Wait, what?
I must have left off on Saturday. So if it seems that everything is blending together like a Baskin-Robbins store without power to keep the Fudge Ripple from joining up with the Peanut Butter Swirl, then you’ll know why. I shoulda taken copious notes is what I shoulda done.
Coulda, woulda, shoulda, didn’ta.
So, as you all likely know (particularly if you were on the floor) was that Friday, Saturday AND Sunday tickets for SDCC sold out. None to be had. You had a 4-day pass already or you didn’t have bupkis. This, this is madness. But what divine madness, I suppose. The Con has achieved maximum density. Restraint and reason have left the building. Check your conscience at the door, for (contrary to Rich Johnston’s exhortations) anything goes. Imperial Rome got nothing on SDCC. ‘Cause Imperial Rome didn’t have the Team Evil Cheerleaders and Lego sculptures rubbing shoulders with more Fake Jack Sparrows and stormtroopers than you could hope to count. An injunction against attention-seeking cosplayers clogging up already-clogged corridors is just what the convention ordered for next year. Can’t you just see it? There can be HazMat-orange suited goons with the menacing phrase COSPLAY CONTROL stenciled onto their Barry Bonds-like strapping young men chests, metallic voices clipped and distorted into a stream of angry vowels as they go buckwild with cattle prods and pepper spray in the faces of a thousand bawling Narutos and Jedi Knights?
I can see it. It is the future. And the future is beautiful.
Shouted a hello to a friend, over the line of comics fans encircling his table; he looked dazed as he slid the mylars off of stack upon stack of tricolored funnybooks. Though that might have been yesterday, now that I think about it. Like I said, things get kinda blendy.
Oh yes, ran into Jeff Parker as he wrapped up a signing at the Marvel booth. We both admired Iron Man’s backside (in a purely manly fashion). Neat design, though a ten-year-old with a pair of wirecutters and a can of Freon could easily take out the Mark I armor suit, assuming he could get close enough. But man, does it look pretty cool. Though I wasn’t sure what was up with the repeated veiling/unveilings at the booth. I suppose it was new to some folks at the show, but after the first three times, it seemed to lose some of its zing.
Had the opportunity to get introduced to an editor over at DC, (who shall go nameless to protect the innocent) which went as well as could be expected. Now I only need to convince him that I’m not a stalker.
I don’t know why I get that rap…
Also spoke with an editor at Dark Horse, who I’d been chatting with irregularly. When I asked if they’d read STRANGEWAYS, I got some hemming and hawing. Basically they didn’t want to Crush My Hopes And Dreams at the con floor. I’ve seen it before. “Relax,” says me. “I just wanted to give you something to read. I know this isn’t a Dark Horse project. I can live with that.” Relief washed over their face. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that,” says they. See. Editors are people too. Ain’t none of them wants to go out of their way to humiliate or defeat.
Of course, now I’m going to be tagged as a suck-up. Which may be true, but I’ll go to my grave denying it.
Saw some interesting minicomics and the like over at the indie alley (as opposed to the indie island at the front of the con). Not much stuck to my fingers, though. But I’m continually amazed by all the comics that aren’t being carried by Diamond (nor do they appear to want to be carried by Diamond). Of course, there’s a lot of comics that, well, I’m sure they appeal to someone, but I’m not it. But still, I see a lot of the same faces, year after year. That takes some dedication. And I suppose I’ll be in there, in that sea of small books that nobody’s ever heard of, in not such a very long time.
Flashback to the morning and the Jack Kirby panel. Mark Evanier, Neil Gaiman, Erik Larsen and Darwyn Cooke all taking turns expounding the greatness of the King. Best advice from the panel, take a look at how Kirby handles quiet moments, moreso than the GIANT, LEAPING OFF THE PAGE ACTION. Solid advice. The other thing I took away was a grave sense of disappointment in what superhero comics have done with Kirby’s legacy of Imagination. I’ve tried to touch on this in the past, but the essence of it was to always be imagining new worlds, new characters, new creations (but always with heart and, dare I say it, integrity.) We’ve traded down, for draftsmanship instead of furious visions, for conservation instead of radical energy. Which is why I’m curious as to why people would try to continue stories of Kirby’s creations (thinking of SILVER STAR and some other continuation project here) instead of taking the ball and running with it, down the Rainbow bridge, past Asgard and The Fourth World and breaking that wall, letting the Source run free. Yeah, I know there’s folks doing it, but they’re the exception and not the rule.
Maybe there’s a connection between the last two paragraphs. Or maybe I’m just making wild leaps of logic.
What else on Sunday? Ah yes, the Lego Sith Infiltrator for my STAR WARS-obsessed son and a stuffed dragon for my three-year-old daughter. Then a sudden change of plans. I’d originally intended to stay through Sunday Night as I’d never seen the post-con comedown in action at the various hotels and such. Was not to be, as I had to head home that night, immediately after trudging back from the show. Let me tell you, it took some doing to get all my books and clothes and such home in the same suitcase I came down with. In fact, I ended up having to remove two pounds of books and stuffing them in my satchel so as to avoid a “You bought too damn much stuff and you’re going to sink the plane” charge on my luggage. Had a last-minute dinner of a double cheeseburger and chili fries from the San Diego Tommy’s burgers (the taste for which was a legacy of my misspent youth and trips to Los Angeles). Packed my chili-laden self onto the plane, which ended up being delayed from it’s 9:45 start time to something like 10:30. Land at 12:00 or so, get my car back by 12:30 and home by past one.
Did I mention that I hadn’t gotten decent sleep for a single night of the con? No, I wasn’t a party animal. I just don’t sleep well in hotels. Always have. Four nights of that and the long drive home were enough to put the kibosh on me.
I slept the sleep of the wicked.