfect Wolverine on screen, perhaps the best unknown casting of all-time. One of the biggest travesties of the constant missteps of the X-franchise after X2 has been wasting a willing, loyal and brilliant Hugh Jackman in his prime on a bunch of shitty movies. That, more than anything, is why we need X-MEN: DAYS OF FUTURE PAST to be awesome, and why I’m totally fine that Wolverine’s role in the film is beefed up. There’s only so much longer that Hugh Jackman can do this, and like Robert Downey Jr. with Iron Man, I want to see as much of him as possible in the role that made us love him.

While Anna Paquin’s Rogue was annoying, I still loved Wolverine and Rogue’s relationship. Patrick Stewart. Ian McKellan. Most associate P-Stew with Captain Picard, or McKellan with Gandalf. This is likely heresy/wrong, but for me, they’ll always be Professor X and Magneto, as X-MEN was my first introduction to them as actors that stuck, and physical evidence that true love exists.

You could go on an on about what’s wrong with the X-MEN movies (Toad, Storm, Rogue, the bazillion plotholes and timeline inconsistencies), but it doesn’t matter. In 2000, when I saw X-MEN for the first time as a 12 year old, it changed my life.

X-MEN was my Gateway drug into comic books. The next week I was in Bigfoot’s, buying comics for the first time. Since that moment, I’ve listened to Joe Quesada or some other boner talk about how these movies try to get kids to read comic books countless times, and they always seem so desperate and laughable, but with X-MEN, the tactic worked.

While the first comic book character and series I fell in love with based on the merit of the character and the writing was GREEN ARROW, thanks to Kevin Smith and Phil Hester’s genius resurrection of Oliver Queen, they weren’t the first comics I ever read.

That would be X-MEN #110-113 and UNCANNY X-MEN #392-393, a unique and interesting period of X-Men comics that people would prefer to forget.

Somehow, Scott Lobdell’s “Eve of Destruction” arc didn’t ruin comic books for me forever. At the time, tt was seen as the last big crossover between the X-titles, while simultaneously being “filler” before Grant Morrison and Joe Casey (blergh) took over the flagship books for Marvel and revolutionized the mutants (one of them did). I honestly don’t remember Eve of Destruction in the slightest, except for their covers (and the brilliant song Lobdell was referencing), which is probably for the best. I do remember being kind of bummed out that Hyogen/Colossus had just died (sacrificing himself to save mutant kind from the Legacy Virus), right when I was started reading. Figures. Of course, years later, Joss Whedon would prove perhaps for the first time that he would always have my back, resurrecting my Arcade fave in ASTONISHING X-MEN.

Pretty soon, I was spending all of my allowance and savings on comic books, broadening out to AVENGERS, FANTASTIC FOUR, JUSTICE LEAGUE, and in a couple years, onto Vertigo titles like FABLES and Y: THE LAST MAN that really showed me the kind of diverse storytelling that could take place in a medium that I had always thought was devoted solely to masked heroes and villains.

When I was first delving in, I craved more. I wanted to talk about them, I wanted to pretend like I knew what I was talking about, and I wanted to meet other people like me. That’s when I found the Marvel message boards, and stumbled upon a world of role playing, constant threads filled with silly arguments debating your dream X-MEN team, or what mutant powers you wish you had, or who you’d want to fuck, along with various get to know you games with nerds of all shapes, sizes and ages. My moniker was DrDoom2099; to this day, I’ve never read a comic book with the 2099 version of Doctor Doom. Very soon, I had created my own message board called Comic Castle, that brought with it several iterations, a lot of wasted time, and a few long time members and friends.

One of whom was ShadowWolf214, or David Youngblood, a name you might recognize. He writes about owls and Red Pandas on this very site, and mind-bloggingly does so without any encouragement from me. 13-14 years after I first met him on the Marvel message boards and talked to him on AIM, I probably text David more than I do my Mom, Dad or best friends that I actually see on a consistent basis. David has been my nigh constant online companion ever since I learned to stop worrying and love the genre, and the bizarre, incredible, and life-giving worlds that that has opened up. In many ways, because he was so much older (it’s a one year difference, but it seemed/seems like a decade of difference when I was 12) and had been reading comics for longer, he kind of clued me in on what to read and what to shit on, until I was able to stand on my two feet in the comics community (I don’t know if I ever did). Whenever the other watches a new show, or movie, we’re likely the first to know about it, or receive a snarky comment. We practically have a symbiotic relationship when it comes to pop culture, and there are few people I trust more than him when it comes to recommendations.

It’s one of the weirder and cooler friendships and stories I’ve had the good fortune to stumble upon. I “met” David when I was 12 years old (though we both lied about our ages for at least a year or so), and we both stunningly turned out to be who we said we were, and kept in contact long enough to the point where it wasn’t weird when we finally met. I went to his wedding in August of 2012, finally meeting David and learning his disturbing predilection for chicken fingers in person for the first time. Here I was, the night before his wedding, crashing on his couch. It was surreal, kinda awkward, yet undeniably wonderful to be chatting about THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN, THE DARK KNIGHT RISES and PROMETHEUS with David and his drunk friends during the most important days of his life.

It’s reassuring to have someone in your life that not only knows you and has your back, but loves all the same things you do. It’s creepy/insane how similar David and I are in our pop culture consumption. He will get all the jokes, all the references. And that all came, in part, because of Bryan Singer’s first X-MEN. Without seeing it, I would have 100% less dragon socks, Edward James Olmos t-shirts and people to talk Agent 355 with, things no one should live without.

Before I became comfortable waving around my hobbies, and personality for all to see (which came in senior year of high school and college), the Marvel message boards were the first lifeline to who I really was. Nowadays, I don’t care what other people think about the weird or girly or nerdy things I like (MARY POPPINS, DAWSON’S CREEK, etc.), and am in fact proud of it, since I never shut up about them.

But without the Marvel Messageboards, and discovering the internet as this bastion of reflection, discussion and access to knowledge and people I’d never be able to meet in Edmonds, WA when I was in middle school, I never would’ve made Comic Castle or discovered things that truly inspired me. I might never would’ve written about comics, movies and the things I love, and without that, I don’t know if I ever would’ve realized how much I like not just writing online, but writing in general.

You could make the argument that seeing X-MEN was the most impactful thing that happened to me in my childhood, aside from a non-serious car accident that happened to me when I was 15 that robbed me of my license for a year and inadvertently introduced me to DAWSON’S CREEK, or not making the baseball team my freshman year of High School. Oh, and being loved and raised by a pair of wonderful parents, I guess.

While X-MEN: DAYS OF FUTURE PAST has the potential to be awful, and I’ve kind of held my expectations in check because of that, I’m optimistic. It’s actually snuck up on me how happy and ecstatic I am to see this crazy ballsy sequel/prequel/reboot/eraser fourteen years later, with Bryan Singer back in the saddle.

Maybe afterwards, I’ll find myself wandering right back into a comic shop, ready to restart the addiction. What’s Scott Lobdell doing these days?

Europe is gonna love me.

But, let’s not be too hasty. I’ll rewind a little bit. My name is Andy Greene, though I’d be shocked if any one actually reads this blog who didn’t already know that. After graduating to much fanfare at Ithaca College in 2010, my plan was to save money and write screenplays in preparation for kicking LA’s ass. It’s almost 2012, and I think I’ve written 12 pages of various projects, worked as a bus boy, waiter and teller, discovered a few excellent porn sites (xvideo, what up) and disappointed/shamed family and friends by blowing over a .20 while driving my family’s minivan in route to my grandmother’s house after my only night out in Lake Tahoe. So…I think I have the tabloid part of Hollywood life down, at least.

About a year after graduation I shifted gears (soberly) from going to LA completely unprepared to continuing to save money for a trip to Europe. I’m not entirely sure what I hope to accomplish in my travelling, but I knew there’s gotta be something out there, and that if I can’t write or be inspired by any of the gorgeous and annoyingly historic sites I’m about to see, then I can cross off being a writer for awhile. For awhile I’ve thought that life should be about living it, having fun, meeting new people, falling in love, trying new things and not working 9 to 5 enduring the daily routine, so it’s ironic that I worked at evil Bank of America to support these goals (mind you I’m technically on a six month leave of absence so, ahem, I love BOA).

Besides, I’ve found that I like to write about what’s happened to me, and well, here’s the result. This blog, with the help of Barrett WS himself, will at the very least keep my parents abreast of what nationality the breasts I’m sampling are, and if that didn’t do it, will scare most of my family and friends away with my embarrassingly raw honesty and will insure my single-dom for a very long time. Anyways, back to the trip.

The woman checking my bags (a Kelty day bag courtesy of Bank of America points) warns me about buying a one way ticket into London. She tells me to be prepared, and have better answers for her questions than I did. Note: this is blatant foreshadowing for those that watch MTV.

After an eerily similar goodbye to my parents to when I first went off for Ithaca, I was on the plane, nervous, petrified and at least half erect for what’s to come.

In all seriousness, the trip, in fact, did immediately pay off. The second I closed my eyes, ideas came for writing about my trip, about this blog, about Back to the Future 4 (where I’d play Michael J Fox’s/Marty’s son) but for various reasons it’s taken me awhile to begin chronicling my adventure.

I fall asleep before we even take off and despite expelling my bowels prior to boarding, I have a pang in my loins indicative of my college drinking years. What happened to my bladder? I feel like Bryan. It’s gonna be a long flight, and hopefully, a long journey.

Don’t international flights offer free booze? I was under the impression that they do. That’s codswallop; at least on Icelandair. I use the last of my U.S. cash to order an Icelandic beer named Tuborg which I think the old gentleman (who turns out to be Danish) recommended. It tastes like Heineken.

The rest of the flight is a kaleidoscope of Icelandic music, Ashton Kutcher films and neck ravaging airplane sleep. Aside from his good looks, I now know why our boy has such a big career. He does gangbusters overseas.The old Danish guy next to me watched No Strings Attached TWICE (to be fair his head fell forward during one of his naps which fast forwarded through the whole thing and I don’t think he knew how to work the screen) and finished the flight off with the first half of What Happens in Vegas. Two little known facts: Lake Bell is in both of these movies, and Ashton Kutcher movies look great on mute.

I’m very random, and get used to this, because fuck organizing, that’s why anyone can be a blogger (that and it’s easy to do drunk), but my first epiphany. My new goal in life is to have been to every place listed in Jlo and Pitbull’s iconic collaboration On the Floor. LA, NY, Vegas, done. Africa, Ibiza, Brazil and Morroco yet to come, but instant gratification: when I land I can cross off London.

Anyways (my 3rd favorite word), I land in London and it’s go time: customs. I am called to the lady furthest on the left, but after our favorite backpacker who got facebook friends took 9 seconds and a laugh to get by the older bespectacled gentleman in front of her, I stop by him. I made a huge mistake.

He asks me how long I’m in London, where I’m staying and going, and when I’m flying back. He wants to make sure I’m not bumming around Europe, not looking for work, not a terrorist. Fair enough. Well, I can’t lie, so I say I don’t have a return flight because I wasn’t sure what airport I would be flying out of because I bought a Eurail pass through Europe, etc. etc. etc. It sounded way less smooth than that and he not so kindly pointed out that London detains the second most Americans at the airport than any other country in the world. Gulp. He grills me for more information, and since my plan was to have no plan (smart move, Andy), I pretty much crumble. I explain I want something to write about, and well, he responds that I might receive that, just not what I want, which is exactly what I was thinking. He also makes a comment after I said I was going to have an adventure and fun, that he wasn’t having any of that at the moment. He asks me to sit down for a moment. I’d been in London for an hour, and it might be my last. The trip may not even happen. I’ve heard of (hell, I’ve had it on occasion) premature ejaculation but this shit is ridiculous.

The chap comes back, because you have to call British people something loopy, and we go to search my bags. He sees I’m backpacking, and I think the first time I received any points in my favor was when he asked me what was in the bottom pocket of my backpack and I said “I believe condoms and sandals.” He checked, laughed, and said it was good protection for Europe. And he meant the sandals. But he wasn’t convinced, and when he asked me what my budget was, I responded, and he wanted proof. I didn’t bring with me a receipt, which take note, is VERY helpful, so we went to an airport ATM to see if they would show my balance. I was bleak at that point, but fuck yes, the numbers I said I had showed up, and after waiting another few minutes, he stamped my passport, and I was in.

Fuck. It was an omen for things to come.

Next time on The Wanderer: Andy gets lost. A lot. Andy gets screwed. A lot. And not in the good way. Andy wants to go home. Andy likes typing in the 3rd person.

Before I sign off, I’d like to thank Barrett for putting together this website. Mind you, I’m writing this blindly. It could be an ugly fucking chut of a website, but then again, that’d fit. But seriously, any satisfaction derived from this blog wouldn’t be possible without Bear-it’s kind contributions.