The OurPDX.net authors had a meetup the other night, at Chesterfields. Betsy bought some appetizers, which were very tasty, and they had good beer for only $2.50 a pint. We had an excellent turnout of authors and some readers, and the conversation was wonderfully eclectic. Being the hardwired introvert that I am, I spent most of the evening at the periphery, and did more listening than talking.

For many, many years I was made to feel ashamed of being uninterested in social activities involving lots of people and/or strangers. I think a lot of this was well-intentioned, because extroverts just can’t comprehend a person for whom a rockin’ party isn’t a good time. “Just come for a while! I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself!” If I can get you in the door, they reason, THEN you’ll understand what you’re missing.

Ah, but I already know exactly what I’m missing. Thanks but no thanks.

It has only been relatively recently that I’ve reached something of an accommodation with my introversion, beginning with a fascination with Myers-Briggs personality typing. Looking at personal interactions through the lens of Myers-Briggs was a mind-expanding exercise, and it helped strengthen my marriage substantially. And it’s wonderfully liberating to find out there are people out there that feel the way you do about crowds, noise, and parties, and that you aren’t somehow mentally or emotionally crippled because of it.

At my alma mater, a little college in SE Portland, I found an environment that was as forgiving of personal idiosyncrasies as I ever hope to see in my life. But it was still a struggle to get through a Friday night when there was a “Social” in the Commons. While everyone else on campus was drinking Blitz-Weinhardt and rocking to the band du jour, I was often at loose ends.

But then I discovered the MLLL: My own refuge from the social storm outside.

Some genius geek introvert had turned a room in the basement of the Commons into the Music Listening and Lending Library. It was full of beat-up couches and bookshelves, with a Hi-Fi system and an impressive collection of vinyl. But few of the patrons of the MLLL cared as much about the music as they did about the comic book collection.

These were not stacks of dog-eared issues of Archie, getting progressively more and more tattered as the years went by. No, these were entire comic series, bound in hardcover into heavy volumes, lovingly arranged on the shelves.

I read “The Amazing X-Men” from issue no. 1 up until Chris Claremont had thoroughly screwed up the franchise. I read “Nexus.” I read “Badger.” I discovered the incredible “Cerebus” by Dave Sim.

I developed a life-long love and appreciation for the graphic novel, and I survived many a loud and drunken Social curled up in the MLLL, lost in the pages of a comic.

I remember one such night, I think it might have been during the Halloween Social in ‘85 or ‘86, I was pulled out of the comic book I was reading by a woman’s voice saying “Well, that’s fine!” in a slightly slurred and injured tone. She was standing in the doorway, near the foot of one of the couches. The MLLL denizen sprawled out on that particular couch looked up from his book and asked “Is there something the matter?”

She swayed slightly, gathered her dignity, and said “A girl is … dishplaying her nuditity… and…no one even notices!”

The reclined reader looked apologetic. “I’m so terribly sorry. Could you give us another chance?”

The young lady pulled open her trench coat to reveal absolutely nothing on underneath it. As the rest of us watched, the fellow on the couch politely said “Eeek.”

“That’s BETTER!” she said, and staggered off, letting the door close behind her.

The best part was that we all just went back to our comics as if nothing had happened. Sometimes I really miss that place.