I know you must be saying to yourself, "Wow, this guy/gal is a prolific writer."
Yeah, something like that.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Friday, September 17, 2010
Show Your Love to Teletoon Retro
The greatest programming block of all time is currently running on Teletoon Retro. Thundercats, followed by The Transformers and then GI Joe. Seven days a week.
It doesn't get any better than that.
Show your love to Teletoon Retro and praise this classy move. Hit the link and write something nice.
www.teletoon.com/teletoon3/retro.php?language=En&func=php|templates/contactUs.php|0
It doesn't get any better than that.
Show your love to Teletoon Retro and praise this classy move. Hit the link and write something nice.
www.teletoon.com/teletoon3/retro.php?language=En&func=php|templates/contactUs.php|0
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Montreal Comic Con 2010: A Painful Lesson in Hero Worship
I recently attended the 2010 Comic Con in Montreal, a two-day affair celebrating the wonders of geekdom replete with cosplay junkies and comic book collectors, rabid autograph hunters and the occasional freak show cut straight from the genetic cloth of The Comic Book Guy from The Simpons (lose the ponytail guys, 2011 is upon us). All joking aside, it was in my humble opinion, a terrific turnout. I've been attending comic book conventions in this city for years, and the last time I recall waiting in lines of this size was sometime back in 1994. The aisles were jam packed with fans, there was a respectable showing of notable film and tv stars, comic book creators and a strong presence of local Quebec artists whose talent is phenomenal if not unsung. I had been looking forward to this event for weeks. The constant emails from the official website brought on an anticipatory shock to the system: "Just how are they going to pull this off?" I would ask. "Will people actually come out to support this thing?" and "How many people are going to dress up as Lando, dammit?" (not enough sadly, sadder yet, no Colt .45 costumes either). Everything was amazing.
My hats go off to the organizers. You did a great job!
However, I for one am horribly disappointed.
Have no fear, the organizers are not to blame. Nor the spastic t-shirt vendor from Toronto who was flipping out on a 14 year old for perusing through piles of overpriced t-shirts and not folding them to his strict specifications (yes I did cave, a Venture Bros. tee for me, a Dharma Initiative tee for the patient and loving wife). Nor would I blame the stifling, stale heat that hung tenaciously in the air, a toxic potpourri of rancid shwarma (heehee, rhymes with Dharma) meat and b.o. The one person to blame in this soon-to-be-revealed debacle of course...is me.
Aaaaaand a man who shall go by the name of "Harry Lama" (I've taken the liberty of altering his name to protect his identity, and to show off my wonderful skill of 'wordplay').
"Harry Lama" is a man whom I have worshiped for years. I personally own over two hundred of his published works (the original runs, not the trade reprints). His words have moved me, shaped my understanding of proper character development and story structure, permeating chunks of my childhood imagination. His contributing power to the world of comic books is breathtaking in scope and dizzying in its reach. His body of work is legendary and continues to this very day.
He might also be the most miserable douche bag I have ever met in my life.
"Why is that?" you may ask. "How dare you say such things you no talent bum!?", you could rightfully say. Well let's get straight to the proverbial gist of things.
Having perused a wonderful assortment of stands and stalls throughout the convention hall, I rushed to locate my childhood hero. There he sat majestic behind his table. This God of Comics sketched quietly on his drawing pad. So focused were his energies that I stood and stared in blessed awe at his pure talents. I awaited in heady anticipation to have some of his comic books signed to my name, most of them obscure works that were worn out from repeated readings over the years. These were personal childhood treasures that no appraiser could ever accurately put a price on (It should be noted that personalizing a comic literally voids its resale, which I am aware of and should serve as an indicator that I wasn't there to inflate their value, and I wouldn't sell for all the Quatloos in the galaxy). A gentleman ahead of me in a Ghostbusters costume waited too. He merely lay down a stack of trade paperbacks, and a wordless exchange ensued. The artist signed the trades, the Ghostbuster nodded, thanked him and off he went in his valiant battle against ectoplasm.
The chance of a lifetime had finally arrived . I approached the table not giving too much attention to the fact that the artist never really looked at the Ghostbuster throughout the signing. Nor did he really look at me as I told him, "Sir, it's an honour to meet you, you have been a great inspiration to me. I have been following your works throughout my life". A wordless nod was his response. I found it a little odd that there was no 'thank you' involved. Maybe the artist was tired. "Sir, these comics are special to me" as I handed him three comics from my measly deck of seven (I have always loathed people who bombard artists with tons of material to sign, I've attended enough conventions to respect the etiquette inherent in these encounters) , "could I please ask you to sign them to my name as I would like to hang these in my home." A look of annoyance flashed across his face. Was I being paranoid? "My name is Adam sir" I nervously blurted as he looked like he would have signed them "To Shithead" since he didn't seem to care. "Sir, I'm such a big fan, I want to show you this tattoo I got fifteen years ago" and I raised my sleeve. The tattoo I have is synonymous with one of his iconic characters. Who wouldn't be impressed with that? Surely the creator would? Wouldn't he?
No, he stood there, faking an awkward smile and continued his drawing. I decided against requesting another signature as it was evident the twenty seconds spent on me was bothersome to him (interesting aside, of the three measly comics he signed, he put my name on two of them, thanks "Harry"). I felt like someone kicked me right in the chest, a 32 year old man reduced to infantile inadequacy because his idol showed zero interest in him. I tried to ask about the drawings, whether they were for sale. (Although I've attended many conventions, not every artist takes requests or even draws for the fan, which is understandable considering the amount of people present, so I figured to play it safe and ask. Biiiiiiiig mistake.) "Twenty dollars" he shot back dryly. A reasonable amount, I surmised within my jangled head. "So how does this work, does someone request a charac..." "No! You have to write it down and wait for it" he shot back and pointed at a piece of paper on the table with names on it. "Oh, ok", I said defeated as I lowered my head and wrote in the character request. My hand slightly shook from the whole ordeal. I left the table. My day, my weekend, ruined. But life goes on...
I've been called the sensitive type and to that I offer no apologies. I know that what I went through that day should happen to no one. Not ever. There have been some awesome dudes along the way however. I recall a super cool Joe Quesada and Jimmy Palmiotti back in '93 who took just a minute or two of their time to talk to a naive, goodhearted 15 year old kid and sign a couple of his comic books. I remember a gracious John Romita Jr. in 1996 who, upon hearing me say, "Sir, I just want to wish you the best of luck on your new run on The Incredible Hulk" reply to me "thanks a lot, I really appreciate that" with sincerity, eye contact and a genuine, gentlemanly smile. There have been some not so cool dudes too, but none will ever match the icy and dismissive nature of "Harry Lama". (If there's a misbegotten chance that you're reading this "Harry", if people skills aren't your strong suit or if the intricacies of politesse are beneath you then just stay home and don't accept the invite to these events. I would assume sketching at home would yield less interruptions).
A final note to the readers (if any). Talent is not a substitute for good old fashioned manners and if you are in a position to have fans, appreciate them, especially if they represent the bread and butter. Funnily enough, my brother and good friend were there that day and waited for me a few feet away from the signing table. My friend walked away after witnessing it go down, he later told me it was too painful to watch. At least I could laugh in retrospect as I now recall him saying, "Hey man, your hero is a major league prick."
Oh yeah, I never went back to pick up my drawing...
My hats go off to the organizers. You did a great job!
However, I for one am horribly disappointed.
Have no fear, the organizers are not to blame. Nor the spastic t-shirt vendor from Toronto who was flipping out on a 14 year old for perusing through piles of overpriced t-shirts and not folding them to his strict specifications (yes I did cave, a Venture Bros. tee for me, a Dharma Initiative tee for the patient and loving wife). Nor would I blame the stifling, stale heat that hung tenaciously in the air, a toxic potpourri of rancid shwarma (heehee, rhymes with Dharma) meat and b.o. The one person to blame in this soon-to-be-revealed debacle of course...is me.
Aaaaaand a man who shall go by the name of "Harry Lama" (I've taken the liberty of altering his name to protect his identity, and to show off my wonderful skill of 'wordplay').
"Harry Lama" is a man whom I have worshiped for years. I personally own over two hundred of his published works (the original runs, not the trade reprints). His words have moved me, shaped my understanding of proper character development and story structure, permeating chunks of my childhood imagination. His contributing power to the world of comic books is breathtaking in scope and dizzying in its reach. His body of work is legendary and continues to this very day.
He might also be the most miserable douche bag I have ever met in my life.
"Why is that?" you may ask. "How dare you say such things you no talent bum!?", you could rightfully say. Well let's get straight to the proverbial gist of things.
Having perused a wonderful assortment of stands and stalls throughout the convention hall, I rushed to locate my childhood hero. There he sat majestic behind his table. This God of Comics sketched quietly on his drawing pad. So focused were his energies that I stood and stared in blessed awe at his pure talents. I awaited in heady anticipation to have some of his comic books signed to my name, most of them obscure works that were worn out from repeated readings over the years. These were personal childhood treasures that no appraiser could ever accurately put a price on (It should be noted that personalizing a comic literally voids its resale, which I am aware of and should serve as an indicator that I wasn't there to inflate their value, and I wouldn't sell for all the Quatloos in the galaxy). A gentleman ahead of me in a Ghostbusters costume waited too. He merely lay down a stack of trade paperbacks, and a wordless exchange ensued. The artist signed the trades, the Ghostbuster nodded, thanked him and off he went in his valiant battle against ectoplasm.
The chance of a lifetime had finally arrived . I approached the table not giving too much attention to the fact that the artist never really looked at the Ghostbuster throughout the signing. Nor did he really look at me as I told him, "Sir, it's an honour to meet you, you have been a great inspiration to me. I have been following your works throughout my life". A wordless nod was his response. I found it a little odd that there was no 'thank you' involved. Maybe the artist was tired. "Sir, these comics are special to me" as I handed him three comics from my measly deck of seven (I have always loathed people who bombard artists with tons of material to sign, I've attended enough conventions to respect the etiquette inherent in these encounters) , "could I please ask you to sign them to my name as I would like to hang these in my home." A look of annoyance flashed across his face. Was I being paranoid? "My name is Adam sir" I nervously blurted as he looked like he would have signed them "To Shithead" since he didn't seem to care. "Sir, I'm such a big fan, I want to show you this tattoo I got fifteen years ago" and I raised my sleeve. The tattoo I have is synonymous with one of his iconic characters. Who wouldn't be impressed with that? Surely the creator would? Wouldn't he?
No, he stood there, faking an awkward smile and continued his drawing. I decided against requesting another signature as it was evident the twenty seconds spent on me was bothersome to him (interesting aside, of the three measly comics he signed, he put my name on two of them, thanks "Harry"). I felt like someone kicked me right in the chest, a 32 year old man reduced to infantile inadequacy because his idol showed zero interest in him. I tried to ask about the drawings, whether they were for sale. (Although I've attended many conventions, not every artist takes requests or even draws for the fan, which is understandable considering the amount of people present, so I figured to play it safe and ask. Biiiiiiiig mistake.) "Twenty dollars" he shot back dryly. A reasonable amount, I surmised within my jangled head. "So how does this work, does someone request a charac..." "No! You have to write it down and wait for it" he shot back and pointed at a piece of paper on the table with names on it. "Oh, ok", I said defeated as I lowered my head and wrote in the character request. My hand slightly shook from the whole ordeal. I left the table. My day, my weekend, ruined. But life goes on...
I've been called the sensitive type and to that I offer no apologies. I know that what I went through that day should happen to no one. Not ever. There have been some awesome dudes along the way however. I recall a super cool Joe Quesada and Jimmy Palmiotti back in '93 who took just a minute or two of their time to talk to a naive, goodhearted 15 year old kid and sign a couple of his comic books. I remember a gracious John Romita Jr. in 1996 who, upon hearing me say, "Sir, I just want to wish you the best of luck on your new run on The Incredible Hulk" reply to me "thanks a lot, I really appreciate that" with sincerity, eye contact and a genuine, gentlemanly smile. There have been some not so cool dudes too, but none will ever match the icy and dismissive nature of "Harry Lama". (If there's a misbegotten chance that you're reading this "Harry", if people skills aren't your strong suit or if the intricacies of politesse are beneath you then just stay home and don't accept the invite to these events. I would assume sketching at home would yield less interruptions).
A final note to the readers (if any). Talent is not a substitute for good old fashioned manners and if you are in a position to have fans, appreciate them, especially if they represent the bread and butter. Funnily enough, my brother and good friend were there that day and waited for me a few feet away from the signing table. My friend walked away after witnessing it go down, he later told me it was too painful to watch. At least I could laugh in retrospect as I now recall him saying, "Hey man, your hero is a major league prick."
Oh yeah, I never went back to pick up my drawing...
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