If the Weekly Volcano wanted to be predictable (read: Helpful), we could produce a Valentine's Day special section loaded with wonderfully romantic restaurant and dreamy little clubs. Because a pigeon could come up with that sort of special section, we decided to investigate the loves and passions of local folks.

Cody Jones

LOVER OF VHS: By Adam McKinney

There used to be a time when content was created - utilizing, by its creators, love and crazy, misguided passion - and enjoyed for a while before either being carried on into a new stage of technology or  disappearing forever into the ether. The Internet and, specifically, sites like YouTube have helped a great deal to unearth these artifacts and reintroduce them to a largely indifferent yet morbidly fascinated public.

For some, these treasures have slumbered in boxes and basements and dusty, forgotten attics. A smaller group, still, chooses to proudly display these monuments to a bygone era.

Cody Jones loves VHS. He seeks out these tapes, finding them abandoned in large bins at Goodwill and at swap meets. Some of these tapes, depending on how rare they are, he will end up putting on eBay and, although there may be some small amount of money to be made in doing this, it is never really enough to cover the effort expended in doing it. It's about finding these tapes the proper home.

Jones, also a member of local indie band The Nightgowns, gave me a tour of his tapes, announcing the titles with a big grin on his face. "Have you seen Cool as Ice," he asks. "Vanilla Ice's movie? I was stoked when I found that."

We sat down and watched the first few minutes of several videos, including a ninja movie where the voices of both villain and hero are dubbed by the same disinterested guy; terrifying instructional videos about hypnosis and nunchucks; Blacula, which Jones has never had the heart to actually watch; Santa with Muscles, which effectively marked the end of Hulk Hogan's confounding film career; and Teen Witch, a film seemingly made to capitalize on our nation's obsession with both witches and Teen Wolf.

"I'll go down to the Goodwill bins and I'll just dig through," says Jones. "I think it's like 25 videos for six bucks. It's weird because you go down there and see other people that are collectors, too. They wait for the bins to come out and they jump it. Just frenzied. There's this one lady who's my main competition. I always see her and I watch her and I try to beat her because I know she's going to get the good movies. So, I see where she's going and I go one bin ahead of her. I know she sees me, but we never make eye-contact."

VHS tapes might be the closest we've come to producing practical time capsules. They have the capacity to depict remarkably personal moments in time and are built to remain functional long after those responsible for creating the content have moved on.

Soon, perhaps within five years or so, young people will have absolutely no context for these tapes. They'll seem as hilariously antiquated as 8-tracks and mimeographs. Little do they know that VHS will outlive us all, much like the cockroach. It is a technology that requires one to actively destroy it in order for it to truly fade away.

JASON MCKIBBIN: He's seen the highs and lows of comic book love. Photography by Julie Holt

Jason McKibbin

LOVER OF COMIC BOOKS: By Julie Holt

It's not hard to see why people like comic books. There's the caped hero anonymously fighting for justice, lots of tights and masks (did somebody say bondage?), a guy who dresses like a bat and, of course, the one thing that probably draws in the most teenage male readers (and old men alike), the damsel in distress, who is always voluptuous and incapable of dressing appropriately for cold weather.

With all the T&A and violence, it's not hard to see why people like comics. But when that like turns into unbridled obsession, well, then a nerd is born, and somewhere in heaven, I'm pretty sure a Klingon gets its wings.

One such nerd is Tacoma native Jason McKibbin. McKibbin is a self-proclaimed "comic book super freak" and, yes, he is an addict. He doesn't attend any meetings, but his 450-shoebox collection definitely qualifies him for a 12-step program.

I met McKibbin at Atomic Comics down by the Tacoma Mall. I spotted him feverishly flipping through a box of vintage comics. He had the same intent expression I wear when shopping a half-off sale at Goodwill. I called his attention and he looked up, smiled and waved hello.

My first impression is that McKibbin - who many Tacomans know as the lead singer of punk band I Defy - is not the prototypical comic nerd. He looks more like a professional linebacker who moonlighted as an actor for Capital One‘s Viking commercials. He towers over 6 feet tall, with a size 16 shoe. (Sorry ladies, he's taken.) Despite his intimidating stature and his piercing blue eyes, he has a sweet and gentle demeanor. McKibbin looks like a guy who would break through your front door with a log and a Viking helmet, only to offer to mow your lawn and take your grandmother out for a nice seafood dinner.

We perused the store for 15 minutes, while McKibbin loaded his arms with comics (for his girlfriend. Aw.). He even convinced me to buy my first, entitled A Muppet's Sherlock Holmes. Who's the nerd now, bitches?

After my four dollar purchase we headed to Wendy's to further assess his addictive compulsions. While eating chicken nuggets, Jason told me about when his romance (my words, not his) with comic books began.

McKibbin's comic book love affair blossomed at a young age, he tells me. As far back as he could remember he had a fascination with superheroes. "I was 4 or 5 when I bought my first comic with my own money, and I haven't stopped since," he says.

McKibbin claims comic books have changed his life. He even credits comics with teaching him how to read. "By the time I was in elementary school I was reading better than any other kid," he says, "Comics helped me to read, write, draw and grow my vocabulary more than Sesame Street ever did."

Because of his positive comic book experience, and because, well, he's such a good guy, McKibbin now serves as the vice president of a literary campaign that uses comics to help teach kids to read. The organization is called Comics for Kids. They collect used comics and donate them to children. You can find more out at their MySpace.

After hearing all the helping the children fluff, I wanted to dig deeper - and I was down to my last two chicken nuggets, so there wasn't time to spare. I asked McKibbin candidly what the downfalls of comic collecting had been. That's when the juicy part came out (and I'm not talking about biting into my chicken nuggets; they were dry).

Comic collecting for McKibbin has been more than a walk in the park of Gotham City. His obsessive collecting has cost him several thousand dollars and several hundred hours that could have been used for something more productive. Two years ago he hit a bad patch when his pregnant girlfriend and rent bills demanded he sell all of his 150,000 comics. I saw the sadness in his eyes as McKibbin told me how he was forced to get rid of his vast collection.

"It was enough boxes to fill this Wendy's," he says sadly.

We were in a big Wendy's.

Since then, Jason has partially rebuilt his collection. "Only 10,000," he says. "Only?" I ask.

Now, after going in and out of debt, Jason plans to make his comic book obsession a thing of profit. McKibbin has been buying up vintage comic books from flea markets, garage sales and online auctions and selling them. And he's doing pretty well. "Yesterday I sold $600," he says, "(That's) probably more than Atomic Comics will make in a week."

Things seem to be looking up for this comic book aficionado, who has taken his expensive obsession and turned it into a profitable endeavor. "The stock market has gone down the toilet," he says, knocking on a large box of comics. "But these bad boys just keep going up."

BRADFORD KNUTSON: Like all good bartenders, he's a little bitter. Photo courtesy of Facebook/Nicole Butigan

Bradford Knutson

LOVER OF LIBATIONS: By Nikki Talotta

I pick up my interviewee, Bradford Knutson, at his home in Olympia. We plan to attend a book signing in Seattle. The book is Left Coast Libations, and one of its authors, Ted Munat, is Knutson's friend. This is my chance to see Knutson in his element. An environment full of artistic preservation, community and something we can all relate to - booze.

In Knutson's living room, he instantly concocts a drink for me. "You like tequila, right?" he asks. And before I can reply, there is beautiful añejo tequila old fashioned in front of me. As I sip, I admire Knutson's small corner bar. On trays within reach is a collection of small bottles, some homemade bitters, tinctures and samples. To the right of the bottles ... his tool kit. Every apparatus one could need for straining, shaking or stirring glisten like instruments on a surgeon's tray. The shelves above the bar hold rare and delicious liquors. An old copper still sits on the top shelf, as do a few bottles of Hibiki whiskey.

Knudson notices me eyeing the near-empty bottles of Hibiki and without hesitation, pours me a sample and breaks into a little liquor lore of the fabled, rare 30-year-old blended whiskey by a Japanese mix master. To me, it unbelievably tastes like butter. He then shares his own blend of Hibiki he made while at "Tales of the Cocktail," a weeklong bartender conference in New Orleans, just one of the many seminars, conventions and contests he participates in. Right now he's on the short list for a sponsorship to the Manhattan Cocktail Classic, and one of his recipes, a two ingredient drink called "Desmo," will be published this year in 101 Best New Cocktails by Gary Regan.

Knutson is also an active member of the Washington Bartenders Guild, an organization with "an enduring mission to elevate the standard of bartending as a craft."

Despite his accomplishments and growing reputation in the field, to him,  the bartending is most important. Behind the bar Wednesday, Friday and Saturday nights at Swing in Olympia, Knutson creates plenty of drinks. And he does so with care.

"One by-product of the prohibition was hiding the taste of the liquors with sodas or juices," he explains.

"I like to choose ingredients that enhance and accentuate the taste of the liquor."

It takes precisely this kind of knowledge, dedication and love to be a quality craft bartender.

When we arrive on Capitol Hill, Knutson takes me to Liberty, the cozy neighborhood bar where he makes his rounds, slapping backs, laughing and shaking hands with bartenders from up and down the coast. The camaraderie is endearing as this community of crafters catch up on the latest homemade tonic recipes and up-and-coming distilleries. I see a flask pass hands - Knutson's personal stash. I learn it is always filled with Fernet, an aromatic spirit, which Knutson jokes is his drink of choice, because, "it's bitter, like me."

While he says this in jest, all good bartenders have that bitter edge, and it can pop through, like the bite of clover in an aged apple brandy. In fact, he almost didn't allow this interview when he found out it was for the Valentine's issue. He mumbled something about a forsaken Hallmark holiday and there was no way. ... But then I bribed him with the opportunity to share an anti-Valentine‘s day drink recipe. So without further ado, Bradford's Bitter Bloody Bourbon recipe. Made with a little Fernet, of course.

Enjoy.

• 1 1/2 oz. Makers 46 bourbon
• 1/2 oz. fresh-squeezed blood orange juice
• 1/2 oz. Torani Amer (orange, herbal liquor)
• 1/2 oz. Fernet Branca (add an extra 1/4 oz. if you're extra bitter)
• Shake with ice and double strain into a coupe glass

"And remember," adds Knutson, "that burning feeling in your throat when you drink bourbon, that's just your soul healing."

LINK: South Sound Restaurant Guide