Any reservations I may have had were
quickly dispelled; Comikaze did not disappoint.
It had all the usual features I’ve come to expect from comic
conventions:
·
The attendees...
Open-mouth-breathing, wide-eyed hordes of social misfits, MENSA members,
rocket scientists, outcasts (or as I like to call them, “my peeps”). You’ve never seen such a wretched hive of scum
and villainy. Shout out to my Jedi fans—Holla!
·
The food... cardboardy pizza, rubber hot dogs, mystery
tacos, surprising and rather wonderful
noodles, and junk food the likes of which these folks haven’t seen since... well, probably yesterday
·
Memorabilia... Shirts, comics, statues,
collectibles, clothing, trading cards and just about everything else from every
age of super hero-dom, the Potterverse, Who-dom, The Shire, Horror-ville, and
whatever other alternate universe conflicts with ours. No passport required.
·
The aroma... The slight pungent odor of sweat
coming from too-often-worn elaborate costumes, headdresses, and masks. Maybe it was just the sweat coming from the
Quidditch pitch or perhaps the hundreds of Magic Card players hunched over
tables. After Halloween, we used to
throw away our costumes; not these folks – they just enhance, bedazzle, and
re-don (the parent in me would like to recommend they consider “dry clean” as
well)
Of course, all this eye candy was
accompanied by the occasional conflicting feeling that I was both exactly where
I was meant to be and that I was entirely out of my element. Then again, that just may be one of the many manifestations
of my soon to be spectacular mid-life crisis.
Stay tuned.
At Comikaze, the celebrity encounters
were a-plenty. I got to meet with and
speak to Stan Lee, my hero. You may
recall I only saw him from afar at the last “con.” Some of you know I also got to meet him way
back in college, too. And just like it
was back in college, the drooling was once again up close and personal (poor
Stan!). I got to shake his hand, hug
him, take my picture with him, and have a chat. Sort of like meeting Santa, without the
sitting on the lap and wishing for toys.
My Stan chat went like this (imagine
me wide-eyed and Stan graciously smiling):
Herb: Hey
Stan! My name is Herb!
Stan: Well,
hello, Herb!
Herb: It’s
been 25 years since I last met you.
Stan: Really?
Herb: Yeah. Andromeda Bookstore in Santa Barbara.
Stan: Of
course. I remember you.
Herb: You
do?
Stan: Yeah,
you were wearing the brown pants. [He grins mischievously and I know I’ve been
duped. He is a riot, it should be known.]
Herb: Very
good! [Here, I’m interrupted by a Stan
staffer who positions us for taking our picture. When we’re done, my family joins]
Herb: Hey,
Stan this is my son, his friend, and my wife!
Stan: Oh,
I see a lot has changed in 25 years.
Herb:
Oh, yeah!
Stan: Well,
I hope I see you in another 25 years. [He
shakes my hand, more firmly than you’d think for an 89 year-old man]
Herb: Me
too!
My wife says it’s an honor to meet him
and he says, “The pleasure is all mine, my dear.” Such a classy guy!
In case you’re still wondering, Stan is an awesome dude. Whether you’re a comic book aficionado, a fan of Marvel hero movies, or simply a citizen breathing air on Earth, there’s no escaping his legacy. The guy invented Spider-Man for crying out loud! Wake up, people!
Clearly, this was the highlight of my
weekend. I have a Stan-the-man-crush.
Of course, Stan was not the only celeb
at the con. I did take some perverse
pleasure watching some of the other celebrities attempt to approach Stan’s
level of fame.
For instance, I enjoyed watching the
ill-advised, post-plastic-surgery Morgan Fairchild, dolled up, sitting in a
booth, watching the throngs and hordes of orcs, Iron Men, ninjas, Jedis, Freddy
Kruegers, and Doctors Who, Doom, and Strange pass right by her, not even
knowing who she was.
Kids, if you don’t know Ms. Fairchild,
get on those Internets and Google-ize her. It may take a little work.
I must say, Ms. Fairchild looked very
disgruntled at being so ignored, and I half-expected her to grab a “batlith”
from a passing Klingon, jump the draped folding table, and disembowel some
pimply teen or maybe throttle her agent, if just for the attention. That would’ve been awesome though, given the
mock battles that routinely broke out not unlike flash mobs, I suspect very few
people would have noticed.
Oddly (and counter-intuitively) Lou
Ferrigno was similarly passed over by the nerd minions, though a lot of people
squinted in confusion at the life size 1970s picture of him dressed as the Hulk
which was propped next to his booth, probably not fully understanding what that
was about.
I was sorta sad for ol’ Lou. He was alone and clearly forgotten, though
seemed like a nice guy, if not just a bit forlorn. I guess the modern variety CGI Hulks are
cooler than the old school big dudes painted green. Sorry, Lou.
You’re just an analog superhero at a digital con. Please don’t smash me. Blame the new Hulk, Mark Garofalo and those
guys at Marvel studios.
There was a bit of a Batman reunion
with booths hosting Adam West (TV’s Batman), Burt Ward (TV’s Robin), and Julie
Newmar (TV’s Catwoman--the sexiest of them all if you ask me, which you didn't). It was
practically a bat cave with all the bat-action goin’ on!
Richard Anderson (TV’s Oscar Goldman
from “The Six Million Dollar Man”) was there to sign autographs. I have nothing but respect for Mr. Anderson,
but if someone told me he was 109 years old, I would’ve believed him. That dude could use some bionics of his own. What is the shelf life of celebrity? A sad question. Maybe we can rebuild him.
Elvira, vampyric TV icon and host of
early 80’s TV horror marathons was there.
She had lots of Elvira memorabilia and was quite nice to everyone who
came to see her. Unlike Ms. Fairchild,
the mistress of the dark seemed to fit in quite nicely with the nerd minions and was ready for
fun. Didn’t get to chat with her, but
wish I did! She floated my boat back in the
day and maybe just a little even now.
Although I refrained from donning my
own costume, I did wear my Captain America and Super Soldier shirts that
weekend. I still admired the earnestness
of those more bold and brave in how much time and money they spent to dress
themselves and then commit to their characters.
And though I recognized most of the superhero costumes, I didn’t have a
clue about the pink and blue-haired manga dress-ups, nor the self-designed,
self-named monsters like last year’s Shark Commando.
I heard one guy in a draped,
boney/hairy costume explain to someone that he was a Level Three Oranga-Lith (I
think that’s what he said). The person
on the receiving end of the explanation nodded and said, “cool,” but I was just
confused and admittedly more than a little amused. But, you gotta give points for creativity,
right?
There was, however, a bunch of
zombies! This was cool. I get zombies. No explanation necessary.
In fact, the convention had set up an indoor
area the size of three football fields surrounded by chain link fencing. Within the fenced area, they set up ten of
those big bounce houses that create slides, climbing walls, fortresses, and
such so that the area was one big maze of obstacle course elements simulating a
decimated city. Then, they turned down
the lights, filled the place with actors dressed as zombies, set off occasional
sirens and let a roving spotlight search the scene. With the mood set, they sent people through
the maze at $30 a pop! They called it “Zombie
Apocalypse” and it was all kinds of awesome.
Genius, in fact.
“Survivors” got a limited edition “Walking
Dead Season 3” poster. If you don’t know
about AMC’s TV show, “The Walking Dead,” I’ll forgive you, only if you promise
to get on the ol’ Google, figure out what you’re missing, order the
DVDs/Blu-Rays and become hopelessly addicted.
You can thank me after the apocalypse.
Anyhow, back to the con.... my son and
his friend went through the apocalypse twice (I love that you can survive two
apocalypses... apocalypsii?). I was
excited more that I didn’t have to pay again.
I make it a policy only to pay for one apocalypse a day.
Thinking the fun was over, I was
pleasantly surprised to learn the next day that my son and his friend convinced
the show runners to let them dress as zombies and torment the other wanna-be
survivors. Unbelievable! Thirty minutes in hair, costume, and makeup
with professional makeup artists transformed these kids into very gruesome zombies. They were then instructed to chase people for
three hours. To say they had the time of
their lives would be an understatement (time of their deaths?). If I knew being dead made my son happy, I
would have killed him years ago!
The weekend offered opportunities for
the boys to play Quidditch, traipse around as zombies, play Magic Card games,
buy comics and posters and shirts, play video games, and gawk at their favorite
purple-haired “Hit Girl” (look it up, people.
This blog is interactive).
Throughout it all, I couldn’t help but
wonder how such events reflect human nature and pop culture. Deep inside, we all like to pretend. Some lead real lives and come to conventions
to pretend and some just pretend in real life and come to conventions to get
real. I say, give in to your inner
nerd. Embrace your hidden geek. Become the hero/zombie/princess/ Level Three
Oranga-Lith within you! Of course, if
there’s a monster in there, I’ll advise you to keep pretending you’re just a
regular human, but love your inner monster anyway.
Of course, once that mid-life crisis
hits, you may not be able to control your inner Ferrigno. Then again, no one may notice.
© 2012, Herb Williams-Dalgart
