serinde

[Meant to post this a week ago but, well, events.]

On Saturday the 19th, elibalin and I daytripped to the New York Comic-Con. This is our story. Sort of.

11:30am: On line, which is very long. They might consider giving out the registration forms at the end of the line, not the head of it. A really great Ghostbusters costume just went by. So did a dorky Punisher (hint: white satin gloves do not say homicidal crimefighter, kids) and a quite over-substantial Emma Frost (OH GOD MY EYES).

11:45am: CBLDF booth. Poster-sized pages of Eisner's "Story of the Protocols of Zion". I learned many things, including that the Protocols of Zion are an actual thing, not a joke; that it was a rip-off of a French satirist's work done by a Russian faction trying to mess with the Czar; and--here's a big one--that when it was exposed as a hoax, Henry Ford recanted his previous anti-Semitic position. Lots of people talk about Ford being an anti-Semite, but I'd never heard anyone mention that he spoke out to say "er, I was wrong, sorry about that."

It is a sin and a shame that, despite being a comix fan since high school, I'd never heard of Eisner until dariodevil hung a picture of The Spirit over his desk.

11:55am: Comics are now officially an all-gender fandom. The line for the women's bathroom goes on for miles.

12 noon: This place is full of No. Anime "Johnny Ramone Army"? What? Also, neon Japanese swords. OTOH, I heartily approve of the piles of beanbag chairs at the end of several aisles serving as mini-lounges.

12:05pm: LIEEEEEEEEEEEFELD!!! Armageddon Now looks like his usual shite.

12:45pm: Filthy hucksters section. D is right. Everyone's world stops at 1975, goddammit.

2pm: Have gone through most of the filthy hucksters, and found a lot of things I was looking for in a 50c. bin. We're wandering aimlessly through Artists' Alley, which also includes writers, don't ask me. Would like to meet Geoff Johns but the line is around the block. A lot of the artists look very lonely, poor things. We have holed up to camp in a corner for The Pause That Refreshes, in lieu of paying $4 for a Coke.

4:20pm: Back after lunch with nedlnthred in Bryant Park. We are in line for The Goddamn Spirit, which event is, unsurprisingly, late. I will undoubtedly regret not stopping to pee, but I guess I can always use this to make a Statement if need be.

4:30pm: Still not king.

4:50pm: Finally inside. Still not started. We have a momentary fear that they aren't running late and this will actually be showing some wretched anime crap.

4:55pm: Some kid who's in Speed Racer has come out. He is singing. elibalin: "Opening acts always suck."

Hey! New Batman trailer! Huge pop.

The actual panel members come out. Producer, ... and another producer?... and the Goddamn Frank, dressed in a black suit, fedora, and red tie--so I guess those posters are accurate, not just being dramatically B&W, and it won't be a blue suit. Blerg.

"Surprise guest" turns out to be Eva Mendes, who will be Sand Saref. Well, anything but Jessica Alba, say I.

The camera keeps staying on Eva, instead of whomever's talking. heh.

It seems clear to me that Miller does indeed have the utmost respect for Eisner's work, that he's perfectly genuine in this; and when he's talking about "modernizing", it's not necessarily wrong; but in HOW he's doing it, I think he is vastly, tragically missing the point. "Modernizing" does not mean "make it like a low-rent Sin City". Rather, it's what Darwyn Cooke did in actual comics format. I think this film is going to hurt a lot.

The teaser is not really anything more than what we see in the three-part poster. I grant that the very first shot of it is Eisneriffic, but everything after that smells way too much like Sin City.

5:45pm: Checking out. I missed JRjr at his booth and at Marvel; missed Johns; don't have anything to say to Morrison; too tired to stand in line for Van Sciver or Albequerque. Some good hall costumes--Hellboy, Mr. Freeze, a Batman, several Poison Ivys, Rorshach. And a non-costumed girl, regular street clothes, but with her head partially shaved to show that particular Spider tattoo. Also many terrible ones, from the painted-on Nightwing on down. But I have a sackful of immediately-post-Crisis Blue Beetles and Booster Golds, and Impulse: Reckless Youth, and JSA: Darkness Falls. And that's okay.

Sunday was perhaps not the best day to go; there wasn't a lot going on other than the dealers' room and Land of Signings. Now, the shopping was tolerably good--I got several things I lacked at bargain prices--but it would have been nice to see panels or talks or some such. Also, the place was very ill-organized, and the maps they put in the "program" were next to useless. I realize the organizers were probably exceedingly hard up for space, but a place where you could just sit down and gather your thoughts for a second would have been worth its weight in gold.

In spite of this moderate amount of meh, nevertheless I am full of OMG SQUEE that is beyond the SQUEE I can ordinarily SQUEE. As we were getting ready to leave, I noted that the press around Darwyn Cooke's table had finally let up, so I swam my way over. I didn't have anything for him to sign (or anyone else, not having my thinking cap on this morning) but I really wanted to tell him how much I was enjoying his work on The Spirit, and to thank him for doing it. So I did, in my usual tongue-tied and stuttering fashion as comes upon me whenever I meet A Famous Person. He smiled and thanked me, and said that was very sweet of me; and as I embarrassedly ducked my head and thanked him again, he said "Oh what the heck" and GAVE ME A COPY OF THE BEAUTIFUL HARDCOVER of the first several issues. I melted into Happy Tears and incoherent thanks, and floated out of the building.

Goddammit, there is ANOTHER month's worth of Amazons Attack pukefest in my Teen Titans. This had better be the last of it. And there would appear to be Countdown spooge in Superman. (Haven't cracked Nightwing yet; it appears to be innocent of editorial poop. Probably because they're excercising that need with whatever stupidity is going on with Outsiders right now.)

Blue Beetle remains awesome, as does Daredevil--in which this issue suddenly explains why I've been liking Milla less and less as time went on. The reason isn't what I thought, though. Or who.

Or, Does Mark Waid Have To Smack A Bitch?

(Let it be noted that although I like much of Waid's writing, and quite a lot at that[1], I'm not being a drooling fan follower when I say this smackdown is composed of pure awesome. I will admit it's gratifying that my off-the-cuff, totally-armchair, unlearned opinion of the original post is borne out by someone who'd be In The Know--that is, I felt it contained what seemed to be some excellent points that were mostly or completely obscured by a giant cloud of smug superiority that appeared to have no basis for its existence.)

[1] And some quite not. I got some words to say about Birthright.

There is nothing about this comic that is not crap.

...well, two out of three ain't bad.

For to deal with the chaos of settling into the new house and preparing to move to a new office (which campaign is less like a strategic operation and more like a clown parade), I've been living on coffee & chocolate (the latter provided to our platoon through the kind offices of shirleym and tactisle--thanks, guys!). It's therefore not entirely surprising I'm getting something of the wild-eyed look of Rutger Hauer in Split Second.

In comics news, this seems to be the Year Of Doing Stuff With My Favorite Characters, Who Are So Obscure No One Knows Them But Me, So Hey, Great Fodder. They've already kacked my boy Ted, and now it seems they're turning their attention to my boy Rich. However, it looks as if Nova will survive, unlike poor ol' BB. I also take comfort in the fact that, whatever they do, it can't possibly be worse than the craptastic attempted revival of New Warriors from earlier in the year which appeared to be aimed at the Pokemon crowd. It may even be good. If it is, I guess it will be an excuse to get off my lazy butt and finally create the LJ icon out of my Nova-symbol tattoo. Yes, yes I have one. My fandom is skin-deep.

Herewith, dariodevil's polemic on the problems with the more recent takes on Superman (Jeph Loeb, I'm looking at you, you talentless hack).

( I heartily endorse this product and/or service. )

dariodevil's slowpoke mail-order company finally sent his last month's stuff right before we left for London, and sweet thing that he is (and knowing what a huge Blue Beetle fan I am), he lent me Countdown #1 to read on the plane. Inside the below link you will find my exhausted, emotional, stream of consciousness and run-on sentenceful reaction to same which took up six scribbled pages in my notebook. But hey, it passed the time.

( So, if you are not down with the spandex, do not be with the clicking. )

I was going to post this to rac.*, but since it's like SIX WEEKS after everyone else has read & talked about Countdown, it seems sort of like digging up a dead horse. So I'm not sure and I welcome input on that score (dvandom, akawil, I'm looking at you).