WilliamBruceWest.com

Going through my posts, I realized that I never really spoke much about my time in comics. On top of that, I’m supposed to be this big collector of comics and toys, yet there aren’t many posts that reflect my hobby. So, instead of being all snarky and digging up a bunch of dirt, I figured I’d try something new, by showcasing a few of the best items in my collections that most haven’t seen. You might see some cool stuff, or it might result in me having my apartment broken into. In any case, I’ll give a little rundown of its history, and voila, I’ve got a new regular column.

So, today’s item is what you see here:

Yes, that’s a first printing of the hard to find variant cover of Amazing Spider-Man #583. The first of the popular Obama Comic Cover gimmick, this book sold out quicker than hotels on prom night. Last I checked, I think it got up to about 5 printings, many of which are still being sold above cover price. Well, I somehow managed to get a copy. But wait, there’s more! If you look closely, you’ll notice that it’s signed. No, it’s not signed by Big O, himself, but by Marvel Editor-In-Chief and Chief Creative Officer, Joe Quesada. So, how did I snag this comic? Well, it’s funny you should ask…

Last year, I went to the New York Comic-Con with a couple of my Diamond friends.  Near the end of most conventions, the Marvel booth has a giveaway panel. This isn’t a nice, orderly contest, however.  No, at the Marvel booth, everyone stands around yelling for shit, kinda like those  businessmen watching Jennifer Connelly get it with that double-ended dildo in Requiem For A Dream.  There’s a guy (and I really should know his name by this point), who’s like Wayne Brady with the huckster showmanship of Stan Lee. The Marvel Minions bring him large, unmarked boxes of stuff, and he just grabs something out. The stuff ranges from big ticket items (autographed books), to dead overstock (Dark Towers hardcovers), to random licensed items (lunchbox, anyone?) on down to Saga books. That’s right – I’ve seen them give away the same crappy promo comic you would’ve gotten stuffed in your bag at your LCS.

Anyway, I’ve witnessed this thing quite a few times, so there’s generally a formula: “Wayne Lee” generally looks around to see who wants the item most. Sometimes, he might ask a trivia question or ask you to dance for him or something.  He usually goes for the cute kid, the 20-ish girl, etc. In fact, he tends to go for everyone *except* the stereotypical “fanboy”. By adhering to this pattern, the Marvel Giveaway Panel may be Marvel’s smartest initiative to reach out to a new audience; cater to the young, the women, etc. So, the trick is to save your energy for something that you really want. Nobody walks away with 2 items. Not even that  kid in the wheelchair. If you don’t want the Spider-Man sleeping bag, don’t even waste the energy to acknowledge it. Wayne’s pretty good at scanning the crowd, so he’s gauging what you really want. When everyone’s jumping up and down like they’re on The Price Is Right, you become more conspicuous if you stand still. Wayne notices that, and he knows you’re being strategic. Hell, it’s best not to even make eye contact with him. Save it for the big prize.

So, I knew all of the above going in, and I used all that to play my hand. I didn’t acknowledge the Wolverine baseball cap or the Eternals hardcover. Out of the gate, we knew that the big ticket item was the Obama cover, especially since this was about 2 weeks after the inauguration. There wasn’t even a second printing at this point, yet here it was, SIGNED by the creative head of Marvel. I knew they had 5 copies to give away, and those were the only things I went for.

After he had given away the 4th copy, I probably should have gotten discouraged. I mean, I’d been at this panel for about an hour and a half, watching people sacrifice their young for a Hulk pencil sharpener. One thing about me, however, is that I don’t quit. I had a good feeling. I had no basis for said optimism, but I really thought I was going to leave with one of those books. I’ve actually been really lucky in life when it comes to comic-related contests. When I was 12, I won a Batman watch from a Choice Hotels Batman Returns sweepstakes. When I was 13, I won some Avengers/X-Men Bloodties trading cards from a contest I’d forgotten I had even entered. And the list goes on. So, I felt like some of that magic might be in the cards for me for that Spidey comic. My friends were leaving to go to dinner, and some of the booths had even shut down, but I was determined to see this to the end.

Wayne got to the final copy, and made quite a showing about it being the final copy. He paced the floor with it. He’d stop and think about whether the time was right to give it away (he does this a LOT – pulls out an item, gauges the reaction, and then swaps it for a Human Torch backpack once the fever builds). He decided to ask a question: “What’s Wolverine’s real name?” This, my friends, is somewhat of a trick question. I didn’t know which answer he wanted. After all, everybody knows it’s “Logan”, yet this was after Origin had come out, so the real answer was “James Howlett”. Seeing as how he IS the guy from Marvel, I figured Wayne would want the Howlett answer. So, I jumped up and down, screaming “James Howlett!” I could hear a good deal of the crowd going the Logan route, while my fellow fanboys were chiming along with the Howlett chorus. I have to believe that Wayne noticed how I’d played the game. I think he knew that I was there for one thing, and he was determined to make me wait for it. Or, maybe he just noticed me at that point. Whatever it was, he was prepared to make my day. It felt like slow motion, as he walked over and handed me the book. In my haze, I shielded it until I could get out of the crowd, and I quickly put it in my sketchbook for safekeeping. Once I got to an empty corner of the Javits Center, I double-checked to make sure that it was real, and that I hadn’t imagined the whole thing. What I saw in my hands was the book that you saw above, and it’s been sitting on my makeshift mantle ever since.

“I might jump an open drawbridge, or ‘Tarzan’ from a vine…”

So, I haven’t written about this in some time, but I used to work in the comic industry. More precisely, I was a buyer for Diamond Comic Distributors, the largest comic distributor in North America. Basically, I looked for new talent in the industry, while helping to compile Previews, the monthly catalog that was sent out to retailers. The bottom line of it, though, is that I acquired a LOT of comics. I mean, more comics than a person would probably be able to read in a lifetime. Some of these were from new creators, while the majority are from the major publishers. In any case, I have about 2 IKEA Buddy Bookcases worth of graphic novels and trade paperbacks that need to be read. I figure, now that I’ve got some time on my hands, it would be a good chance for me to get through a good deal of them. Since I love attention, and need to further my goal of more regular posts, I figured I’d half-assedly review them here.

It’s my belief that there’s too much highbrow journalism these days when it comes to comics. Sure, everyone’s tired of the hamfisted “Bif, Bam, Pow!” articles from the mainstream press, but I’m going to kill a hobo if I read one more thing about Dash Shaw or Paul Pope. There’s just not enough fanboy journalism. If you like Rob Liefeld, despite his inability to draw realistic anatomy, good on you! If you’re a sucker, like me, who buys everything put out by The Big 2 just so you can understand the lastest Big Event, welcome aboard! I don’t claim to know everything there is about the medium. I was honest about that when I worked in comics, and I’m honest about it now. I just know what I like. I also know what I don’t like. You’ll get doses of all of that here.

But wait, there’s more! I didn’t want to just treat these like any old posts. My friend, Marcus, has taught me the importance of columns and titles. So, these posts will carry the banner:

Any old school Marvel fans will get the reference. Yeah, my design skills suck, but I don’t have Photoshop for this computer, so I used what I could get!

So, come back next time for the 1st installment, and your input is always welcome!

“We believe in Barack Obama! He loves you and he loves your mama!”

Could it be? Is that an Obama endorsement from Williambrucewest.com? No, it’s not. But it does lead into this little tidbit: Major props go out to my man, Marcus, for recommending “Welcome to the New Administration”, the new, FREE mixtape from Fall Out Boy. A thinly-disguised prObama project, the collection not only drops snippets of the upcoming Fall Out Boy album, Folie A Deux, but it also introduces you to the music of some of their musical friends, like Panic at the Disco, Tyga, The Cab, and others. The new FOB album sounds tight, and I certainly wanna hear more from Tyga. EVERYONE should download this package, and you can get it free right here: http://www.friendsorenemies.com/web/foe/users/falloutboy/ It’s worth it just for Luda’s interlude alone.

Did y’all realize there’s a rapper named “Niggalas Cage”? I shit you not! In fact, he’s even got a track with Akon right now, called “You’re the Reason”. If you ask me, they should’ve recorded a track called “Kon Air”.

Speaking of Akon, he’s on one of the hottest tracks on NKOTB’s new album, “Put It On My Tab”. I recently posted a Facebook status saying that the album “doesn’t suck”, but after repeated listenings, I’ve got to admit that it’s HOT. It’s got that ‘NSYNC circa “No Strings Attached” vibe going on. And the guests on it are pretty surprising: Akon, New Edition, Pussycat Dolls, Lady Gaga, Ne-Yo. It’s a great dance album, and one of the best pop albums released in recent years.

While we’re on pop, TRL is shutting down. Man, that kills me, but it’s time. The TRL model isn’t appropriate for what passes as “pop” these days. Before, it was a crowd full of screaming teenage girls, clogging up Times Square, for the chance to catch a glimpse of dye-job, curly-q Justin Timberlake. TRL works best when pop is at its most “bubblegum”. Sure, you can still have Chris Brown drop by, but Daughtry and the rest of Top 40 radio are more suited for VH-1. Even the teen stars being cranked out, like Jordin Sparks, are more suited for an older crowd. TRL, like the early WB, used to MAKE stars. Now, it’s merely a shadow of its past self. MTV claims the show is just “going on a break”, but anyone who’s ever been in a relationship knows what that can mean. I think it’ll reappear, though. The UK had a similar show, Top of the Pops, which was on the air for over 42 years (!). Eventually, the formula got stale, and they put it on time out. Like TRL, the BBC promises it, too, will one day return. Maybe their returns will coincide.

That BET R. Kelly interview is priceless! I love the look on Toure’s face. The entire interview, his face is screaming, “Is this nigga for real?!”

So, last night, I watched The Temptations for what must’ve been the 10th time. I don’t know if VH-1 planned to show it all along, or if it was to honor Norman Whitfield, the prolific Motown writer/producer who passed away yesterday. Let’s hope the reason is the former, as the miniseries doesn’t exactly portray Whit in the best light. Hell, I just realized that it doesn’t portray anyone in a positive light…except for Otis Williams. Seeing as how Otis is the only surviving founding member of the group, the movie was written from his perspective. That said, it took me all these years to realize that it is the most masturbatory, self-congratulatory thing I’ve ever seen. There are WAY too many private scenes between Otis and random characters, as they have heart to heart talks where the other person thanks Otis for being the force that holds the group together, or thanks Otis for putting on the pressure when the less-disciplined needed that sort of monitoring. Everyone dies in the most heart-wrenching, tragic ways, even though most of the Temps’ families have disputed the accounts of their relatives’ demise, especially in the sensationalized account of David Ruffin, who’s shown thrown in front of an emergency room, from a moving limo, after overdosing. They say karma’s a bitch, so it Otis did make this stuff up, I’d say he’d better watch his back. Nothing like having 4 ghosts in leisure suits coming to get you, dancing slowly in formation. That reminds me, though – I’ve been working on a Leon/David Ruffin post for the better part of 2 years now. I should probably do something about that.

Watched Baby Mama the other night. This comes as no surprise, but I LOVE Tina Fey. She’s pretty much playing Liz Lemon from 30 Rock, which is what I’ve come to believe is the real Tina. The sexy, smart, insecure funnywoman. This movie, however, not that great. It’s not bad, but it’s not good. I don’t think it makes the most of any of the cast’s strengths, and it could’ve been better, Honestly, it’s about what I’d expect from an SNL movie, but I kinda wanted more, considering Tina wrote it, and she WAS head writer of SNL for about 9 years.

Got a lot on my mind, but I’m gonna wrap things up with this thought: a lot of people go through life with a dream. They go on with their day-to-day lives, but in the backs of their minds, they have a “what if?” idea that they never act on. Now, what happens when you act on that, and you find you’re not good at it? Are you better off knowing that? One of my dreams was to work in comics. I felt that it was something I was BORN to do, and I’d kick ass at it. 2 years later, and I realize I wasn’t that good at it. I always said I’d write a book about that experience, called Diamond in the Rough: My Life in Comics, but I don’t have the patience, plus nobody’d want to read it except those in the industry, and it’s gonna piss off most of them. Instead, I’m sure my ideas for said book will probably trickle onto the site over time.

Anyway, how did I come to this conclusion? Well, if any of you have ever read the Previews catalog (NOTE: Previews is a catalog that ships ever month, informing retailers/fans of upcoming comic books so they can place orders – I used to help make that catalog), you might’ve seen a segment in the middle called “Featured Items”. Those were the 16 items, NOT from Marvel or DC, that we felt “every store should buy”. We’d have monthly meetings where we’d sit down and go to war over who should receive this honor, even though John Q. Public really didn’t give a shit. Us giving an “FI” to Red Sonja #25 isn’t gonna make retailers buy more copies. If Sonja dies, or flashes a tit, THEN retailers are gonna buy more and sell them for 3x cover price right out of the box – they ain’t doing it because of some faceless company in Maryland.

These “discussions” (and I use the term lightly) always got heated because no one respected anyone else’s choice. Plus, there were the politics. Certain publishers are guaranteed a certain amount of FI’s due to their contracts with Diamond, so our hands were a bit tied at times. I can’t tell you how many times we gave an FI to Dynamite for “To Be Determined”. They might have this book ready, but it’s more likely it’s gonna be late, so we’ll give it to Book X. We got into the business of supporting companies rather than books. We were given the explanation that certain companies were poised to be the next Marvel or DC, so we needed to support those. I understand the need for growth and encouragement, but who would replace those companies that were about to “graduate”. We were so focused on Dynamite and IDW becoming the next Marvel and DC, but I always felt we lost sight of the fact that someone would need to groom the next IDW and Dynamite (which ain’t necessarily a good thing – grooming the “new Dynamite” is akin to discovering Super AIDS). I like to think a lot of my FI choices were focused on “the next generation”, yet we were always told that we “weren’t looking at the bigger picture”. Eventually, it got to the point where the meetings were no longer seen as productive, and were done away with. Instead, we had to send our choices/arguments to the team managers, and they would decide based on the evidence we’d provided. Seeing as how this took place behind closed doors, we never really knew what went down. We were simply to trust that they’d make the right decision. That’s how things were when I left.

Well, the other day, I found out that the FI meetings had been reinstated. It seems that the main reason the meetings had been done away with was because the FI picks submitted by me, as well as another former brand manager, weren’t seen as strong or deserving. Now, I don’t know if that’s true, or if I was easy to blame because I’m no longer there to defend myself. Even still, it kind of hurts (and somewhat surprising) that I was divisive enough to derail a process that had been working for years, which is magically reinstated the minute I’m gone. I stand by my decisions, as I think some of the most surprising, engaging stuff is going to be coming from the Oni’s and the First Second’s. Because so many of those situations were presented in vagueries, I had no idea it was my ideas that were hindering the process. If someone had just told me… That said, I still think Scott Pilgrim 4, even though it’s the 4th in a series (a bestselling series, mind you) trumps the adaptation of some videogame sequel that’s delayed by months. That’s how I played the game, and how I felt it should be played. I don’t know if it’s the bloggers or the small press crowd getting to me or what, but I thought I was looking out for the industry, while the gatekeepers of the industry weren’t on the same page. So, was I truly born to work in comics? I don’t know. I don’t think so. If I was, it certainly wasn’t in the capacity in which I was working before. Langston Hughes once pondered what happened to a dream deferred. I, on the other hand, am trying to figure out what happens to a dream deflated…

“How’re you gonna fix it, fix it, fix it?”

Huh. It turns out my last post was Post #600. There were no bells and whistles or anything. I’ve got to pay more attention to that kind of stuff. Oh well, I don’t really like the number 600. I’ll make a big deal out of #650. Anyway, here’s a conversation that I had tonight, at a company dinner, with the director of the sales department:

Me: Hey, Mike…what’s the name of that chick you took to Stardust that time?

Mike: What?

Me: Remember, when they basically gave everyone in the whole damn company tickets to Stardust? You had a girl with you. I think she works in customer service. She’s cute and, well, to put it another way, kinda…”thick”….(yeah, I used the finger quotes)

Mike: Oh, no…she’s not in customer service…

Me: Really? You sure? Who is she, then?

Mike: That would be my girlfriend. And you’re a dead man.

*laughter erupts around the table*

Me: Oh, shit…well, let me tell you, in my community, “thick” isn’t a bad thing!

*more laughter*

Mike: Oh, really?

Will: Dude, she’s really cute. She is a cute girl. Hell, I’m glad you got to her first! You beat me to the punch!

Mike: Uh-huh. You’re a dead man.

Me: Man, I’m serious. I’ve been looking at her since that day, and all I could think was, “Man, she’s cute. Why the Hell is she with Mike?”

Keith: Yeah, Will, you should probably shut up now.

And that, folks, why I’m considered such a “people person”.

“Hey, did you guys see that fight outside?!”

I just had the kind of weekend that I just know I’m going to look back on and regret. I didn’t do anything wrong, but I just feel kind of…off about a lot of stuff. I know I’m being cryptic, but it’s really not that deep; I’m just the type of guy who tends to regret shit. As my friend Jenna would say, I’ve got to learn to let it go. Anyway, on to the randomness.

- I swear that Dr. Rey, from Dr. 90210 is the creepiest, sketchiest son of a bitch on television. Find me a creepier dude; I dare you. From his weird-ass gangster suits to the skeezy way that he speaks to his women patients, that guy does not put me at ease. And don’t get me started on all his martial arts bullshit. Out of nowhere, he’ll just pull out a pair of nunchucks and go at it. With the exception of Michelangelo & Panthro, nobody cool has ever wielded nunchucks. They’re that weapon that sounds cool in theory, but ends up looking stupid in practice. Then, there’s his home life, which just seems so fake. It’s like he’s actually gay, but they went out and cast an actress to be his wife, who is obviously uncomfortable in the role. Any scene with him and his wife is always so scripted and dramatic. The other day, he had to go to his birth home to Argentina (?), where he was determined to get his deathbed-ridden father to admit that he loved him. Meanwhile, Mrs. Rey (who looks as much like Skeletor as Finola Hughes), is bawling because she fears she’ll never see Dr. Rey again. Sweety, he’s just going on a trip. Stop your crying. Plus, I thought this show was about plastic surgery. Enough with the family drama and bring on the boobies!

- I’m about to declare the single of 2008. Yes, I know it’s early in the year, plus it’s not even an official single yet. That said, Jive would be foolish not to release it. What is it? “Break the Ice” on Britney’s Blackout album. It’s the hottest song on an entirely hot album. It’s impossible to not dance when that song comes on. It truly is the hotness. Yes, it has driven me to use the term “the hotness”. That song is so tight that I’ve actually choreographed a dance for it. I’m not talking about some little bullshit dance, either. This is a Fatima Robinson-level dance, and you better believe it won’t involve folding chairs!

- You know, Natasha Bedingfield looks great for a 37 year old. Wait…she’s actually 26? Oh…

I mean, seriously, did ya see the heinous top she’s got on in her latest video? It just screams “Cougar Wear”. Get her out of Dress Barn, stat!

My deal with Natasha is that she still doesn’t seem to know what the Hell she’s doing. Her debut album was one of the most meta experiences in musical history, as she wrote an entire album pretty much describing how difficult it is to write an album. Have you ever listened to the words to “These Words”? It’s about how she couldn’t figure out what to write, so she’s just gonna sing about how hardthe process is. Really? Does that count? Is she just going for partial credit? Anyway, she’s got her new album that drops on Tuesday, and her big single, “Love Like This” features Sean Kingston. Really? Who’s bright idea was that? That’s the worst, most missmatched combo since the So So Def remix video to Jessica Simpson’s “Irresistible”, where Bow Wow’s scenes are just spliced in later, as it’s clear Jessica would never be in the same room with him. Also, Natasha’s song has no real tune. She’s just kinda screeching at notes, hoping that some of them stick. It’s like they want to present her as a singer with a 5-octave range, yet she’s not really exhibiting any control. Her manager needs to figure out what her gimmick is gonna be. What is it about Natasha Bedingfield that people should care about? What is there to kep her from becoming tomorrow’s Natalie Imbruglia or Robyn? That shit right thur is gonna be the million dollar question.

- Oh, thank all that is holy for the miracle of TLC’s Smash Lab. A show dedicated to blowing shit up and wrecking shit. You know, for science. For every Real Housewives of Orange County and Intervention that we have to put up with, every now and then someone presents us with shows we really want to watch, like this one.

- Speaking of smashing shit, Burnout is the best/worst therapy for social deviants. In fact, I’m starting to believe that video games really can corrupt today’s youth. I mean, I was never a gamer. Yet, I picked up Burnout 2, and found that I had an affinity for causing NASTY multicar collisions on the highway. Not only did Burnout allow it – it encouraged it. So, I found myself begin rewarded for causing property damage and killing as many school bus children as possible. And I couldn’t stop. I spent 8 hrs devising the sickest, gnarliest, audacious car collisions possible. And you know what? I’d do it again. I’m THAT sick. Thanks a lot, Burnout…

- So, Katie Holmes was making the talk show rounds last week to promote her new movie, Mad Money. Best Week Ever made fun of the fact that she didn’t really have anything to say. She’d drop little worthless anecdotes about Suri which, as BWE put it, it sounded like she was describing a child that she had just met. “Oh, she’s got a good temperament.” What I felt needed discussing, however, was her surprise appearance on BET’s 106 & Park. Yeah, let that sink in for a minute. For the uninformed, 106 & Park is BET’s version of TRL, only people actually watch 106 & Park. So, Katie comes on to present her costar, Queen Latifah, with the Golden Globe she’d won a few nights earlier (ya know, since the strike pretty much killed the Globes ceremony). I have never heard of a more inappropriate person to be in the BET studio. Let me explain: half them folks ain’t never seen Dawson’s Creek. Nor have they seen Go. And she was the most throwaway part of Batman Begins. So, I’d just love to know how it felt to be in the middle of the collective “who the fuck does this bitch think she is?” mentality that must’ve been running rampant in the studio audience.

- This is going to be controversial, but I feel I have to go here. I’ve a theory on what must be the best part about being a gay male: the clothes. Allow me to explain. There’s some shit out there that a straight gay just isn’t allowed to wear. For example, I was at Busboys and Poets tonight, and there was a grown man wearing a vintage boy scout uniform, complete with bandana neck kerchief. That shit is bold. Now, I’m not saying I’d want to wear it, but I’d like to be able to should I so feel the desire. For a straight guy, you wear that, and people start to talk. “Oh, Will must be gay.” Or “What the hell was he thinking?” However, if I were gay, people would see me in that shit and just say, “Oh well, he’s gay, so…” It’s like a free pass. If I were a gay man, I could wear a picnic tablecloth as a cape, Adidas sweatbands on my ankles, along with a belt made of McDonalds ketchup packets, and they’d be copying that shit on Project Runway. You could be a gay guy with no fashion sense, and no one would know because stereotypes support that all gay men are fashion pioneers. That’s some bullshit and it needs to stop. Some of us straight guys wanna be fashionably daring, too. It just ain’t fair! Yes, I realize there are a ton of cons that are heavier than my shallow pro. I have a friend who said she wished she was Black just so that she would be able to get away with wearing bright colors. Yeah, I realize my argument is just as fucked up as her statement right there. Sure, it’s more about confidence than sexual orientation, but I just wish we didn’t have these hang-ups. Maybe I’m just looking for excuses. Look for my new line, Bromosexual, in Fall 2008.

- Am I the only one who finds it funny that Kate Hudson only gets the roles that would have gone to Goldie Hawn 20 yrs ago? What’s weird about that, you say? Well, it’s weird considering Kate’s Goldie’s daughter. I mean, has this ever happened before in Hollywood? Kiefer Sutherland sure as hell doesn’t play the same roles as Donald Sutherland. Charlie Sheen sure ain’t taking those Martin Sheen roles. It’s odd that Kate and Goldie are so interchangeable. Watch the trailer for Fool’s Gold. You swap out Matthew McConaughey with Kurt Russell and you’ve got Overboard. Think about that for a bit.

Anyway, Happy MLK Day to y’all with good, government jobs. While you’re drinking your lattes and catching up on your Tivo, I’ll be busting my ass making sure no comics get lost shipping from Korea. I have a dream, as well. I see Black children and White children holding hands, as the White children introduce their new Black friends to the magical world of comic books. And the Black children will fall in love with the medium and begin to buy comics for themselves. And enough comics will eventually be bought by these Black children that the industry will have to acknowledge this audience exists, and will have to shut down on MLK day for fear of backlash. Thank God Almighty, for fear of backlash…

“Where did you come from & are there others like you?”

So, on the last night of the con, Sunday, I had dinner with my friend Gina, and Keith tagged along for dessert. On the way back, we dropped Gina off at this top secret party thrown by Kevin Smith’s View Askew folks; I swear there was a treasure map/scavenger hunt just for admission. Anyway, Keith and I were left to fend for ourselves for the evening’s entertainment. Keith called his friend, Mark, and we ended up meeting back at a hotel bar downtown. We were all settling in, when we were introduced to Rachelle *cue glitter effect and cartoony harp music; throw the action into slow motion, just for good measure*, who’d be taking care of us for the night. Immediately, it was obvious that there was something about Rachelle. First of all, she carried herself so well. It’s hard to convey in words, but she had this confidence, this air about her. Also, she played the role of gracious hostess, without any hit of boredom or condescension. She’d come through, with a simple, “What can I get for you, gentlemen?” and it was like time stopped. She really seemed pleased that we were there. And the feeling was mutual.

Now, Rachelle had this Kelly-Packard-post-California-Dreams look to her. She was an attractive girl, who just screamed “girl next door”. We were all stupid and drunk, so we took a shine to her. Keith, most of all, seemed interested. We sort of had this plan to find him a wife in San Diego, as part of our ongoing quest to figure out our lives by grasping at grandiose straws. It sounds like hyperbole, and you’ll think I’m full of crap, but she really was perfect. She was the that perfect girl you’re always told is out there; the one where God broke the mold when He made her. She’d reinstill your faith in women. I can’t reproduce the conversations of that night as they just flowed. She was witty, she could match you word for word, and she always seemed to find a way to surprise you. An hour into things, we all had a crush on this girl. I think I uttered something like, “Where did you come from, and are there others like you?” Yeah…

So, at that point, she actually pulled up a seat, and we learned about what she was studying in school, how she loved the beach, stuff about her hometown, etc. As the night wore on, she and Keith really did seem to connect. This was awesome, as I’m “Captain Vicarious”, so it was like I had won, as well. Man, I really need to get a life, but we’ll chalk this up as “Will being happy for his friend”. When we were about to leave, Keith said something like, “You’d better be careful, ’cause I’ll totally come back tomorrow night.” She didn’t seem fazed, and said that he should definitely come back. She told him the hours she’d be there, and that she hoped to see him again. We’re all being stupid, obnoxious jerks as we’re high-fiving him, and debating whether or not he should actually go back the next night.

Well, the next night, Keith and I decided to try out the SD bar scene. We went to this place whose name I can’t remember, but we have a picture online somewhere. Anyway, they seemed to be having some kind of private party that we managed to get into, but we realized all of the women were engaged. All of them. WTF?! I’ve found that every woman in SD is hot, tattooed (I swear, every woman had a tattoo!), and married. Well, we got bored with that pretty soon, so we started thinking about what to do next. That’s when we remembered that Rachelle would be working. Now, I was really starting to adhere to that whole “You can’t go home again” philosophy. I don’t know if it’s my disdain for plans, or me just being bitter, but I never feel like those situations end up like you want them to. If we’d just run into her, that would be one thing. But the whole thing was just too…premeditated for my liking. But I was drunk, and we had nothing better to do. So, we start heading in the direction of that hotel. Here’s where you might want to start paying attention, ’cause it’s a doozy:

While we’re walking, we realize we don’t have a camera. For some reason (maybe this blog), I start to think that we need a picture with her, or no one will ever believe the story. Yeah, THAT makes sense. Well, we now had to get a camera to remember this forever. We get to the hotel, and there’s this guy leaning against the outside wall, smoking. Now, if we’re judging a book by its cover, he seemed kind of like the jerky frat guy. Probably has a string of girls whom he treats like shit, while he prefers to hang out with his bros. Anyway, we’re drunk and we need help, so I ask him “Do you know if there’sa drug store or 7/11 nearby”. Oddly enough, he was cool and directed us to a 7/11 nearby. We walk the couple of blocks to the store, we get caught in the maelstrom of the locals stocking up on cigs and soda before the next bus comes along. We finally get the camera, check out, and walk out the door.

Now, I need to explain something else: Keith had had Lasik about a month prior to our trip to SD. They’d screwed up, and the surgery didn’t take, so he was in a sort of “holding pattern” as they waited to see if the eyes would straighten themselves out. He could get by, in that he wasn’t going to walk into traffic or anything, but he couldn’t make out features or details. So, I was constantly describing things and women to him. He’d see the outline, realize it was a girl, and ask, “Ooh, is she hot?!” Got all that?

OK, well, as we’re leaving the 7/11, Keith’s looking across the street to the next block, and he asks, “Ooh, is she hot?!” I was busy opening the camera, so I look up and mutter: “It’s her. Fuck.” Crossing the street, directly at us, is Rachelle in street clothes. She’s no longer the classy, hostess with the mostest. She’s still attractive, but she’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt. And walking, with his arm around her, is fratboy smoker guy who’d directed us to the 7/11 in the first damn place! He’d been waiting for her. It was too poetic to be fake. We’d been crossed by our own savior. So many emotions at once. How was someone so perfect with this guy? Stock dropping rapidly….She didn’t even see us, nor did he seem to acknowledge us. They passed us by, and she, out of our lives. I felt really bad for Keith, ’cause I really did want that unrealistic Hollywood ending. It really wasn’t about me anymore, but I just wanted to witness the whole thing. I wanted the ability to say, “I was there.” But that wasn’t to happen. Because life doesn’t work like that. To quote The 40 Year Old Virgin, “You can’t put pussy on a pedestal”. And that’s why you have to live in the moment, take every experience for what it is, and you can’t build castles on quicksand (yeah, I was going for two California Dreams references in one post; sue me!). Keith was great about it and just kind of laughed it off. That’s the kind of guy he is, and I hope I can learn to do that one day. In any case, I cursed for a couple of blocks until we came up with the grand plan to explore San Diego’s strip clubs. I’m gonna leave that story for another day, as it’s really Keith’s story, and being the master storyteller that he is, I could never do it justice. I will say, however, if you’re in the San Diego area, and you know a redhead with “Danger” tattooed across her lower back, e-mail me!

Keith and I continued to have a few crazy adventures those last few days. We ended up at the beach one day, where Keith and his “mystical connection to the water” forgot to put on enough suntan lotion. You’ve heard of sunburn, but he got sun poisoning. It wasn’t even apparent until about 12 hrs later. The worst part was that we were flying home the next day, which became an unbearable experience for him. The skin behind his knees was raw, so while sitting on the plane, these areas would start to heal, but when he stood up, the wounds would rip open again. His dealt with this for weeks after our return. He was like a blind leper. I probably should’ve just shot him to put him out of his misery. But it had taken so long to get home that I think we were just glad we made it back.

What happened, you ask? Well, when we got to the airport in SD, we were told that our flight was at least 2 hrs late, due to storms in the midwest. We’re waiting for our flight, while Keith just wants to die from the sun poisoning pain. We finally get on the plane, and it has a layover in Phoenix. We don’t deplane, but it sits on the runway for over an hr. Now, Diamond had arranged a shuttle for us, based on our being back to BWI at midnight. Well, with the unexpected delays, and empty promises that “we’d make up the time in the air”, we didn’t get a chance to call the shuttle. Not to mention the fact that I realized they had scheduled my shuttle for a day earlier. So, not only was Keith going to be late for his shuttle, there was no guarantee that there was even going to be room for me. Well, we land at 3 AM and the shuttle’s not there. We call the place, but there’s no answer…because it’s 3 AM. So, we find a Super Shuttle, and I start to haggle. I get him to agree to take us to Timonium for $40 because “that’s all the money we have”. Man, were we about to get hosed. The guy agrees to take us, but he has to drop someone off first. We’re fine with that.

Now, stay with me for this geography: BWI is in Baltimore, but this drop off was near Columbia, about 35 miles in the opposite direction of where we need to go. But we didn’t know that before we got on. We drop the guy off, no problem. Then, about 5 minutes away from the drop-off, the shuttle gets a flat tire. So, we pull off to the side of the road, but the driver doesn’t have a flashlight, so he’s doing this by the light of the moon! Plus, his jack won’t lift the shuttle high enough, so his master plan is to release enough air from the spare so that he can slip on the spare. This whole process takes about an hr. Once he gets the spare on, he realizes he had let out too much air, and the spare was going flat. So, he uses the GPS to find the nearest gas station. When we find it, it’s closed…because it’s 4:00 AM. We manage to get to another station, and he fills the tire. We finally get back to Diamond at 5:30. And we had to go to work that same day. I’d laugh if my entire life wasn’t exactly like the scenario I just decribed. People keep telling me I’ll win one day. We’ll just have to see about that…

So, what did we learn, kids? San Diego’s awesome, but Comic Con is pretty overwhelming. It’s something that you really only need to do once in your life, but also take time to explore the city. Why? Because’s everybody’s hot, and the weather’s beautiful. The most important thing I learned was that whole “live in the moment” philosophy. I can’t say I’ve adopted it, plus it takes a whole lot of alcohol and “what have I got to lose?” attitude, but I’ve certainly acknowledged its validity. I think that’s something we could all take into ’08. And that, my friends, is the story of how the West went West.

“I’m having a total goth moment. Everything I see, I either want to kill it or fuck it.”

S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y NIGHT!

Sorry for the Bay City Rollers, but I needed to get us in the mood.

So, on the Saturday of the show, Keith and I weren’t sure what we were going to do. We’d already put in for vacation time so that we could have a few extra days in SD once the show was over. That said, we kinda wanted to “case the joint” to find cool places to spend our extra days. Well, we changed out of our “papaya”-colored (don’t blame me; blame the catalog!) Diamond shirt, and we’d just thrown on some clothes when Rob called and asked what we were doing for dinner. He was planning on going to this goth-industrial party called X-Sanguin that’s held every year near the end of the show. His friend Susan invited him (you have to meet this girl; she’s like sex wrapped up in skin), but he always kind of dangled it in our faces, in that “I don’t watch television” way of his. So, we were helping him kill time while Susan got ready. We end up at this Mexican place staffed entirely by Russians. Yes, Russians.

Sidebar: I went to Russia. I was an exchange student. My first kiss was a Russian. I love White Russians. And the drinks are cool, too. So, whenever I’m in an environment with Russians, I get stupid. I know enough of the language to get by. I skipped the whole chapter of “Would you like to come back to my hotel room?” or “Do they test for STDs at the embassy?” (Why do guide books have these chapters? Has anyone ever gotten laid using the “How To Hit On Women In Their Native Language” chapter of these tour books?!). I find I can get by with the general “It’s nice to meet you; my name is Will; How are you?” combo. After all, it’s a black guy speaking Russian. Might as well be a frog singing vaudeville. I’m a conversation piece, baby! End of Sidebar

So, we get seated by this brunette who is just…smokin! I mean, she looked like she had dressed for the club, but had been called into work at the last minute. All black clothes, tramp stamp, chain belt, the works. Keith and I were smitten, while Rob was playing it cool – he’s practically married anyway. So, how do we talk to her? I breezed through all the ice breaker stuff that I knew, and it was good, but not good enough. Keith tries the whole, “We’re from out of town, and we’re looking for cool places to hang out” angle. She responded, “Vell, I like to go klahbbing”. She rattles off this list of “klahbs” she likes, but we already know they’re too exclusive for us. I think Keith asked her if she was going clubbing later that night, but she said probably not since she’d have to work until 4 AM. Oh well…

At this point, Rob checks in with Susan, and decides to ask if she could get extra tickets to the party. Keith and I were interested, but caught off guard. You see, we looked like fratboy douchebags who were setting up a kegger. It wasn’t even crush party wear. Keith was wearing a gray Hanes t-shirt, some jeans, and flip flops, while I had a light blue button-down and cargo pants. This was not goth wear. Rob, on the other hand, had a blood-maroon button down and black pants; he was good to go. There was good and bad news: Susan had extra tickets, but we were late and had to immediately go pick her up. We felt we were WAY underdressed, but Rob had to go, so we followed.

Allow me to explain a bit more about this party. It’s held annually, in an abandoned church (The Abbey), and there’s always a theme. This year’s theme was Post-Industrial Russian Military. And you’re supposed to dress for the occassion. It’s also one of those parties where you’re bound to see some freaky shit, and what happens at X-Sanguin stays at X-Sanguin. The people on the list (who’d been planning for a year), were mailed a case containing a faux scan card, as well as a temporary tattoo in a modern hammer & sickle motiff. To gain entrance, you must wear this tattoo someplace on your person. The tame will go for the obvious: arm, cheek, back of hand, while the freaky will go for the daring: bikini line, inner thigh, other.

We get to Susan’s hotel room, and Ms. Sex-In-Skin is wearing this cute little military outfit, looking like the naughtiest soldier in the history of the Russian military. Her friend was just as hot, while Keith and I looked like we were there to egg the place as a hazing ritual, with Rob as our vampiric suitemate. Then, there was the hilarity of the tattoo application. Keith put his on his cheek, while I went for the inner wrist. Like a moron, I messed mine up because my ID bracelet rubbed it off before it dried. Rob messed his up because he forgot to take off the backing, so he tattooed his tattoo to its own wrapper. Susan was getting pissed because she didn’t have any more, so we were going to have to make do with the tattoos we’d messed up. Not off to the best start.

We could tell that Susan and friend seemed a bit upset that we weren’t dressed, but we’d been assured that not everyone dressed for this thing. Well, everyone who wanted to have a good time did dress for it. We almost didn’t get in, as my tattoo was pretty smudged, but they vouched for me. Susan and friend proceeded to ditch us almost immediately. Keith and I were trying to be optimistic, but we were pretty much sidelined from the beginning. The characters parading into this place were like something you’d find if Tim Burton had directed 300. From women on stilts to gorgeous fire eaters, we knew we didn’t fit in. But, Lord, did we try!

There was one little blond who was dressed as a sexy Russian nurse. Her uniform was strategically ripped, in order to show you where she’d hidden her tattoo. She was trying to dance, but she was terrible. Oh well, at least you’re cute. Then, she got a hoola hoop from a guy on the floor, and she worked it like she had to feed a hungry baby back at home (I mean, City High might as well have been playing in the background)! My God, this woman had everyone in a trance. And she moved and swayed for what felt like years. Let this be a lesson: chicks who can’t dance might be able to hoola, and that’s SO much better!

Keith fell in love with this fire dancer who reminded him of a character in one of his stories (he’s a writer, btw; search “Keith Davidsen” on Amazon!). He spent the night trying to track her down, while also chatting up folks at the bar. We tried to get drunker, but it wasn’t setting in. We were determined to have a good time at this thing, but they just didn’t want it. I’m sure it dripped with desparation, but we were so sure that we were always minutes from a 12-person orgy. It was in the air. They were those kinds of folks. But we weren’t dressed for the occassion. It’s weird being outcast by a group considered to be outcasts themselves! You’re standing there like, “I’m a good guy! I like comics! Look, Khakis!” And they’re looking at you like, “I like pain! Punch me in the face, and drink my blood! Let’s invite the dark gods into our intimacy.” We’d try to dance, and not even grinding shit, but their earth sisters and whatnot would box us out. We soon lost Rob, and we realized our own friends didn’t want our stink to rub off on them. So, we eventually packed it in and headed back towards the hotel.

Not really feeling like a cab, and pissed off at the goths, we decide to walk. Now, I just Mapquested that distance, and it’s supposedly only 2.31 miles. Well, we must’ve taken the long way, because I know it took us a good hour and a half to get back to familiar territory. In fact, I think we took the worst route ever, as we were deep in the neighborhood part of SD, and it couldn’t have been a great area because there were a lot of Jack in the Box and Denny’s. And it was almost 1 AM. And we’re walking.

Now, it needs to be said that we were kind of turning on each other because we were kind of pissed at the outcome of the night, and we needed to blame someone. So, we blamed each other. Not sure what we expected, but what we got wasn’t it. At this point, the alcohol was finally starting to set in, and Keith’s getting paranoid. Because we’re in this unknown area, his eyes start darting around, in case a knife-wielding hobo jumps out at us. Somehow, in our drunkeness, we made a pact to keep our eyes open for vagabonds and derelicts; if we noticed one, we were to run and not look back. Yeah, no real solidarity there. “Shit, a hobo! Peace out!” Hey, it made more sense when we were drunk. We knew our limits. How could we fight off a hobo with nothing to live for? We’d just struck out against Hot Topic’ers. How the hell were we gonna defeat a mugger?

Our night then just degraded into standard, boring fare you could get at home. We ended up walking back through the Gaslamp District, and we needed an ATM. It was 2 AM, and we conveniently found a machine at the door of the Mexican place we’d been to earlier. As luck would have it, our waitress was still there. Maybe the night wasn’t a wash! Maybe she’d want to hang out when she got off. We said “hi”, and I swear she looked at us like we were INS! She wanted nothing to do with us, and acted liked she’d never even seen us before. Yes, I understand she deals with a bunch of less-than-memorable people per day, but damn! As Mystery would say, never fall for the “hired guns”. Anyway, after that awkward encounter, we ended up in Ralph’s (The Wegman’s of the West) and grabbed a bunch of shit to drown our sorrows. Seriously, that was one fucked up grocery trip. I think we had Doritos and parfait (I think I’m the only sucker who falls for the supermarket parfait) and goulash and I think Keith was thinking aout buying one of those rotisserie chickens. The workers must’ve thought we were the biggest stoners around. But we weren’t high on drugs; we were high on goth, and we were coming down hard!

Recently, the pictures from the show were posted online:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/freaksnightout/sets/72157601439586633/

It’s amazing how hindsight is 20/20. I looked at all of the “hot people”, and find myself thinking, “Wow, you were so much hotter in the dark”. Either I was caught up in the moment, or their dark pact with Satan doesn’t carry over to photographic representations. Anyway, I don’t think I’ve heard from Susan since then, and I never did find out if that “More-gy” took place…

Tomorrow’s Chapter: “Where did you come from & are there others like you?” The Double-Sized Grand Finale!

“This is bullshit!”

As I said yesterday, Hollywood has made SDCC its playground, so much so that many of the events and panels leave people asking, “What does this have to do with comics?”. Sometimes, it makes sense. They had Nic Cage, because Ghost Rider had just come out on DVD, plus he had a comic coming from Virgin. They had Gwenneth Paltrow and other cast members from the upcoming Iron Man movie. They even had Stan “The Man” Lee. At the other end of the spectrum, they had the cast of the Sarah Silverman Program, they had assorted cast from Grindhouse, and they were promoting upcoming shows for ABC Family (many of which are already cancelled as I write this!).

Well, this is probably the first post to get me sued, but I had to cross that lne eventually. Here are a few of my most memorable celebrity moments from the show:

Joe Quesada: For those not in the know, Joe Quesada is the Editor-in-Chief of Marvel Comics, home of Spider-Man, Captain America, and the X-Men. Before coming to Marvel, he designed the Bruce Wayne-replacement Batman in the ’90s, and he co-created Painkiller Jane (of the recently canceled Sci Fi Channel show). Joe has been a controversial figure, as he’s the guy that many fans love to hate. A lot of that is due to his accessibility. It’s not that he’s done anything wrong, bu with the advent of the internet, he’s a lot easier to bash. People have criticized him for everything, from his business decisions to his weight. I’ve always liked the guy, and don’t really hold his business decisions against him. There’s no such thing as bad publicity, and he’s proven that.

I met him at the Baltimore Comic Con a few yrs ago, and while he wasn’t doing sketches, I convinced him to give me his signature at the size of a sketch page. That was good enough for me. Now, Joe used to be very large. I mean, “I’m scared for this guy if he doesn’t get ahold of himself” large. So, I was shocked when I saw him at SDCC, because he’s lost well over 50 lbs. The sad thing is that I didn’t even run into him until the mens room. I’m at the urinal, and I notice, “Shit, Joe Q’s peeing next to me!” Once again, I’ve got the fanboy thing under wraps, so I know not to say anything. Especially not in an environment where we’re both holding our junk. That just ain’t kosher. Oddly enough, this dude came in, and DID say, “What’s up, Joe?”, as Joe was handling business. I was thinking to myself, “God, have you no decency?”, but it turns out this was a Marvel guy, and Joe was cool with it. We ended up washing our hands at the same time, and I said “hi” at that point. He responded. No harm, no foul. Yeah, no dirt for ya there, kids…

Bendis: Brian Michael Bendis is probably my favorite comic writer. He’s the first writer whose books I bought because he wrote them. Before, I was buying X-Men because it was X-Men. Spider-Man because it was Spider-Man. Before I knew it, I was buying Avengers because it was Bendis. He’s just got a knack for dialogue. Anyway, after meting Frank Cho and Jim Lee, I felt that the only person left that I was dying to meet was Bendis. I didn’t even realize he was signing until it was too late. Our schedules were booked with meetings, so it’s not like we got a lot of free time on the con floor. I got into the Bendis line 3 people after the guy holding the “last person in line” sign. Honorably, I got out of line and waited off to the side. I knew people who knew people, so I was trying to see if I could still meet Bendis at some point over the weekend. In the meantime, I notice more and more assholes getting in line, despite the guy holding that sign. I guess it didn’t apply to them if they didn’t acknowledge it. Like a trooper, Bendis sat there and signed all of there books, regardless of the fact that he was supposed to be elsewhere by that point. Well, being as stubborn as I am, I just waited. MTV came over to interview him when he was done, and I just stood right there, off to the side. 20 mintues later, when he was done, I finally went over and introduced myself. I somewhat slipped into me, “You’re so awesome” trance, but it was all true, and he was a really nice guy. I didn’t ask him for an autograph because I already bought one years ago (yes, I’m a sucker), and it really wasn’t about that. I really just wanted to meet him. Met the guy who opened my eyes to creators. Mission accomplished.

Ben Templesmith: Ben is one of the cocreators of 30 Days of Night, which tore up theatres back in October. He’s a gracious, friendly guy, and it was great meeting him. I’d actually asked him to do an indie profile that we were running in Previews, and I just wanted to thank him for participating. Once again, great guy.

Frank Miller: Ah, Frank Miller. Creator of 300, Sin City, Dark Knight Returns, the Robocop screenplay, and the “Goddamn Batman”. Frank’s a bit of an enigma. I saw him briefly, as he left one of the Hyatt bars. He looks kinda like Tim Burton’s crazy uncle, as he wear all black, but tops it of with a fedora, like he’s friggin’ Carmen Sandiego or something. Funny enough, he rolls with a posse. I swear, he had his own dark entourage quickly whisking him out of the joint. Well, he looked like he’d had a rough night. I wanted to closer look, but I got distracted when Brian Posehn from the Sarah Silverman Program walked by. I thought I might get a chance to see Sarah…

Elvira: Mmm….the “Mistress of the Dark”. As campy as she might be, she’ll always remind me of the 80s and liquor stores. She and Spuds McKenzie will go down in history as the best friends of the 80s beer industry, and I think Elvira was one of the first hot, naughty girls a lot of us were introduced to. Well, E has aged. I saw her from afar, and wished I’d stayed back. She’s not bad, per se, but you really don’t wanna get too close. I mean, even Bettie Page was rough when she got old. The breasts still look racktacular, though!

Thomas Jane: The Punisher. Well, he punished something all weekend, and I think it came out of a paper bag. He was there promoting his Image comics, Bad Planet and Alien Pig Farm, but he was always so animated. At times, it just seemed like he was the life of the party, while at other times it was clear that he was WASTED! His booth was right next to ours, so I had a good seat for the Thomas Jane craziness. Some days, he’d throw these balsa wood airplanes just to see who/what they’d hit. Then, he started running up and down the aisles, like he was racing an invisible friend. I also think the timing had something to do with things: you see, the studio chose this weekend to announce Jane’s replacement in the role of Punisher: Ray Stevenson, of HBO’s Rome. And it seemed like it was news to him. Yeah.

One night, he came through one of the Hyatt bars, chomping on a cigar (you can’t smoke anywhere in CA, btw), yelling, “This is bullshit!” He kept yelling it, while jumping on the backs of chairs, trying to get the bartender’s attention. He’d give up, jump down, and start flailling around in his Hawaiian shirt, “This is bullshit!” Finally, some brave asshole asked, “What’s wrong, Punisher?” Jane goes on to yell, “They were gonna give me $1.5 mil to do Punisher 2, but the script was shit! It was shit!” A handful of douchebags encircled him, and they were faux cheering him on, like, “Right on, Punisher!” and “Fuck them!” Little did he realize that they were laughing at him and not with him. He flailed a little more, and then stumbled out the door, where I last saw him chatting up some blonde. This exchange would later be described, albeit briefly, in a Wizard article about some completely unrelated comic creator.

Jenna Jameson: That’s right, folks. THE Jenna Jameson. You see, Virgin Comics (Ha! I couldn’t make this stuff up!) is releasing a comic starring Jenna. I can’t even really tell you what it’s about. It’s not a confidentiality thing – I just really don’t know what it’s about. From what I can tell, it’s Witchblade, starring Jenna. It’s such a funny project because everyone expects one thing, seeing as how she has this naughty background, but I think they’re going to end up with something else entirely. Most of the people in line were like, “Jenna, I have all your videos. Oh….you have a comic? That’s cool…”.

Anyway, she was at the show for a signing. Rob and I had had a meeting with Bahrat, Virgin’s head of marketing, the day before, and I’d hinted that I wanted to meet Jenna. Hell, she’s the biggest porn star of all time! Anyone would want to meet her, and I wanted to get as much out of that trip as possible. So, Bahrat told us to come by the booth at noon, and he’d see what he could do. We missed noon because of meetings, but one of the managers on our toy team had actually met Jenna’s manager earlier in the day. Toy Team Guy is gruff and burly; a real man’s man. The toy/merchandise team is always getting porn samples, as we list that stuff in Adult Previews, and I hear he gets all of the hardcore samples. The guy knows his stuff, so when he met Jenna’s manager, they hit it off and made plans to have drinks with Jenna after her signing. Well, the word spread, and I tagged along with their group, as I was determined to meet this woman. So, we diligently hung off to the side until Jenna was done with her signing. I even took some time to visit her neighbor, James Hong from Big Trouble in Little China (AKA “That Old Chinese Dude From Every Movie in the Eighties”). Once it was over, the manager led us over, and we all got to meet her and have our pictures taken with her. She also signed this big-ass poster of the cover of her comic (I’ve got to remember where I put that thing…).

She’s hot, but she’s so tiny. If you’ve ever seen Jenna stuff from her heyday, she was the porn star with curves. Not quite Anna Nicole, but she wasn’t small. With all of the drama in her life recently, from her divorce to her cancer diagnosis, it seems like it may have taken it’s toll. Don’t get me wron: she’s ripped, with a six pack and everything, but it’s such a drastic change. Anyway, she was really cool, and I’m happy that out of the 13 pictures that CVS was actually able to develop, this meeting was one of them. The funniest part was watching Toy Guy as he met her. This is a guy who’s a former Marine, and I’d bet money that he has taken lives with his bare hands, but he was stuttering and giggling like a fool. I think it brought us closer. After we met her, I asked, “Toy Guy, would you be my new dad?” His response? “Only if you call me Mr. Drummond.” And to this day, I call him Mr. Drummond. It was worth it.

Epilogue: As we’re giddily leaving Jenna, I notice this HOT chick rushing across the floor in her direction. Wearing short shorts, she had legs for days, and once my eyes traveled a week north, I realized who it was: Rosario. This was the day after our meeting, and I was still feeling stupid about my whole “I fell in love with you” thing. Also, though, she was GORGEOUS. The night before, I was drunk and she was accessible, but now she was the hottest girl in school, wearing the shortest pants not allowed by dress code, and she was eager to meet the world’s biggest porn star. I wanted to run up to her, saying, “Remember me? It’s Will West! Cool name guy!” But I’m learning to just live in the moment. All that shit about how life’s about the journey and not the destination. I’d had my Rosario moment and that was it. No need to get a restraining order placed against me. I walked off just as I saw them hug, pictures of which showed up in various publications.

Tomorrow’s Chapter: “Everything I see, I either wanna kill it or fuck it!”

“In fact, I think I fell in love with you…”

Now, one of the biggest things about Comic Con is that abundance of parties. Now, people count out comic folks because we’re all social outcasts, too afraid of the outside world, so we hide in our moms’ basements, drowning ourselves in superhero fantasies. Don’t you hate that shit? It’s the same way I hate how any mainstream article about comics *must* contain “sock”, “bam”, and/or “pow”. Do they even use those sounds in comics anymore? I think I saw a “Splurgghh!” the other day, but digress…

Due to the show’s proximity to LA, plus the fact that the show is becoming Hollywood’s playground, there are a ton of pretty high profile parties. The beauty of it for me was that I was on all of the lists. Surprisingly, they were pretty hardcore with the door security at these things. You’d think fans would be a bit craftier with their attempts to get in to these things, but most of them just had no creativity. Hell, I took my friend, Rob, to a party and he wasn’t on the list. We just told them he was my boss, who happened to be on the list, and they let him in. No ID needed or anything. Pwned!

Anyway, the party we went to was thrown by Oni Press, publishers of the incredible Scott Pilgrim series, as well as Whiteout (with upcoming movie starring Kate Beckinsale). So, I knew that the party was cohosted by a talent agency, but I didn’t really know their rle in things. We get inside, and it was almost like nobody inside knew this was “a comic thing”. Everyone was hot, but in that NYC way. It was one of those “see and be seen” parties, where the only Black dude has a British accent, and he’s the DJ, while there are a bunch of too-cool-for-school Asians, and a lot of trendy White kids. There wasn’t a lot of dancing, even though there was danceable music. It was like we were playing Rhythmic Chicken: who’s gonna dance first? In other words, it was awesome! Let’s get something straight: I’ve always been an elitest on the outside of the system. I love a good, elite, meritocracy, but I’ve never really cut the muster to be in taht crowd. But now I was on the list! I could be snooty, too! Fuck you, little people!

So, Rob and I are drinkin’ our dranks, taking in the scene, when I notice somebody. Holy shit, that’s Jonah Hill! “Rob, did you see Jonah Hill?” Rob, of course, answers with a “Who?’. Let me explain something about Rob. Great guy, but he’s the dude who’ll tell you he doesn’t watch television because he really wants to drive the point home. Say you’re not familiar with the guy. Say you’ve never heard of Superbad or seen the ebay store scene in The 40 Year Old Virgin. But don’t give me the, “I don’t watch television” speech that I’ve heard a million times before, in that “Sorry, moron, I have a life” tone of yours. Ugh…So, anyway, I saw Jonah Hill. And the next thing I knew, I saw McLovin’ trailing through the crowd before him. Now, I’m kind of geeking out, but we need to remember something: A) it’s a cool party, so you’ve got to act like you don’t see them and B) I’ve been learning to deal with my starstruck problem in these settings. Back in Feb, I went to the New York Comic Con for work, and I ended up at a party full of every popular comic pro of the last 15 yrs. I almost had a heart attack, but Rob was pushing the whole, “Play it cool, man” angle (a lot of this is based on the fact that he didn’t even know who most of the people were). Anyway, after a few beers, a conversation with the Wizard editors, and a dance circle with Olivier Coipel, I got out all of my professional fanboyness. So, now that we’re in SD, it should’ve been OK, but these were actors. As far as cons go, the only people who know those professionals are comic people. To the fat black lady at the check cashing/takeout joint, Jim Lee is just “that Asian dude” (and that’s if she’s feeling nice), while Jonah Hill would be “Oh, it’s that little fat boy from that movie where they tryin’ to get some pussy!” See? Universal appeal. Anyway, for this reason, the fanboy bug started creeping up, but I let it pass. “Be cool, Will”, I told myself. “They’ll come back around and we can just say ‘hi’.”

Rob and I continue taking in the scene, when Masi Oka came through. Holy shit, it’s that dude from Heroes! And then, Sylar came through. Now, I have a confession to make: I’ve never seen Heroes. Yes, I know it’s comic-based, and I’ll love it, and blah, blah. This is the same crap people try to say when I tell them I never saw Firefly. Either way, I just don’t ahve time for episodic television. Damn, I sound like Rob. Anyway, I’ve followed the show enough that I know I’ve got to save the cheerleader, or the world’s fucked. I also know there’s the teleporting Asian kid. And, apparently, Sylar’s an evil asshole, even though he looks just like that guy in high school who might be gay ’cause he’s so metro, and all of his friends are girls, yet you’ve heard stories about all these chicks he fucked at his last school. Again, I digress. The media have looked to Heroes as the thing that will legitimize comics. If viewers can get onboard with its storytelling, then it might introduce the joy of comics to the nonbelievers. So, the cast members are basically missionaries, and they were gracing us with their presence at this party. The Superbad guys slipped in somewhat unnoticed, but the fans took to the Heroes like rednecks to NASCAR. I think I gave Sylar the “what’s up” nod, but I really didn’t have much more to say to him. I’d never seen the show, and San Diego was already revealing a side of myself that I didn’t like: the empty gesture schmoozer. I was telling people I liked their stuff when I didn’t, telling people I’d read their stuff when I hadn’t. When I meet a person, I don’t really remember their name or anything. I’m most concerned with what impression I’m making upon them. There’ll be time for names and counting when the dealing’s done. Recently, though, I notice I go into this stupid trance of, “Thanks SO much, I really love your stuff” to all of these pros, when I really want to just say, “Yeah, it’s good, but what the Hell was up with that Clone Saga?” Anyway, long story short, I acknowledged their presence, but I didn’t geek out about it.

After a bit, Rob left to head for another party, while AI was doing shots with the bartender. Not sure where I picked up the notion that I could pull that off, but tequila solves all ills. So, I’m stumbling back to the hotel, as I’m staying at the center of all afterparty entertainment. The Hyatt bar is known as THE place to be when the night’s entertainment is done. Until about 4 AM every morning, you can find the likes of fans and creators alike, causing more noise than that found in Time Square during rush hour. Well, I get back to the Hyatt, and I hang outside awhile with some people I know. It’s at this point that I notice a converastion off to the side. You see, it was Lee (really cool guy who always wears a stray cowboy hat), and he was having a conversation with a really cute girl. Like I said, I’d had a bit to drink, so I wasn’t as hesitant as I can be at times. Hell, “at times”? I talk myself out of most things…Anyway, I kind of walk around to get a better look at this girl, and I can’t believe who it turns out to be: Rosario Dawson.

Drunk and feeling fanboyish, I decide that I’ve GOT to meet her. It was closer than I’d been to a “celebrity” at this point, and it was one of those carpe diem moments. Sure, it wasn’t that deep, but that was the tequila talking. I see Rob, and I tell him who I’ve just spotted. Surprisingly, he knew who she was (or he pretended to), but he wouldn’t play a role in my childish quest for an introduction. So, I suck it up, saunter over to Lee, and strike up a conversation like I don’t even see her standing there. They were kind of laughing at a joke known only to them, and I caught them before they’d goe on to the next topic. “Hey, Lee! Did you go to any good parties tonight?” That was innocent enough, right? Turns out he’d gone to the MySpace party, which I somehow didn’t get invited to, which still kinda rubs me the wrong way, ’cause anyone who knows me realizes that I might as well have stock in that company. Guess my invite got lost in the mail. Anyway, Lee does my job for me. He goes, “Hey Will, do you know Rosario?” Why no, I don’t know Rosario. “Introduce yourself, ” he tells me. I offer my hand, and say, “Hi, I’m Will West”. As she shakes my hand, she sort of tilts her head to one side, and in that Clerks II cool chick way of hers, says, “Will West, huh? That’s kinda cool.” I’d like to think I giggled inside, but knowing me, I probably sounded like a gay Pilsbury Doughboy.

That should’ve been enough. I should’ve walked away; mission accomplished. Instead, Lee says, “Hey Will, tell her where you work.” I insist that she doesn’t care where I work, but he presses. So, I tell her where I work. She gives me a “that’s cool” -esque response. Now, she was at Comic Con for several reasons, one of which was to promote her Image Comics series, Occult Crimes Taskforce (O.C.T.). Never read it, but was saving them to read on a rainy day. But what do I say? “I love your book, by the way”. After all, I’m Mister Comics. I’m supposed to have my finger on the pulse of these things. I’m hip. I’m cool. Of course I’ve read her book. And then I go too far. If you noticed, I told her that I loved her book. Not liked. Not “I found it intriguing”. No. Loved. So, Mr. Tequila and I get to working together, and we went too far. So, after I say I love the book, I follow with “In fact, I love everything that you do. In fact, I think I fell in love with you with Clerks II.” Yeah, I told her I’d fallen in love with her. Because of Clerks II. So, how did she react? Well, first off, I wish I had a time-lapse photo of the change in her face. And, I’m not sure if she was joking or serious, but here’s what she said: “Clerks II? After 10 yrs of work, and all of the movies I’ve done, you fall in love with me for Clerks II?” Sheepishly, I responded, “I dunno…there was something about that role.” I forgot to explain that she was dressed like a waiter, in black pants and a white button-down. She was carrying a “V” mask, from V for Vendetta, which she wore on the con floor so that she can get around without being noticed. She was smoking, so she couldn’t exactly wear the mask at this point, so more people were recognizing her. As they closed in, I used that as a chance to take my leave.

Now, here’s full disclosure: I was so starstruck that I actually forgot her filmography. When I think of her, there are 2 roles that always come to mind: Clerks II, because I really did think she was the perfect girlfriend there, and KIDS. Now, maybe I’m wrong, but I didn’t feel like KIDS was the kind of movie I should be bringing up when first meeting her. That whole foot-in-mouth scenario could of been a lot worse had I said, “I think I fell in love with you in KIDS. Yeah, there was something about the scene where you’re describing how difficult it is to get the taste of semen out of your mouth. Or the scene where you go for your AIDS test.” Oh well, I made my mark. She thought my name was cool, and I made a fool of myself. If I’m lucky, she might use the story next time she’s on Conan or something.

Tomorrow’s Chapter: “This is bullshit!”

“An ‘lol’ just makes it all better.”

Well, I just got back from Arizona for a wedding, and I realized that I’ve gone West twice this year, yet I still haven’t written about that first, action-packed trip: San Diego. I made a promise to get to that before the end of the year, and my mommy raised me to never make a promise I couldn’t keep. So, it took me until 5 AM, but I finally got the saga down on paper (or e-paper, I guess). Here’s how it’s going to run: I’m going to post a new part every day this week, so you can either follow along, or read it all Saturday morning as you’re nursing your hangover. Either way, it’s all gonna be posted by Friday night. I swear that everything mentioned in these stories actually happened, so either be in awe or be ashamed, as I’m laying it all on the line here. It’s going to start out kind of slow, but I swear it gets better (I’m particularly fond of tomorrow’s post). So, don’t say I never entertain you, and most of these stories aren’t going to paint me in the best light. But that means they’re real. So, here we go:

I’ve got to say that “excitement” was not the initial feeling when I got to San Diego. Don’t get me wrong; I was excited beforehand, and during the flight. However, once I touched down, I got kind of “blah”. I think a lot of it had to do with the fact that I didn’t have anyone to call. Sure, that sounds stupid, but I didn’t exactly have anyone to share it with. Most of my comic friends were with me, so it would’ve been preaching to the choir. So, I had no real outlet for the excitement and, oddly, that turned into depression. I spent the first night in my room, blogging and checking work e-mail (if you remember the disjointed post about Dr. Phil and Good Times, that was the post).

The first few days were consumed by slave labor. Either we were assembling booths or delivering product to retailers, it was all the unglamorous work you neither see, nor ever want to see. That Wednesday night was known as “Preview Night”, which used to be exclusively for retailers and exhibitors to get a lay of the land before the “commoners” hit the gate. In recent years, however, fanboys and retailers alike have taken to coming on Preview Night, so it’s not really anything special anymore. If anything, it’s a good way to gauge the magnitude of the crowd that is expected over the course of the weekend. Show organizers were expecting upwards of 140,000 attendees over the 5 days, and I truly believe that they hit that mark (yeah, I’m too lazy to actually check for stats; I’m not a real journalist!). I’d have to say that I was almost overwhelmed by the amount of people I saw on Preview Night. It also didn’t help that I had booth duty, so I had to do my best Vanna White impression as the “preview nighters” came by to drool at our display cases.

To better explain booth duty, you’re basically a spokesmodel posted at a particular product, available for questions should the attendees want more details. If they want to purchase the item, you send them in the appropriate direction. I had the (un)lucky fortune of being posted at the Diamond Exclusive Colonel America Zombie Bust. Allow me to elaborate: Marvel Comics did a miniseries a little over a year ago, featuring their main characters as zombies. Seeing as how zombies “are the new black”, the thing sold wonderfully for them. So, Diamond decided to make a bust of one of the prominent characters, Colonel America (an alternate version of the traditional Captain America). The bust had chunks missing out of the body, while the scalp was removable, allowing easier access to his patriotically zombified brain. This was all well and good…except for the timing of this bust. You see, the popular miniseries was now a year old, while just weeks prior to Comic Con, Marvel killed off Captain America. And here we were, selling a zombie bust of the character. Can you say “in poor taste’? No? Can you say “too soon”? Let’s just stick with “morbid”. Now, most people would laugh it off, and just think it’s kooky, asking, “Dude, where can I buy this?!” However, it was the old school fan base that really took offense to things. I had a guy come up to me, telling me his life story of how Captain America has always been a hero and a role model to him. I’m smiling and nodding, wondering where this is going. That’s when he decides to inform me that he’s offended that we’d disrespect his role model in such a way. I wanted to launch into the, “Dude, he’s not real” defense, but that’s something that you only want to use in case of emergency. No need of biting the hand that feeds me, just to save face. So, I had to do some emergency back-peddling. I pointed out that the bust was of Colonel America and not Captain America. Since the Colonel was an alternate reality version of Cap, they’re not the same person. So, he could rest assured that his hero was still where he remembered him, six feet under and being consumed by maggots and worms. God Bless America!

I can’t make fun of the fanboys, though, as I’m certainly one of them. Little did I know I was going to have my own, weird fanboy moment the next day. You see, my friend Keith and I were roommates, and we were rushing to get to the con floor for the first real day of the show. As we get into the hotel elevator, we see a guy who looks oddly familiar. Now, the thing with comic folks is that many of them are faceless. If the creator has never graced Wizard‘s Top 10 Creator lists, you’ll never know what they look like (it also doesn’t help that they’ve been using the same pics and creators for the past 10 yrs). So, I’m looking at this guy, when I notice that he has a DC bag with his stuff. He smiles and asks if we’re headed to the con. We tell him we’re working it, blah, blah. Then, I ask if he’s with DC. That’s when he introduces himself: he’s Ethan Van Sciver, regular artist on Green Lantern. So, we shoot the shit for all 12 seconds of the elevator ride. When we get outside, he asks if we want to split a cab.

Now, the convention center was literally one block away, and we were kind of looking forward to walking it. I mean, the early morning cosplay sightings were reason enough to hoof it (you’ll understand when you see the droves of Cassie Hack and Power Girl clones). Not wanting to seem rude, and it was EVS, we decide to join him in the cab. When we tell the driver where we’re going, he gets all pissed. “Why can’t you walk?”, he asks. “It’s right there!”. I guess we were keeping him from getting a “real fare”. Trying to sound like I was cool and edgy, I responded with, “Well, we thought you wanted to get paid!” Nice one, Will. So, it actually takes us about 5 minutes just for the cab to get back onto the street. The entire time, the driver is pissed, trying to tell us that we could’ve walked, seeing as how the convention center was a block away. Well, EVS had a couple of boxes of comics on a cart, so walking would’ve been cumbersome. At some point, the guy calmed down.

In the meantime, Keith and I are talking to Ethan, anything from where he lives to how he felt about the success of the Sinestro Corps storyline. At some point, he mentioned his wife, and that’s when the driver decided to be our friend. “How many girlfriend do you have?”, he asked Ethan. Ethan was like, “I don’t have any girlfriends, man. I’m married.” That wasn’t stopping the driver, though. “You have one wife, so you have enough time and energy for about 2 girlfriends. Lots of beautiful women out here. You might get a girlfriend this weekend.” Dude really started getting forceful, like he couldn’t believe that his math wasn’t making sense to us. We were bewildered by how incessant he was in selling his 1 wife = 2 girlfriend lifestyle. I swear, a 1-block trip took about 20 minutes, and we went from being abused to being this guy’s new best friends, as we were lowly, inexperienced fools, while he was the guru of love. Anyway, it was awesome ’cause I was in the middle of a “con story”. I’d always read about them online, but I never knew I’d actually experience one. I shared an experience with a popular comics pro, in a scenario that you’d have to experience to believe. Comic-Con Rocks!

Tomorrow’s Chapter: “In fact, I think I fell in love with you…”