(Wondering why is this going up so late, since ComiCONN was held on May 15th? Remember, I tend to write my blog posts well in advance, and there were others already in the pipeline.)

I attended the inaugural ComiCONN, as my roommate had a table there, and I served as his lackey for the day. At the same time, I made sure to peruse the show floor, scouring for deals, getting stuff signed, and talking with creators. Some of my other buddies also had tables, so I was able to catch up and hang out with them.

But you don’t want to hear about that. You want to hear about the stereotypes and other freaks that crawled out of the woodwork for this show, don’t you?

Well, I’m happy to oblige. I’ll offer commentary on a few of the more egregious examples of fandom that I saw at the show. While I may seem caustic, I will not be posting pictures or using anyone’s real names. I may be a crotchety bastard, but I’m not a monster.

First up…the Fat Imperials. As we all know, the Galactic Empire in the Star Wars universe was very human-centric. Emperor Palpatine wasn’t fond of non-human species, so we saw very few of them serving in the Imperial military. Throughout the Star Wars films, we’d seen the personnel of the Empire to be in excellent physical shape; overweight folks were usually found amongst the Rebel Alliance. Well, not so for the local Imperial garrison, it seems. I haven’t seen cloth stretch that far since since I overloaded my laundry bag.

Next, we had the Vampire Tweens. C’mon, are you really surprised at this? I didn’t catch anyone selling Twilight merchandise, but the wimpy vampire fanbase was still out to annoy. I think there might’ve been some crossover with the anime fans, too, as I heard a few of them squeeing far too loudly on more than one occasion. Instances like that call for a roll of duct tape.

Then, the Disheveled. This wasn’t one particular group that stuck together, mind you; this was just a random assortment of people who haven’t quite realized that when you go out in public, you should at least make an attempt to look presentable. Look, comic book fans get a bad enough rap from the general public. These clowns do nothing but perpetuate the stereotype of the unwashed, lazy, and just plain weird-lookin’ superhero fan. Laundry detergent is your friend, people. (As are deodorant, hairbrushes, shaving cream, and sunlight.)

Last, but certainly not least…there was The Crazy Guy. I didn’t give him that nickname — one of my friends did — but trust me, nothing could have been more apt. This guy hit every item on the “Probably a Serial Killer” checklist:

• Overly loud speaking voice.
• Joker-like grin.
• Robotic movement.
• Brisk walking speed, complete with clenched fists held at his sides.
• Eating of live squirrels. (Okay, so I didn’t actually see that, so I guess it’s apocryphal.)

At one point, he was rapid-fire talking legendary creator Jerry Ordway’s ear off, and the look on the latter’s face prompted me to tell my friends, “Hold on, I think I need to go save Jerry Ordway’s life.” I ever-so-carefully butted into the conversation, using a convention program I wanted signed as an excuse. Not to toot my own horn, but I think I saw Mr. Ordway breathe a sigh of relief as The Crazy Guy walked away. (Of course, once he left Ordway’s table, The Crazy Guy immediately made a beeline for my friend’s table, and proceeded to scare the shit out of him. What luck!)

Thankfully, none of these folks ruined anyone else’s enjoyment of the show. And if the freaks enjoyed themselves, well, good for them. The important thing was that ComiCONN was very successful, and we’ll get to see all of these…interesting people again next year. I should also note that the stuff I saw at the show was nowhere near as scary as the shit you’d see at your local anime convention, or big events like New York Comic-Con.

While I’ve mainly been a DC Comics and Marvel Comics reader for most of my life, during the early- to mid-1990s I was a big supporter of another publisher: Malibu Comics. They were an independent company that launched a superhero line with a lot of top-name talent at the wheel, and while they didn’t last too long, the creative properties they shelled out were pretty damned cool.

Specifically, I was a fan of their Ultraverse line of superhero comics. There was something for everyone in the company’s lineup; for example, Prime was a Superman/Shazam-esque tale, Prototype was Malibu’s answer to Iron Man, and Mantra even explored the gender disparity and sexism inherent to American superhero comics by casting the immortal title character as a man reborn into a woman’s body. For superhero team books, you had The Strangers and later Ultraforce, and Rune filled the horror gap. Hardcase dealt with a cocky hero who had to quickly adapt to the violent nature of real life, and Freex featured a group of teens with strange powers forced to live on the run; they sure as hell didn’t get the silver spoon treatment that the X-Men did! There were plenty of other cool books, too; in fact, I can’t recall Malibu publishing any really bad comics under the Ultraverse banner, at least not at first. Some of the later stuff wasn’t so hot, but that wasn’t their fault. (Don’t worry, I’ll get to that.)

Behind these great ideas were great creators. Writers like Steve Englehart and Gerard Jones, both of whom I was familiar with due to their work on Green Lantern in the 1980s and 1990s, lent their considerable talents to The Night Man and Freex, respectively. Other legends like George Pérez, Gene Ha, and Barry Windsor-Smith illustrated many of Malibu’s books.

I collected the entirety of Freex, The Night Man, Exiles, and Rune, but I read just about every other title Malibu published here and there. Because I’m an idiot, I sold my Malibu collection shortly after I finished high school, as I needed the money for college. (The only books I still have are the two Break-Thru crossover bookends, which I later had signed by George Pérez.) At some point in time, I’d like to go back and start rebuilding my Malibu archives; the stuff’s not super-rare, so most of it shouldn’t be too hard to track down.

While all of this sounds great…I’m sure you’re wondering why you’ve likely never heard of Malibu Comics before, and what must have happened to them to relegate their properties to the sands of time. The Ultraverse comics initially sold quite well, but eventually, the mid-1990s comics meltdown came calling. Downward-spiralling sales were hitting all of the publishers pretty hard, but Malibu really felt the heat. The company ended up getting bought by Marvel Comics, who promptly canceled the entire Ultraverse line and relaunched it via Black September, a crossover with the Marvel Universe.

Put simply, Black September was stupid fanboy garbage. Even Marvel fanatics would prefer to forget it. And then, I really got angry: shortly after Black September, Marvel just dumped the whole Ultraverse line, never to be seen again. No second chances, no nuthin’. I understand that Marvel itself had severe financial problems at the time, but years later, they rectified that. So what’s their excuse now?

The powers-that-be at Marvel claim that there’s some legal issues with reusing Malibu characters due to the creator-owned nature of some of the work. Translation: Marvel don’t want to pay anyone to use them. This is understandable to a point, but there’s two crucial counterarguments. First off, Marvel’s owned by Disney, and they’ve got more money than God. Second, and more importantly, I’m sure agreements could be reached with the creators that worked on Malibu titles…especially considering that some of them work for Marvel now, anyway!

Leaving these great characters and stories buried in the past is nothing but a disservice to comic book readers. At least reprint the Ultraverse stuff in trade paperback format!

In light of my recent reversal on the Battlestar Galactica finale, a related thought struck me. When shows or other media like that come to an end, are they worth experiencing again even though all of the mysteries have been revealed, regardless of the ending?

I’m specifically talking about properties where little hints to the overall plot are slowly dropped over a number of years, and are the driving force behind the series’ appeal. This has become a big thing in television, with shows like Lost, Alias, Fringe, FlashForward, and the aforementioned BSG all being solidly built upon this foundation. In most cases, the viewer’s almost completely clueless up until the very end of the entire series.

“Even if the end of Lost sucks, I’ll still keep staring at you.”

Thus far, Lost has been excellent. However, I’m very apprehensive about the ending, because just like BSG did, Lost rose to very lofty heights in terms of story and acting. That means it has even further to fall if the ending turns out to be a colossal piece of shit. Furthermore, with stories that feature a grand mystery that slowly unfolds over the course of the series…if the ending sucks, then it retroactively affects the whole thing. It’s not like Star Trek, where shitty episodes can just stand alone and be forgotten in the grand scheme of things. (And there were plenty of shitty episodes!)

Even when this style of story has a great ending, it can be tough to enjoy it again when the mysterious conclusion is already known. For example, I have no interest in seeing the movie The Sixth Sense again. The twist ending was the focal point of the film, but once you know what that twist is, the movie just doesn’t hold up any more, in my opinion. This is not a dismissal of the film; if you haven’t seen it, you certainly should. Later films by the same creator — M. Night Shyamalan — followed the same template, but none were as powerful or effective as The Sixth Sense. (Well, maybe Unbreakable.)

It’s possible that this is the case because The Sixth Sense was just a film; it’s incredibly short compared to a television, novel, or comic book series. Speaking of which, we’ve seen this overreaching format hitting comic books left and right lately, and it’s actually getting annoying. Comics have had multi-issue storyarcs for quite some time, but over the past five years or so, almost every story from the major publishers is part of some gigantic background plot. And once that seems to be resolved, it only leads into the next big mystery. In other words, the mysteries never end! Sure, it might keep readers coming back, but closure is a good thing. If you want to do a massive, years-long story, that’s fine; but once it’s done, make like Monty Python and give us something completely different! (Manga and anime creators have been doing that for years, and quite successfully in most cases.) Even worse is that in a majority of cases, these big events continually retcon what has come before. Just about every “event” that DC Comics and Marvel Comics have published over the past five years or so has retconned colossal chunks of comic book history, so if you liked something in the past, it’s likely been excised from continuity by now. And that, my friends, is the same issue that applies to those secret-driven television shows.

Audience interaction time. What are your thoughts on the subject?

Out of the blue, I remembered a conversation I had with a friend of mine a while back about a regional comic book/scifi/fantasy/gaming convention she had attended. (No, it wasn’t the Bi-Mon-Sci-Fi-Con.) I asked her how the show went upon her return, and she replied that it was mediocre; there weren’t many dealers or booths, and the crowd was mainly “lower-caste geeks.” I wasn’t quite sure what that term meant, so I asked for more details. She told me this group was composed of stereotypically overweight anime fangirls and World of Warcraft obsessives.

Now, this post is not meant to claim that my friend is somehow an elitist for placing one group of geeks below another; her “lower-caste” term was clearly meant as a joke, as she was just fishing for a funny term to describe the crowd. (She’s a comic book cosplay nerd herself, so she didn’t really “fit in” with most of the other patrons.) Instead, I want to examine an interesting trend that’s been growing exponentially in geek circles over the past decade: subdivision of the overall geek crowd into smaller groups (a caste system, if you will), the game of one-upmanship that accompanies this behavior, and the absolute irony of the entire process.

Heated debates between geeks is nothing new; you could trace ‘em all the way back to Star Trek versus Star Wars arguments in the late 1970s, and I’m sure there were Flash Gordon diehards who disliked John Carter of Mars even further back. However, what bound everyone together was their love of the source material, and in the end, that was all that was important. In recent years, that common bond has been eroding, and the geeks have no one to blame but themselves.

With growing frequency, geeks are cramming one another into a caste system of their own making. My friend’s joke nonwithstanding, this is a very real and serious situation: geeks in one group are demonizing the other, but not out of the good-natured rivalry seen in the past. Geek subcultures literally hate each other now, and often consider certain groups “beneath” them as far as the nerdy social strata are concerned.

This is the colossal irony I spoke of. Geeks and nerds have always complained that they’re a misunderstood and maligned social group, shunned by the rest of the world. Well, look at what they’re doing with this caste system: the exact same thing! So, not only are they maligned as a whole, they’re actively pushing some of their own peers even lower down the social scale, making the entire problem even worse. How fucked up is that?

The Internet has certainly contributed to the caste system in a big way; just as it has brought nerds together, it also drives mountainous wedges between them. Case and point: video game console flame wars, which have gotten far uglier than even the famous Sega and Nintendo rivalry in the early 1990s. Now, we’ve got entire sites and forums devoted to elevating one nerdy hobby while bashing another. All this truly accomplishes is making geeks look even worse in the eyes of everyone else!

I’ve always been of the mind that you shouldn’t hate an entire group; just specific people inside said group that personally piss you off. For example, I can’t stand all of that Twilight shit, and I think the fan fervor over it is incredibly annoying…but I have friends who are into it, and I’d never consider myself “better” than them as a result.

Having said that, if a Twilight diehard nearly knocks me down at the bookstore in their frenzy to score yet another generic young adult novel, they’re going to get an earful of rage.

You all know how much I hate spoilers. Many of my peers share this belief, but it seems that a majority of people do not. Spoilers are all the rage, and not a day goes by where some hotly-anticipated television plot or upcoming film script isn’t spoiled on the internet by greedy fans.

Nowhere is this behavior more prevalent than in comic book fandom. Legions of message boards and websites are devoted to spoiling upcoming issues and plots, weeks (and sometimes months) before their release. In fact, I’d wager that the amount of comic book nerds hunting for spoilers far surpasses those who do not. Which of course begs the logical question: if you’re going to rabidly seek out spoilers, then why bother even reading comics in the first place? You’re obviously not that interested in experiencing the story from month to month, as was intended.

It’s been pointed out to me that some spoilers are “impossible” to avoid, such as those printed in the monthly PREVIEWS catalog put out by Diamond Comic Distributors. Is this catalog full of spoilers? Absolutely. But there’s a legitimate reason for this: the PREVIEWS catalog is an advance order book designed for comic book shop owners so that they know how many of a particular book or other piece of merchandise to order. However, you don’t have to dig through it for spoilers! In fact, I skip past the entirety of the comics listings in the catalog for that exact reason. So don’t tell me that those spoilers are a given; you can avoid them just as easily as I can. The closest we come to “impossible” spoilers are when something’s printed on PREVIEWS‘ cover. For example, the villain behind DC Comics’ Blackest Night crossover was spoiled a few months in advance of his in-series appearance due to a PREVIEWS cover promo, but the few readers that complained about it were drowned out by the rabid cheers of fanboys.

I’m sure the ending of stories like Blackest Night are already well known amongst the basement-dwellers, even though the final issue isn’t due out until the end of March. I’m perfectly comfortable waiting until then; I don’t know why so many of these losers just can’t learn simple patience.

(Note: This entry is crossposted to The Indigo Tribe.)