Monday, July 30, 2007

I Survived Comic-Con 2007

One thing I have always loved about my hometown is that every summer for one weekend, a nerd exodus appears over the horizon, finding their way to my holy land. They bring with them tribute, tidings of pure love, as well as a few million dollars worth of hotel profits, giving the city financial buoyancy for at least one more mismanaged fiscal year. Although America's Finest City is also a primordial pool of political corruption, I can't help but love it for the cabals of good people and great beaches that seem to thrive in an otherwise festering landscape of egotistic elitists and environmental antagonism. But my Hunter Thompson-esque beef with the Right Wing Mother Fuckers and L.A. Escapees that conspire to consume my city cannot dim the unfiltered, unleaded, grade A black-tar excitement that courses through my veins this time of year. For Comic-Con has come, and thou art welcome to the Mecca of the Geek Faithful.

The obvious irony of a comic book convention being held in a perpetually sunny paradise is not lost on me. All these pale rotund spheres of flesh that find an unsteady orbit within the city are alien to the indigenous people. If you're on a beach in San Diego during the off season, when the tourists remain in their humid four season shit hole existences, sight is an unreliable measure of humanity. When all the dudes got bodies chiseled by a salty sea and all the chicks got blond flowing locks dyed by the suns rays, nerdiness is a state of mind as opposed to an appearance. I was once hit on by a chick whose body shouted unrealistic expectations, but her pick-up line was "Let me show you my pokemons." Fuck I love San Diego. This being the case, it is easy to spot a foreign entity. The white sheets of skin that pour off airplanes and pool around bus stops are nearly luminescent in their complexion. I am consistently surprised that these geek masses do not spontaneously combust upon contact with sunlight, as if they were some kind of pop-culture vampire. And yet they brave our planet's fierce orb of fire to find their way to the hallowed hall of the convention center. Here, in my town, in my city, they come to find the elusive particle of happiness that only comes to the truly devout. It is in this quest that I join them. Am I successful? Judging by the quality of my nerdgasm last weekend, the answer is FUCK YES.

Highlights of '07, Plus Random Con Pictures.
Mounds of Dr. Who swag, including a giant talking Galek.

Aruguing over who was the better Dr. Who, Chris Eccleston or David Tennant. The ladies love Tennant, but me and my manly compadres are pro Eccleston.

Calling Jhonen Vasquez on the fact that he rips off Chuck Palahniuk's short story Guts in his new book Jellyfist. It totally starts off with the whole, "Hold your breath..." thing. I don't have to read it to understand...

Also, I was the only human in the Vasquez line wearing a Hawaiin shirt and primary colors.

Talking to Doug Tennapel about the transformation of the Video Game industry from cool stuff made by creative people to a corporate engine popping out a series of unimaginative turds less fit for human consumption than the tacos on 6th street (spoiler, there are no tacos on 6th street). "I didn't leave games, games left me."

Also, Doug doesn't say goodbye. He shakes your hand, looks you in the eye, and says "God Bless". Now, I am an adamant atheist, but such a statement speaks to a warmth and sincererity so rare these days that it seems exclusive to your dead grandma. Doug is really awesome.

I always thought Ashley Wood would be a fatass son-of-a-bitch that loves to draw titties. After meeting him in person, I know that I was right. But I can't help but like his stuff. It just looks so skecthy it's great. Also, IDW is making a new Tank Girl comic? I was surprised too.

Brian Posehn is the super nice metal guy you find asleep in english class, and Sarah Silverman isn't afraid to say 'chink' in front of an audience full of drooling otaku. Although I still don't know why she would ever want to get boned by Jimmy Kimmel. That guy is nasty.

The Boondocks panel featured the only people at Comic-Con who's skin did not blind the airmen circling overhead, although that has more to do with genetics than anything else. Also, Aaron McGruder is one of the few guys I would go gay for. The trailer for Season 2 was one of the funniest three minutes of my life, if only because Uncle Ruckus demonstrated his new found proficiency in nunchaku. I am fucking excited.
My buddy was handing out his comic The Fowl to Very Famous People for them to look over. Mike Mignola got to the page featuring the giant rooster, smiled, then wrote in big, capslock letters: NICE!!

That is gravy right there.

My bag was heavy with comics of all consortiums by the end of the fourth day, but I was particularly pleased with some stuff by Oni Press. I demonstrated an unfortunate ignorance of the comic Scott Pilgrim, which I promptly purchased, and I finally got my copy of the Tek Jansen comic book. I also picked up a copy of Whiteout, because it is about time I got my own copy as opposed to just mooching off others.

I hear the Avatar panel was mad hot, but I was too busy having heterosexual sex with women to care about a TV show on Nickel-fucking-odeon.

No, that is a lie. I am just jealous. Jealous that I am not there with Aang, Sokka, Katara, and Toph, follwing them on their magical journey through a mystical realm of wonders and adventure. Sometimes I dream of them, being by their side, helping them through their tribulations as they are hunted by the Fire Kingdom.

Avatar gives me Harry Potter syndrom, a.k.a. the Joss Whedon syndrom. It reeks of a universe so well thought out, so deep and original, that I become completely apathetic to the fact that it is a poorly written children's novel, or a nickelodeon show, or a show on the WB. I just want to dive in and dance, dance, dance like no one is watching.
I annoyed the fuck out of Tycho, and beseeched him to have my first born. I also tried to convince Jeph Jacques that I'm way indier than he will ever be. I believe I succeeded.
I ended every night going to Ultrazone, eating In-N-Out, pwning n00bs, and hanging out on the beach till 1:00 A.M. with all my cohorts. I'd say, all in all, that this was the best Comic-Con ever.



Erin Palette said...


The inflatable crocodile?

The girl, I mean. Not that your eternal shame is an inflatable crocodile.

Although the two aren't mutually exclusive...

Tau Hecht said...

Good answer. Another acceptable answer is 'the dude in the back'.

And if shame had a physical form, I'm sure it would be inflatable and reptilian in nature.

If only this were a late-night talk show, I could hurl plush toys into the audience with :( printed on them.

SSO said...

Any photos of Sarah?? :) Thanks for linking us!

Erin Palette said...

And if shame had a physical form, I'm sure it would be inflatable and reptilian in nature.

I am certain there are Polaroids from college parties than can attest to this.