Reading comic books is cool, admitting to it is not.
In a way, it is a bit like the adult entertainment industry. In both cases, few people admit to enjoying it, fewer admit to paying for it, and yet they are multi-billion dollar a year industries… and it sure as hell isn’t me keeping them afloat.
From February 24-26, New York’s Javits Center is hosting the first NY Comic Book Convention in over a decade. For three days, comic geeks of all ages will get together to browse collections, gawk at collectables, and meet some of the greatest writers and artists their genre has to offer. And as I write this, I am on the express train to Penn Station to join these people; at least I can say that I am getting paid to attend and therefor parry off any offending comments of geekdome.
I’ve been to smaller comiccons before and they can be fun. The writers are fairly nice people. The artists are friendly, if not a little desperate to make a sale. The collection sellers are exactly the stereotypical people we have come to know and love from various interpretation on film and TV (although I have yet to meet a real-life Jeff Albertson). Personally, I enjoy going through the vintage and bronze collections and finding now strangely named titles. Hardboiled Dicks is still my personal favorite (named for a Dick Tracy collection…. but still!).
What will I find at this convention which is a little like all the others, but ten times larger? I haven’t a clue. I’m looking forward to schmoozing with someone dressed as Superman, maybe a friendly word with a Catwoman, and if I am really lucky I’ll get to meet a favorite writers from my childhood. At the very least, I’ve praticed my vulcan greeting.
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