Conpocalypse. Contaclysm. Contastrophe.
It’s always a little chilly when I leave Comic-Con. Maybe that’s the onset of Global Dimming talking (Albedo reduction is a serious threat, people!) Or maybe that’s because the Con has always meant the passing of High Summer for me. Well at least the semi-adult-me. I still haven’t put away the childish things yet (actually, some of those childish things being me great joy still.) The sun is setting earlier, rising later. Maybe there’s weekends of Indian Summer or furnace-winds of the Santa Anas (though not so much since I don’t live in SoCal no more), but summer wanes still.
I won’t deny there’s an energy at big shows like this. Even little shows, really. There’s a frisson that sings through the air, a connectedness in the love of pop culture (no matter what sorts of perversions that love might undergo – alternate covers, I’m looking squarely at you.) And I have to say, I miss it when I’m locked away in my office trying to tap into the Thing That Is Bigger Than Myself, wherever the ideas come from, whatever that circuit is. It’s a lonely business, writing. At least that’s the way the cookie has crumbled in my case.
But it’s not sustainable, the avalanche of cultural output, art to satisfy any taste or predilection, from the sparse inkings of Hugo Pratt to the lush forests of cheesecake to the hard shine of metallic battle armor. It’s your thing, do what you gonna do. The presence of such stimulation very quickly becomes enervating; dehydration and fast food take their tolls. But like the first three nights in Vegas, they’re a hell of a ride. Just that all the sex, drugs, rock AND roll can only keep you propped up for so long. After that, you’re on your own.
So, what is it that we’ve learned this year?
Here’s the big one. You’ve got to own what you do. Even the Zuda comics folks know that. They make a note of it on their submissions packages, see? You can trust ‘em. Guys like Darwyn Cooke and Grant Morrison and JH Williams know that, too. Same with just about anyone doing anything worth following closely. Paul Pope, okay, sure, he doesn’t own BATMAN YEAR 100, but I bet that he gets a lot more eyeballs paying attention to PULP HOPE because of it. But you know, even the folks working on their tiny little indie comics knows that if you don’t own it, you got nothing. Sure, there’s nothing wrong with work for hire, just so long as everyone agrees on the terms. You’re not going to see a nickel from the IRON MAN windfall, so make that page rate count and get your rear in gear on that new project you’ve always wanted to get out there. The big guys are in a holding pattern. Holding patterns aren’t any good news for anyone.
Maximum density achieved. Next year will be a four day sellout, barring total economic collapse of the United States and the free world. The convention needs to ship some functions off-site or to mandate maximum booth sizes for the large media conglomerates. The integration of SDCC into the media landscape is complete. When TV GUIDE features COMIC-CON NEWSWRAP on the cover, you know that this is a done deal. The media are here to stay. Frankly, I don’t have any problem setting seats aside for them. This show stopped being “just for the fans” about the time they moved from the Civic Center Concourse to the Convention Center (growing by a factor of about ten in the process.) Will this mean more legitimacy for comics in the mass media? Not a damn chance. Comics will have to do that on their own. Movies and being on the cover of TV GUIDE hasn’t moved the needle much (even if you are Spiderman or the Fantastic Four.) But that’s an issue of platform as much as anything else. The content is there. It’s been there for a long, long time.
Celebrities trump free stuff. The worst crush of the con came when some hotshots showed up at the Marvel booth in support of that there Iron Man thingy. You couldn’t move. Time froze into a crystalline matrix as a thousand folks who were submerged in the fantastic stopped to get a glimpse of some kind of living demigod. Dude, I’ve met Captain Kirk. None of this stuff really impresses me anymore, but it brings seemingly everyone else to a goddamn standstill. Free stuff might cause knots of traffic, but throw a celebrity in there, and you’ve got a recipe for disaster.
Observations of much lesser import:
Next year, I swear I’m bringing a flask. Paying thirteen goddamn dollars for a decent bourbon in the Hyatt bar is downright criminal. Maybe I’m just a big cheapskate, but for three shots, I could buy enough of the stuff to make even YOUNGBLOOD look good. Of course, that does keep me from drinking myself into stupidity, I suppose.
There’s always news that someone else missed. But sometimes you have to…get this…dig for it. For instance, I got a look at Bryan Talbot’s new project GRANDVILLE (think a Steampunk take on BLACKSAD) just by chatting with him and asking what he was up to. Same with just about any artist who’s actually working instead of just doing headshots in the Alley. Yes, I went there. Granted, you’re not going to learn too many secrets about INFINITE CRISIS, but that’s far from the most interesting stuff going on out here.
Buying something to get a place in line to sign something is slimy. I woulda loved to get a chance to talk with George Romero and have him sign something. But I’m not buying a five dollar Avatar comicbook to do it. Nuh uh. I mean, God bless ‘em, they sold a bunch of books like that. No way, however, I’m going to be standing in that line. Oh, and the whole idea of tickets just to stand in line? Nearly as crazy, but not so slimy. Sure, having Joss Whedon at the Dark Horse booth gets a lot of attention, but doesn’t sell so many books. I’m thinking big celebrity signings need to be routed off the floor completely.
Next year I want my hotel to be close by. The ability to take a shower in the middle of the day, or before an evening out (not to mention being able to disgorge the contents of my satchel) should be a right, not a privilege. Oh, and the whole “train encircles the city of San Diego thing?” Old. Please don’t do it again.
If you have geeks at a table, the conversation will inevitably turn into a ranking of the INDIANA JONES movies. I don’t care if you’re at a burger joint or at a classy steakhouse. Enough geeks, and it will come up, and death threats will fly. And might I add that the folks at Lou and Mickey’s in the gaslamp were to be commended in not only serving us with panache (all 14 of us at a table) but SPLITTING THE CHECKS without us having to ask. Maybe they thought we couldn’t do the math, I dunno.
Pokemon make young geeks hot. I don’t pretend to be able to explain it.
The great Pornstar/Pinup purge is nearly complete. Sure, Jenna Jameson got top billing at the Virgin Booth, but you had to look pretty hard to find large congregations of actual flesh peddling (as opposed to virtual/representational flesh peddling.) Not that the show is 100% family friendly or anything, but it sure seemed like there was a lot less of that sort of thing going around. Maybe it was all sublimated into Pokemon lust, I can’t say.
I still haven’t written up my coverage of the George Romero panel. I really oughta get to that.
In the meantime, I’ll keep working away in the gray and cool of high summer’s passing.
