Catching up.... Emerald City Comicon

...and now for another Statler and Waldorf review from the cheap seats.

Where do I begin? This was my first trip to the Emerald City Comicon (I am sorry Jim and George, I feel like I have let you down until now) so here are my thoughts, comments, observations, and whatnot. Let me preface this by saying that I did spend some time in lines and having guests sign this and that, but the majority of my time was spent watching, listening, and soaking it all in.

The Con itself lasts for two days, which is just enough. If you can't get your fill in those two days then you should pack your bags and head to Calgary for more crazy Con madness. For those of us who don't fall on the crazy side of the geek meter it was just enough. Long enough to see everything and everyone, but not long enough to wear you out and get "overexposed." I did not attend every hour of the two days, but was able in the 10 hours I did spend there, to get everything done that I wanted/needed to do.

The guests, for the most part, were great. Absolutely great. Now, when I say guests I am talking about the artists, writers, vendors, and what not. I will talk about the media guests in a bit. I think that if you are a comic book fan then this Con would have to be on the top of your list, and here is why. This Con had the best of the best when it comes to comics. Names like Fraction, Mignola, Bendis, Brubaker, Mack, Cebulski, Liefield, Cho, (and countless others who should not be offended because they were left out) just about everyone who is anyone in comics was there. The beauty of this was that this Con is large enough to draw those types of names in, but small enough that you actually get to meet and talk with them.

Yes there were lines, but more often then not a "line" consisted of 10 or 15 people waiting, and honestly, there were very few of these. There were times during the day that Bendis and Brubaker had long lines, but conversely there were several occasions where one could just walk right up to the table and say "hi." I saw fans with comic boxes FULL of comics standing in line, and I witnessed several of them emptying the contents of the afore mentioned boxes on the tables to get signed. I did not see one artist or writer turn anyone down. They signed EVERYTHING. Granted, they may be having a conversation with one or several other people while signing all of this zhech, but they signed it none the less. Where it San Diego or New York you would be waiting in line for hours on end, with a 2 item limit, and would get enough face time to get them signed and get the hell out of way for the hundred other geeks behind you. Here I saw numerous artists and writers engage fans in lengthy conversations, without complaint or the pressure to "move along."

As far as the guests themselves, I will relate: David Mack was awesome. He talked with everyone, including me, for as long as you could hold a conversation. He had a smile on his face and actually seemed like he wanted to talk with you (hey, Stuart Immonen, you could learn a thing or two). Jim Mahfood was cool. Talk about down to earth, he was awesome, and took the time to do a quick sketch for me that was absolute freakin' cool. Bendis and Brubaker were swamped most of the time, as I mentioned earlier, but both were really nice to everyone. They chatted it up, answered questions (and oh God, some of the questions they were asked even made me cringe) and took as much time as they could with everyone. The Half-Pixel crew was the best. Talk about guys who are just plain nice, these guys were it. Each of them was easy to approach, fun to talk to, and just seemed like they wanted to be there and were grateful that you stopped by. I was actually taken aback by Kellett and Guigar who actually asked the fans if they would mind a sketch or two in the books that the fans bought. How do you respond to that? "Um, gee Brad, Dave, no, please don't do a sketch in my book, I ONLY want your chicken scratch signature." Clayton Crain was great to talk to, and his art kicks it hard. Matt Fraction was cool to talk to, Frank Cho seemed like he wanted to be somewhere else, but it was late in the day and he had been swamped most of the day. Franco and Art Baltazar were super. I got a quick sketch from Art for my little girl - it rocks! You could tell they were both having a blast. Jimmy Palmiotti and his wife were very laid back and took the time to chat. All in all just about everyone there was approachable, friendly, and took the time to placate the fans.

As for the media guests, I only had a run in with one. That was Wil. I went over numerous times to see him but his line was by far the longest (side note: Jewel Staite is an absolutely beautiful woman. Oh my. I actually passed by her in the hall when she was on her way to a panel. When I saw her I was startled a bit. You know that fluttery-silly-bashful-embarrassed feeling you got when you were a little kid and the cutest girl in the school said "Hi" to you - I actually felt that when I saw her. I wasn't expecting that at all). There was either a line from hell (okay, 30-40 people isn't a line from hell but here it felt like it) or Wil was off at a panel. Finally, Sunday, around 4:30 I made it back over to his line. Luck! There were only about 10 people in line. I made my way over to the line and as I was about to pull up behind the last guy in line I noticed the dreaded "I am the last in line" sign hanging on his back. CRAP! The one guest I wanted to see I was going to miss. Not if I could help it. I asked the last guy in line if he would take my copy of Sunken Treasure and have Wil sign it. He was real wishy-washy about it, and as I stood there trying to convince him to do it one of the Con volunteers turned to him and assured him that it was in fact o.k. to have Wil sign the book for me. He begrudgingly agreed to do it so I parked myself about 7 feet from Wil and waited.

It was fun to watch Wil interact with the fans. He almost seemed amazed that people were lining up to talk to him and get his signature. He had a smile for everyone and was overly gracious in his responses. In the fifteen minutes or so I waited I was privy to not one but two body signatures (luckily the girls were fit enough to lift their shirts and have him sign their stomachs), several giggly girls, and one "oh my I think I just had a nerdgasm" quote. While I was waiting I struck up a conversation with one of the volunteers who had been there to sit with Wil. She was very nice and regaled me with stories of the day’s events. As the line drew to an end I noticed Wil's sign with his picture and name on it was still hanging behind him. I leaned over and asked the volunteer if anyone had laid claim to the sign. She said that she didn't think so but said she would go and ask her supervisor if it was o.k. to give it to me. She returned shortly to tell me that indeed no one had wanted it and if Wil didn't want it was mine. Finally the last guy in line made it up to Wil (after we had to wait for a minute while Wil sprinted to the bathroom - and sprinted back) and handed him the book. He told Wil that I had asked him to sign it for him. Wil looked up at me and I chimed in that I had missed the end of the line and that I hoped that he didn't mind signing it for me. He looked at the book and said "you bought this?!?" "Yep, off of Lulu" I said. "Cool man, thanks!" Wil said, and then proceeded to sign my book. Then, as he was handing the book back to the guy in line, he pulled it back, got up, walked over to me, handed me the book and thanked me again! I didn't know what to do! I actually pulled out a $10 bill and handed it to him (it felt like the least I could do) but he turned it away and said "you already paid for the book, you don't have to pay me for it!" Embarrassed, I put the money back in my pocket and stood there feeling silly.

A minute or two later Wil got up to leave; I was lingering hoping to procure the sign. The volunteer leaned over to Wil and asked him if he would like to take the sign with him. He looked up at it and considered it, but you could almost see the "now how the hell would I get that through the airport and into the overhead bin" look come across his face. He politely declined, and at that point she said that I had asked if I could have it. He looked over at me, I smiled, and he reached back, pulled the sign down, took the hooks out of it, and promptly signed it. He walked it over to me and handed it to me, at which point I thanked him again. Embarrassed, and actually quite giddy from my score, I turned and left the floor. As I walked out one of the vendors saw my spoils in my hand. He exclaimed "Wil Wheaton is here? Where is he?" I pointed about 30 feet behind me and proceeded to tell him that his booth had been set up there for the last two days and that it was a shame that he missed him. As I left the Con I had numerous comments on the poster/sign. All of them good.

When I got home I placed the poster/sign on the fireplace mantle, in a place of honor. More than once that evening I caught my wife staring at the picture. At one point I had to remind her that I was in the room, and that if she wanted some quiet time with Wil to let me know. The funny thing is, she actually looked for a moment like she was contemplating the idea. Thanks Wil. Not that dealing with her George Clooney fetish was enough, now I may have to add you to the list.

All in all it was a great Con, put on by some great friends. George, Jim, everyone - you did one hell of a job and should be proud. I can't wait until next year.

Catching up..."Sunken Treasure"

Wow, has it really been over a month? Not like anyone really missed me, but it is hard to believe that it has been that long since I posted. So, I guess I need to get you caught up on what has been going on.

I purchased a copy of Wil Wheaton's "Sunken Treasure" about a month ago. I ordered it from Lulu, which is a "print on demand" company. This was my first experience with such a company and actually my first book from Wil. Yes, I know, a geek like me just finding "he who embodies all that is Geek" is a little hard to believe but it is true.

I am a recent (okay, about 6 months ago) Wheatonite convert (please God let me be the cool guy who coins a phrase that sticks!), and have found myself fully engulfed in the religion of Wil. When I saw that Wil was a past guest, and was going to be a future guest at the Emerald City Comicon I decided to link over to his blog and check it out. That click of the mouse was the beginning of the adventure. Flash forward to "Sunken Treasure."

I have to say that the whole "Lulu" process was pretty painless, and in about 3 days I had the book in hand. I really like the quality of the book; the paper is a good weight and the cover, a heavy glossy paper, seems as if it would stand up to general handling. The spine was pressed very well and the pages were tight to the spine when opened. I only found one print error (the margin on one page ran into the seam of the spine) in the book. If you were self-publishing this would be a great way to go.

As for the content, well, let me start with the negative. It wasn't nearly long enough. Now I know that it wasn't intended to be a novel, but more of a primer on Wil's writing, and have to say that if this book is indicative of what I will read in his other books then I am sold. Any reader of this blog (and judging by the number of comments posted on my blog would be a big fat ZERO) would know that I am a bit of a geek myself, so my ability to relate to the content was astounding. Wil's writing style is, well, I don't know the exact technical word for it if one exists. He writes in a first person narrative, but his writing emulates more of a vocal, interpersonal exchange instead of a literary one. He writes in a familiar, conversational tone that is insightful, descriptive, and easy to read (which in this case is NOT a bad thing).

In every story Wil finds a way to pull you in, and it is as if he is taking your hand and saying "...follow me; you have got to see this!" and then takes you on a trip through his life, through his heart and his eyes. I loved it, and I am craving more. My only complaint is that I will have to order his other books from Amazon, which means that Wil gets pennies on the dollar. Wil, let me send you the cash, you send me the books. More money in your pocket means more opportunity to get you published again.

The last great voice fades into the night....

As I lay in bed next to my lovely wife last night, we engaged in our usual late night discussion, which usually includes a recap of the days events, thoughts on what tomorrow brings, and more often than not lately lengthy commentary by my wife with a few "Hmmph," "Hmmmm" and "Uh huhs" thrown in by me (she likes to talk while I am trying to sleep - this is usually after @10:30pm, and I have to be up by 5:30 am, so my answers and comments are limited to any gutteral noises I can make that will convey meaning without actually having to open my mouth and speak - it is very Quest for Fire-esque). Last night, as I lay trying to fade off into dreamland, she hit me with something that made me turn over and comment, albeit sadly.

"Did you hear that Paul Harvey died?" she said.

It took a second for it to register. Paul Harvey - my first thought was the child molesting Choir teacher we had in High School (he liked to prey on the 17 and 18 year old girls in Choir; we once had to have a chaperon just for him just so someone could keep an eye on him), but that didn't make sense, she wouldn't know him. Then it hit me - Paul Harvey. The Paul Harvey. Dead. I felt my heart sink. This was one of those "you knew it was going to happen but hoped it never would" situations.

For those of you who never make it to the AM side of the radio you may not know Paul Harvey. He wasn't a shock jock, or drive time superstar. Paul Harvey was the voice of America. If you never heard his voice, listened to his News and Commentary, or wondered what The Rest of the Story would bring, then I feel sorry for you. You have missed out on one of life's great pleasures.

Like Walter Cronkite on the evening news, or Harry Carry and Vin Sculley in baseball, or Harry Kalas and NFL films, Paul Harvey's voice and personality defined his genre. He was the voice of middle America, reaching out every day like a trusted friend, telling you what was happening in the world. At times he would inject his own opinions, at times he would take a stand, but you always knew that he had our best interest at heart.

I remember listening to Paul Harvey when I was young. As long as I can remember I have had a radio by my bedside. I spent many, many nights listening to Sonics, Mariners, and Seahawks games, Sportsline with Wayne Cody, CBS Mystery Theater, or old time radio rebroadcasts on KVI 570. Somewhere along the line I stumbled onto Paul Harvey. How incredibly fortunate for me. From that day until this weekend, Paul Harvey had always been there.

Growing up his broadcasts let a young kid know that there was more going on in the world besides what I could see out my back door. I can fondly remember being outside one summer, sitting up in a tree in the woods, listening to my portable radio. I had two red lines drawn on the plastic face of the tuner. Once was for the daily broadcast, I wish I could remember the station, of the stories of CS Lewis, the other was for ABC radio and Paul Harvey. I would sit up there in the afternoons, the sun shining, the warm summer breeze blowing through the leaves, listening to another chapter of Prince Caspian, or The Silver Chair, and as soon as it was over, I would spin the dial over to Paul Harvey. He was like a friend, a mentor, touching base with me every day, telling me what was new, and what I should know about the world.

When I shipped off to Japan I could catch Paul on Armed Forces Radio. His voice always warmed my heart, but always brought a tear to my eye. I missed those summer days in the tree; I missed being home.

When I was stationed in Monterey I would take my lunch break during class and drive my car to an overlook on the Presidio. I would roll down the window and let in the warm, salty air, put my seat back, and turn on the radio, waiting for Paul to come on the air. After all these years, my friend and mentor was still there.

Even when I was stationed in Edzell, Scotland Paul was never too far away. We didn't have Armed Forces Radio, but my mother, bless her heart, would record Paul Harvey on cassette and send it to me to listen to. Once I had listened to the tape and dried my eyes I would pass it on to others so they could listen as well. I wasn't the only one who missed the voice from home.

Now his voice is gone, but it will never be forgotten. If someday I make it to Heaven I hope that there is a tree for me to climb, and a radio I can carry. If there are, then that is where you can find me, in the afternoons, lying between a couple of branches, listening to my good friend. If you are looking for me just follow Paul Harvey's voice. You'll find me, up a tree, smiling, with an inevitable tear in my eye.

Fanboys - the review

For the non-Star Wars fan:

Unless you grew up with a Star Wars fan, knew a Star Wars fan, or used to beat up a Star Wars fan, this movie isn't for you. There isn't enough outside the geek genre to keep you in your seat, and besides, all of the geeks sitting next to you are going to be laughing at stuff that you have no idea about, which will probably anger you and make you want to beat up one of them like you used to do in high school, so to save a fanboy a severe beating and horrible flashbacks to the 9th grade go see Friday the 13th. I am sure those fans are more your speed.

For the Star Wars fan:

If you know what kind of ship Luke used to fly when he was "bullseyeing womp rats," then you are going to enjoy this movie. Even if you don't (it was a T-16) if you have been exposed to the Star Wars fanboy culture then you will be fine.

I am not going to give you a cinematic synopsis and go into detail about the production value, cinematography, score, etc. This isn't that kind of movie. This is the kind of movie that kicks in the flux capacitor and sends you screaming at 88 mph straight back to 1998 to hang out with a couple of guys (and a really hot girl who in NO WAY would ever be hangin' with this crowd - suspension of disbelief my ass) who were either friends of yours or someone you knew. Between the numerous cameos (yes, that is Ray Park by the way- thanks for confirming that George) and endless Star Wars/Star Trek/comic book/geek references and jokes, you will be smiling and laughing through the whole movie. The odd thing is, while you are smiling and laughing part of you will want to keep it under control for fear that someone close will recognize you for who you are and want to nail you with a milk dud. Don't worry though; let it out. Everyone else around you is feeling the same thing. Once you let your inner geek out you will enjoy this movie a whole lot more.

Dan Fogler is quickly becoming a favorite (do yourself a favor and see Balls of Fury), Kristen Bell stole every scene she was in (she is the girl every fanboy dreams of - smart, funny, HOT, reads comics, knows her Star Wars, ahhhhhh..... of course the existence of such a Geek Queen has yet to be proven) and Jay Baruchel embodies the hapless, complete Star Wars geek we all once knew (or were). My only question: What was up with the Uniball!?!?!

I judge the quality of entertainment from a movie by the number of times I look at my watch during the film.

4 looks or more = stinker, go for popcorn, don't come back
3 looks = the movie should have ended long ago
2 looks= not bad, not great, but not bad
1 look = good movie
No looks = must see

Fanboys is a no look movie. See it.

My friend Jim....

...who is probably the only one who actually reads this blog has a band that has got some of the best, and funniest songs you will ever hear. Every geek you know needs to add this album to their collection.

Please, please pass it on... Kirby Krackle!

Check them out on the side bar!

I don't want your sympathy, I want your donuts

I am fat, and I am tired.

Am I tired of being fat? Obviously not, or I would be doing something about it. I am looking for some sort of catharsis, something to make me feel better about life. I was told blogging would help. We'll see.

You see, (for you skinny or in shape people) the problem is that when you are fat, you don't want to do anything, and when you don't do anything, you get fat. You have no energy because you are fat and out of shape, and because you are fat and out of shape you don't exercise, which is the one thing that would give you energy. If you had the energy, you would exercise and you wouldn't be fat. It is a vicious cream filled circle that most of us can't get out of.

I look in the mirror these days and I don't recognize who is looking back. I don't look like this do I? How did I let this happen? I am angry, sad, frustrated, disappointed, and embarrassed. Can't find one positive emotion in that group can you.

For me there are always "voices" in my head, my conscience if you like, and they all have something to say. Mr. Denial always says something like "well, you are who you are and people should accept you for who you are." "Your friends don't care what you look like, they like you for who you are." And my all time favorite "your wife and family love you, and they accept you for who you are, so you should to." Mr. Denial seems to run the roost, but there is also Mr. Angry, who says "F*%k them. If they are going to judge you on your weight and how you look then they can kiss your big fat ass!" Mr. Angry seems to be Mr. Denial's right hand man. They make a convincing team.

Of course there is also Mr. Sorry, "Well, this is who you are, you haven't done anything wrong, it is just who you are. You should just accept it." His twin brother Mr. Pathetic usually says something like "Don't let it bother you. People love you and that is all you really need." Sorry and pathetic indeed. All of these voices are a huge influence on me. They keep me happy, they make sure I feel o.k. about myself, and most importantly they keep me from doing anything about being fat. Their arguments are convincing, if you listen to them (and I do).

The problem is that there is another voice, one that haunts me. One that is always there, in the back of my mind, quietly getting through. I always hear it; I try to ignore it, but I can't. It's the voice that hurts the most, the one that makes me wear a shirt in the pool when I swim with my kids ( hell who am I kidding, I haven't taken my shirt off in public since 1993 - we'll come back to that another time), the one who kept me from attending my 20th high school reunion, the one who keeps me from visiting relatives and friends I haven't seen in ages.

I don't know the voices name but I hate him. I hate him because he is right and I don't listen. "This is not you." it says, "you were a God damn United States Marine, now look at you! You are a f*%&ing disgrace! If your Drill Instructors saw you now, if your fellow Marines saw you now... you have always been a f*%&ing embarrassment. You should be ashamed of yourself, you sorry sack of s&%t. All your life you have had to deal with this, and all your life you have wimped out, only done what you had to do, now look at you. Proud of yourself? Your own daughter thinks you are fat, and what do you do? You laugh it off, tell her your belly is full of love, not fat. Your belly is full of Ding Dongs and ice cream, your ass is full of pasta, and your waste is full of Captain Crunch, cheeseburgers, and Coke. You are fat, you have always been fat, and the most pathetic and sad thing is is that you aren't doing a damn thing to change that. Keep listening to those other voices you fat f&%k. You won't have to listen to me when you are dead at 50 from a heart attack."

I f*%king hate him. I hate him because he is right. I hate him because he is right and I don't listen. I should listen. I should change, but I don't. I just swallow the hurt, wash it down with a Twinkie or two and a gallon of Mountain Dew, and go on listening to all the other voices. They are much easier to listen to. They like me just like I am.

So, after all of that, what am I going to do about being fat?

Probably nothing.

Why?

Because I am fat, and I am tired, and it is a vicious raspberry filled, powdered sugar coated circle.

Burning in Hell

I grazed a Nun's boob this weekend.

How many people in their lifetime will get a chance to say that? I am guessing not many.
It was an accident (I was wiring her up with a microphone), but I am pretty sure I am going to hell for it.



Say a prayer for me.