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.*

Taimak, you broke my heart.

The Fatman contacted me a couple weeks back with an interesting proposal. He and Dora had made plans to visit the MotorCity ComicCon. Neither of them had even been to a comic convention before and as geeks they were interested to partake. Did I want to join?

Mayhaps.

Think of it chums. Comics, nerds and booth babes. An explosive mix.

-Does this guy even know his customer base? He dedicated a third of his display to Twilight. A third. I didn't see that many thirteen year old girls running around the floor. Just a lot of sweaty mens.-

I'm really not into comic books. I've enjoyed them, especially graphic novels. But I've not purchased one for years. Nor am I really that into toys, or anime, or paying high prices for t-shirts. I prefer gaming and fiction to the other forms of geekiness. Sadly, my two preferred forms of sport were largely ignored.


Enter Spectatormode.

-Wow, she's come far in life. All she needs is a porn movie of her very own. Wait. She already has one of those. Career complete.

There was a fairly extensive list of celebs and quasi-celebs. Some genuinely fit into the expected mold quite well. Carrie Fisher, the uber-sex-symbol from Star Wars was slated to be there. Sans metal bikini. Hell yeah I want to meet her. The likely non-existant girl that fills my fuzzy dreams is usually at least at one point clad in said garb. I first saw Return of the Jedi when I was about 5 years old. Even then Slavekini clad Fisher was hot.

Sadly, Carrie Fisher was only going to be at the convention on Saturday and Sunday. Damnation! Curses! Skullduggery! Oh well, we still have Taimak.

As were several actors from some of our favorite sci-fi shows. Battlestar Gallactia, Star Trek Voyager. The Dukes of Hazard. Really? The Dukes of Hazard? Who spilled the Billy Beer in our Mountain Dew? I mean come on. Catherine Bach is a little beyond the age of being delightful to see in a pair of low-riding Daisy Dukes. She's still a pretty mature woman, but she's no longer a sex-kitten.

-It was a great panel, funny and informative. But what the hell is that pink shit that he's drinking.-


The rest of the list seemed to be a haphazard mix of everything from aging wrestlers from the 1980s, to Playboy Playmates. Beautiful booth goddesses descending from their crystalline pedestals to tease a bunch of nerds who would be a mere table's width away. So close and so very far. Really it was like a zoo of duality. The geeks and nerds got to come in and view the beautiful and famous, who in turn got to see a parade of the Dork Elite.

Imagine it, all the inherent dorkiness of the internet concentrated into one large, hanger-like convention hall. Was I interested? Maybe. What's going on? Wait, Taimak is going to be there to meet his fans? Glee!

Fuck Yeah! I want to meet me some Bruce Leroy! We should cosplay and go dressed as Sho'Nuff and his entourage. The Fatman thought that an awesome idea, in theory, but a little cumbersome in practice. We're lazy people.

The day started out with Evil and myself meeting the Fatman and Dutch in K-zoo for a little pre-carpooling breakfast action at the International House of Pancakes. Lewis Black's premiere health club. A place where they have several different and rather random varieties of syrrup at your beck and call 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. A place where they have the Bacon Lover's Omlette. Six strips of bacon and chedder cheese all wrapped in a blanket of eggs. A delightful experience for those who don't wish to make it all the way back to their car before their heart explodes.

-Dutch and the Fatman from the lesser known Backstreet Boys collection. They have style and dancability. The chicks, they go mad for the goodness. -




-Dutch, using his Blackberry to look up the Boysenberry. Ironic!-

You will never hear me utter the phrase 'Hey, let's goto the IHOP.' In any of it's possible variations.

Tis a two and a half hour drive through rustic farm-land between K-zoo and Novi, driving along traffic infested highway. Dutch was trying for a new local land speed record, along with about half the rest of the people on the road that day.


- The unstoppable FIB Canuk! -

The first thing I really noticed about the convention is that the vast bulk of the patrons is made up by sad creepy bastards just like me. This was expected. I know my own people. But still surprising. Nerds of all shapes and color had convened for this sacred yearly rite. Though mostly they were round and pale and were the carriers of the Y chromosome.

I spent most of the afternoon walking the aisles and taking in the ambience, which was mostly a dull roar of conversation on all sides and a moving mass of geeks.

-I'm pretty sure that the lady at the far right is cosplaying as a preggers!-

Really ninety-percent of the population was male. There is nothing like watching two forty year old men, balding with grey hair, running around and giggling like 10 year olds. Good on ya gents, keep it real. I didn't get a picture. This is completely awesome for the female or gay male crowd who happens to enjoy experiencing an exhibit of sweaty pudgy manflesh. It was kind of like being surrounded by a blubbery maelstrom. I still feel dirty from the experience. Hot water does little to cleanse those memories I tell you.


-Naked Killer! Hell yes! This one has got to be a story driven by strong characters and a well developed plot!-

I think this is why they import the Playboy models and such, to restore some of the balance. And because lonely geeks really enjoy looking at pretty, scantily clad, women. Even if it's from a distance. Man, the creepiest part was the dude who was taking pictures from 50 feet away using a telephoto lens. As Evil said, just go up and talk to them, that's why they're here. Then again, the gorgeous women have sort of an aura of unapproachability, especially for my people. They were there to buy comics and geek out, not tragically fail at hitting on a woman way out of their league.

There were even some pretty girls wandering around the floor who were neither hired booth babes or goddesses. I think. It's a temptation to say 'they were female, they were there and thus they were gorgeous'. But I wasn't that far withdrawn from reality, yet. There were some real beauties, both as attendees and as workers in the various shop booths. One particularly pretty redhead stands out in memory. She made eye contact. I wonder how a conversation would have gone down, specially with my inability to make small talk.

-I don't know who she was, but I took this picture because what she's doing with her foot freaked me out a bit. Not because she's female and is in possession of a fine posterior. That was just a fringe benefit. It would seem that that sort of joint flexibility is common in females. Who knew?-

I was disappointed by the lack of cosplayers in the crowd. Geeks getting dressed up as their favorite characters. I was expecting them to be a dime a dozen. Really they were perhaps only a dozen total. Sure, there was the mighty lord Vader and his Storm Trooper minions. Girls dressed as Princess Leiah (no Slavekini's,sadly). One cute chick dressed as Poison Ivy, a costume which involved a corset and some green panties. She looked good. I was definitely a fan. Hurrah for pretty girls in skimpy costumes!

-Dude is much skinner than his movie made him out to be. -

So I went to the convention for one reason. To meet Taimak and get my copy of the Last Dragon signed by his own bad self. He wasn't there. I must have passed his booth a dozen times. If the goddesses took notice, no doubt they marked me as some sort of weirdo sex offender who was stalking the area like a horny chipmunk. Still no Taimak. Worse for him I guess, he was to be seated next to the beautiful Chanel Ryan. Had I thought of it at the time, I would have asked her what was up with her neighbor, and then gotten her to sign my copy of the Last Dragon. Or perhaps I did think of it and didn't have the cajones to go do so.

So with a heavy heart, we left the convention to go home. Well, first our last meal together. We hit a small greasy spoon across the street from the convention. The place was nearly abandoned and the waitress took a sadistic, and hilarious, pleasure in fucking with yours truly. The food was edible, if not memorable. The Fatman got the Hamburger's Lover Omelet, which lead to painful events later on. Not much of a capstone for the day, if somewhat appropriate.

-That was just on the floor of the diner. I needed a picture of it to make the day complete. -

Strange sights beheld:
A grown woman sitting on the floor flipping through Playboy magazines.
"The hunchbacked Lesbian"
Cosplayers.
Two 40 year old men running around like 10 year old boys away from their mother.
Voyager's Ensign Kim (Garret Wang) with long hair.
Storm Troopers playing DDR.
Attractive females who actually seemed comfortable.
Random WW2 veteran.
Cosplayers taking pictures of cosplayers.
The crazy goth-sith chick who was probably just cosplaying as herself.
Dora The Explorer, on the same table as the Zombies board game.

Lessons Learned:
Rule 34, it never fails. Stupid hamburger lovers.
I am not nearly as geeky as I once thought. Such arrogance I had in my youth.