Motor City Madness 2010.

I suppose that everyone likes to create and abide by meaningful traditions. Holidays and get-togethers and the like. Spending a Saturday in May in Novi Michigan surrounded by hundreds of fellow dorks, seems to be fast becoming one of ours. Welcome brethren the High Holidays of Nerddom. Where our people gather and celebrate.

There were a number of differences between this year and last, most minor. First we attended on a Saturday, second we didn't get there right as they opened, third there wasn't any particular celebrity that I really wanted to meet - not since a certain someone broke my heart last year. Why Taimak? Why? I just wanted to get my copy of Last Dragon signed. Anyhow, the later show time meant that the convention center and parking lot were both rather on the full side. The party was already in full swing. Shazam!

*I should have gone as a pirate!I should have gone as a pirate!I should have gone as a pirate!*

Oh and the best part... There was a gun show going on in the room next door. Think of it, curmudgeonly old second-amendmenters thrown together with a bunch of Geekkin on a gloriously beautiful Saturday in May. Clearly, nothing happened, but in my mind I see the nerds and militiamen squaring off, while my people rely on knowledge gleaned from a decade of playing World War 2 games and MMORPGS to try and take down a squad of grizzled Vietnam Vets. The enthusiasm. The slaughter. The getting banned from the Novi Convention Center. That'd be a spectacle worth telling the neighbor's grandkids about.

There are, I think, four interlocking reasons to come to a comic convention. The first and most blatantly stated of the lot is obviously the swag. The comics/games/toys/videos/shirts/swords that the vendors come to pawn and geeks of all shapes and sizes(but mostly of the male mold) come to collect. It is a material celebration of our various obsessive passions. We can pay our $25 for the privilege of collecting nicknacks and ever increase our pile of useless stuff that our moms will have to donate to Goodwill when we move out of our parents' basement (which for most of us will be about three days after we die of a massive cheeseburger, Mountain Dew and pocky induced coronary at the age of fifty when they have to chainsaw our hairy, pimply corpses in half to get us out of the house).

*Oh Mal, Jayne, you've really let yourselves go!*

Honestly, reason one doesn't much appeal to me. I am that special combination of poor and cheap. I don't have a special love of comic books or toys. If I'm going to buy a sword, I want it to be functional damn it, not a decorative piece of over-priced stainless steel to mount on my walls. They go in the same bin as the toys. My collective addiction lends itself to books that I'll probably never read. I have those by the bookcase here in FunkyTown. That about just leaves the shirts. Maybe one day. When I have extra money to spend. On the other hand, I can get all those shirts on the web somewhere... so why bother?

Attraction number two? Meeting the artists of you favorite comics(and others you've never heard of). There are some amazingly talented people that show up to these events. They come to sell their art and interact with their fans. Or if they haven't got many fans yet, to try and establish a base. One way or another, there they all are, sitting and waiting for three days as hundreds of dorks pass them by. The wonderful thing is, these people tend to be friendly and engaging for anyone who approaches their booths. They want to sell art. and I would guess, make a connection and build a community as well. Last year I bought two small prints from RAK , Two dollars worth of art, and he smiled and shook my hand as if I had spent a thousand instead. That's pretty damn cool there. No pretensions, just fans and artists connecting.

*Ghostbusters. San Fransisco branch.*

Three. The Larch. Oh, and Celebrities. Calling these people at times "Celebrities" is definitely stretching the definition of the term a bit. Sure, you get Shatner and Adam West, Tom Savini and Sandahl Bergmen. The various great idols of nerd culture. A handful of well known names(At the bigger conventions). The rest of the stock run the gamut of the semi-well known to the absolutely obscure. Hey, did you want to meet the third Nameless Storm Trooper to die in the famous opening assault scene from Star Wars: A New Hope? Well here's your chance! And for an extra ten dollars you can even get his signature! I am not shitting you! It'll only cost you an hour or two at your crappy minimum wage job to cover it!

Who does that appeal to? A line of ink on a slip of paper? You can't eat it, and the signature doesn't improve any tangible aspect of the product that you're having signed. I like Tom Savini's work (The man looks extraordinarily uncomfortable and a bit bored when dealing with his fans, I don't blame him), but I don't think I want to give him a portrait of Andrew Jackson so that I might have him scribble on my copy of Dawn of the Dead. I can see wanting to meet and chat with an admired star. I personally would to meet the Dead Gentlemen. And then Frolic hand-in-hand through a sunlit meadow with Emily Olson and Don Early. Don't judge me. I admire their work, and like to frolic through sunlit meadows. Why not combine these two interests?

*At one point, the Joker there had a harem of four girls in costume. Batgirl there is proving her metal by actually making eye-contact with a nerd at a comic con. That is courage.*

For me, the fourth and most interesting aspect of Conventions, and the reason that I keep going back, is the fellow attendees. I've mentioned this before, and am probably beating a dead horse on the subject. The same goes for Renn Fests as well. Folk of varying fame are all well and good, but really, so what? They're here because this is a job, a source of income. Mayhaps they enjoyed playing those characters that we so delight in - the actors I think would prefer to lead us through our little fantasies rather than partake of the feast with us. When I was eight, after seeing all their movies, I thought that Sly and Arnie would make the best soldiers in the world, my Dad voiced the opinion that they might rather prefer to pretend being super-soldiers. Dad was right.

Still, there is that connection, between the creator and the admirer that is difficult to break. And the celebs are here, hob-nobbing (from behind a table) with the masses. My friends the Fat Man and Dutch went as Silent Bob and Jay respectively. Their shining moment was when one of the actresses from the movie Clerks pulled them aside to get a picture with the two of them. I got to take that picture for them. Here is a clear example of the bond between guest and attendee.

*Where does Jesus usually fit in to these? Is he here as a zombie hunter? Pope Comics features Jesus Christ Zombie Slayer!*

But the other fans. They pay to be there. A comic con is almost like a rave for my people. Where we turn over our money for a chance to rub shoulders with our fellows. Sadly, around 90% of our fellows are dudes. With geek chicks being rare, and cute geek chicks rarer still. The prize being the cute geek chick in the revealing costume. I'm left wondering though, how many of the Batgirls and Slave Leias are actually fellow fans. And how many are just there as exhibitionists. The optimist in me hums rather loudly and states that most of the girlfolk about are a combination of the two. They're fans, who also like to bait their male counterparts.




*Speaking of Zombie-hunting*

Because this is a half-assed adventure, I will tell of the trip back.

Since I was 14 or so I've wanted to visit Hell Michigan. Cool name huh? It's up there with Climax and Spread Eagle Wisconsin. Maybe almost as epic as lake Titicaca. Who wouldn't want to visit? I was personally curious to see what drove this town to give such a definite name to their little burg. And it was on the way back home. So why not? Dutch and the Fat Man were down. Evil One was a bit skeptical.

What we expected was a sad little podunk in the middle of the country decked out to take advantage of the name. Devils, and painted flames and all that. That was what we got.

*Wait. No Booze in Hell? Satan, you're a dick.*

Sort of.

To call Hell a town would be a gross exaggeration. No. A blatant lie. Village? Hamlet? No. Tourist Trap? Bingo. Hell consists of a souvenir stand/restaurant/convinience store rolled up into one. A bar. An icecream parlor. And a place to play mini-golf.

That is all.

The town doesn't exactly live up to it's name. Though it seems to be rather popular with Bikers - as there was a gang/convention in town. They might have been there for the wedding reception. Yes. There was a wedding reception going on, In Hell, that very day. I have to wonder what the theme of that wedding was to lead to Hell for the reception. All of them reverberate with an original proclamation of 'No' as a central core.

*Now you've seen Hell Michigan. All of it.*

No post office, or school or video rental store. Hell isn't really a failed town trying to hold onto whatever it might have been. It's just a speck out in the middle of nowhere with a cool name. A speck that is trying to market that name for money. It's the American way.

Getting past that, the food was a pleasant surprise. It was damn good, plentiful and inexpensive. After last year, with the creepy waitress at the greasy spoon diner sporting unappealing fare, this was a change for the better. Vastly. The employees seemed to enjoy throwing hell around, have a helluva good day, what the hell, and that sort of thing. What did you expect? It was part of the experience.

Finally, the four of us left Hell behind by paths unknown, leaving Dutch's GPS device to lead the way. I think that thing is possessed by a demon as it drove us directly through the heart of Banjo-Rape country. Along a gravel road and past forgotten farms.

*Ya'll ever seen Deliverance? Me neither. But I've heard enough to know that this is a bad place to be.*