Paying For Autographs?

It was roughly spring of '02 and I was eagerly awaiting graduation from high school. A friend of mine, who we will call "Kramer", had dropped out of high school and gotten mixed up with some college aged kids that were paying him to go around the country to hastle celebrities and athletes for their signatures.

One weekend he asked if I'd be interested in the possibility of meeting a then red-hot on the charts Ja Rule. I'm not going to go into heavy details on all of the goings on over the course of that weekend but I will say that by 4 a.m. on Sunday morning I was in a lavish hotel lobby standing next to a heavily inebriated Ja Rule having my picture taken. With one hell of an epic story to tell at school on Monday morning!

I knew at that moment, for me life as a fan would never again be the same. I now knew how to penetrate that invisible wall that exist between fan and celebrity. Whether it meant waiting in a dark alley behind a concert venue, standing on a sidewalk outside of a hotel, whatever. If I was a fan of your work and wanted a signature or a picture I could get it without breaking a sweat or my wallet. And the great thing is that most of the time the personality in question was eager to oblige with a smile and a "thank you for being a fan".

So, fast forward to the present. I'm a little older now and it's not quite as cool to be pushing slightly passed your mid 20s harassing celebrities. Although, there are exceptions, ofcourse.

Anyways, as I am planning a trip next month to Jacksonville, Florida for the Cult Fiction Drive-In convention for "legitimate" autographs I am blown away by the outlandish going price for the signatures of "celebrities" who have not been relative for atleast twenty years.

Not saying that a celebrity should not be compensated for their time. That's what I thought the whole appearance fee and free travel accomodations were for. Hell, I am not even opposed to them charging for a signature or a photograph. So long as it is within reason.

The guest list at this con has grown so impressive that the three or four signatures I had originally planned on budgeting for has grown to seven or eight. At an average of $20 a pop that is one hell of an expensive weekend. Especially when you tack in the cost of purchasing the memorabilia that you are asking them to bless with their John Hancocks. Even at around $10-$15 per signature that adds up quick. Not to mention the cost of admission just to go to the event.

As a fan it seems a tad insulting that personalities who would otherwise be working at a Wal-Mart and forgotten about have the nerve to price gauge the very people who have ressurected them from obscurity and keep their names afloat through fan sites, blogs, etc and only really want the opportunity to tell that person how much their work has meant to them. Fans of comics, horror, sci-fi and all things otherwise fantastic are unique because we never forget our heros. Unlike fans of other varieties who seem to have a more what have you done for me lately approach to fandom.

This is not to say that I am not going to still go to Jacksonville and have the time of my life come hell or high water. If worse comes to worse I got a $5 bill for every guest in attendence to snap a quick photo with me, if that isn't good enough then a free handshake and a, "you were awesome in **insert film**, thank you for the memories" will suffice. There should be plenty of vendors in the dealers section willing to take my money. If that isn't the case either then I have found a few bars and clubs in the area that I guarantee will be willing too!

I just can't bring myself to part ways with my hard earned money in exchange for a signature that is priced way beyond market value, especially when I have gotten things signed for free from names at the peak of their careers.

This may sound sort of pessimistic but I am just trying to get my complaints out of the way in advance so that I can give a less political or heavy handed account of my travels to the show when I get home.

Somebody Has To Dig Ditches

I just sat through the film "Waiting For Superman" and it caused me to reflect on how terrible my own experience of being funneled through America's public educational system was. Not to mention realizing just how awful many of my educators actually were.

As an adult in the workforce who is critiqued on a regular basis and always one bad decision or lay-off away from my next unemployment check, I find it ridiculously unfair that an educator can be horrifyingly bad at their craft and still recieve a somewhat decent salary along with a very generous benefits package.

Sure, there was the occassional good teacher and a few decent ones sprinkled throughout. But for the most part my twelve years were spent doing crossword puzzles and word searches. Or worse, simply copying notes off of a projector and being told to learn the material on my own. Besides mathematics, I can hardly recall a time in those twelve years when a text book was anything more then a weight in my backpack. That is ofcourse when a text book was available or not in such mangled conditions that it was virtually unreadable.

During the sixth grade I even had a math teacher who would spend the entire class period telling stories about his ex girlfriends, hijinks at high school jobs or griping about the intelligence gap between his American students and the class of foreign kids he'd teach during first period. Looking back on it, how were we ever supposed to catch up with those kids when we were busy being a test audience for his stand up comedy routine?

That is just the tip of the ice burg that doesn't even begin to cover the many teachers given cushy jobs based upon their value to various athletic programs. One of the worst teachers I ever had was a wrestling coach who taught drivers ed. His job mainly consisted of popping in a video and goofying around with his pal the varsity football coach who he shared a portable room with (At the time the school was being remodled and classrooms were forced into trailors). That same guy is now a big wig on the city council! He wasn't a real teacher, although he could put on his resume that he had been. His main claim to fame was that he was a decent wrestling coach. I can't even fathom being paid a middle class salary with benefits for doing virtually nothing beyond glorified baby sitting for eight hours a day.

As a matter of fact, I am wondering where the hell peoples parents were during all of this madness? If I had a child and they were coming home with folders filled with crossword puzzles and word searches I'd probably be at the school the next day demanding an explanation. Looking back on it now I have to wonder to myself if I ever really stood a chance.

That's not to say that I avoid all personal responsibility in the matter (my life's fine. I'm just saying), but from the time I entered pre-school my path was aimed in the direction of mediocracy. Kids like me who just hovered in between failing and excelling are just sort of tolerated and forgotten about. Come to think of it there were very few times I can ever remember being personally encouraged or congratulated for anything besides my jump shot.

Not trying to get to deep with all of this. Just thought I'd jot it all down while it was on my mind. It boggles my mind though, how in a country with an endless budget for warfare and imprisonment how the one system that should be the envy of the industrialized world can fail so miserably. Oh wait, maybe that does explain it.

Tampa Bay Comic Con! 2-20-11

Although always a big deal to local fans, it seemed as though this trip to the Tampa Bay Comic Con held more weight of importance then conventions of the past. I will go out on a limb here and suggest that it was thanks to a highly anticipated return to old stomping grounds at The Double Tree hotel in Tampa. An appropriate location thanks to it's centralized location to residents of both Pinellas and Hillsborough.

Don't get me wrong, I treasure the days of the cons short lived time at the Honeywell Minireg (is that even hows it's spelled?) location in Largo. Alot of purchases were handled in that building as well as alot of life long memories made. But nothing feels more at home then the conference room at The Double Tree. It's a completely seperate experience altogether.

With a reasonable admission fee of only $5 it's hard to debate the punch packed into this convention for the price, the fact that it's held right in my own back yard makes it all the more of a great deal.

There has been some discussion over the cons shrinking dimensions, booting local talent from the room just outside of the front door entrance in exchange for paying merchants with tables held inside of the conference hall. While I find it tragic that local talent isn't as properly showcased as it should be, I respect that this is still a capitalist economy and people don't hold events like this as a means charity. I give respect where respect is due and will boldly say that new ownership has breathed new life into this show.

There was a revitalized energy with a fresh and diverse variety of dealers. Along with something I had never seen at one of these shows, celebrity guest (well, celebrities to us.). The guys who drew Spider-Man and Captain America, plus an aging professional wrestler may not be George Romero or Spock but still considered a positive step in the right direction if you ask my opinion (which you may or may not have asked for but I'm giving it anyways, and yes I realize there have always been guest, these just seemed a little more interesting then usual).

I was a little disappointed by the almost total extinction of bootleg DVD titles at this show, but was more then impressed by the other deals available. Mainly posters and such. Two in particular I would have liked to purchase was a framed Ghostbusters theatrical poster and another framed Wizard magazine cover with Wolverine fighting that guy from GI Joe.

What I wound up leaving with was all the more special on a personal level. A dealer who claimed to have worked for Nike caught my attention with his pair of Freddy Kruger edition Nike Dunks that he was willing to part ways with for roughly $600. When I looked down at the floor to vomit some promotional concert posters caught my eye. They were special prints made up for local shows hosted by The Skate Park of Tampa. I inquired about the Ghostface Killah and Raekwon show held at The Ritz in Ybor and hosted by The Skate Park of Tampa (and sponsored by NIKE SB!), he thankfully had a few sheets left. He wanted $20, I offered him $12 and the deal was cemented. The sweetest purchase I have made at one of these shows, if not ever.

All in all a positive experience that I recommend to any and every fan in the Tampa Bay area.

What If....Nolan Canova Had His Dream Tampa Toy and Comic Con!

***Note*** To everybody name dropped in this blog post...I have said far worse to all of you and ya'll still love me...So take this with a grain of salt...PLEASE!

Sunday Feb. 20, 2011. A grisly afternoon of debauchery and inebriation the likes of which the city of Tampa had never before witnessed and shall likely never witness again.

The players. The Crazed Fanboys and The DOB's. Two clans of rival blog posters and 1,100 casualties caught in the crossfire.

This is my personal account of that day....

The morning started off simple enough. I awoke in the loving arms of a hung over beauty in a strange apartment in a strange part of town. As usual I quietly slung on my duds from the previous evening and slid a morning afterpill with a $20 bill next to her alarm clock on the nightstand with a note that read "thanks for the memories, babe". Then vanished forever into the ether of her imagination.

By the time I arrived home it was time to meet up with Chris Woods for a trip over to the Tampa Toy and Comic Con held at the now infamous Double Tree Hotel. If only we had known in advance the anarchy that awaited us.

Upon arrival we were immediatly greeted by a couple of suspicious charectors. Jason "The Shark" (who wears a T-shirt with a Jaws poster on the front as a deterent to any enemies who may try to get wise with him) and Laughin Lonnie (who never smiles, until its too late...For you!). They boasted to Chris and I about a stomp down they gave to a DOB member outside before chopping off his weiner, shoving it in his mouth and stuffing him in a dumpster. I'm not gonna lie, I was a little scared at this point and nearly wet myself. These are the types of guys that "dont fuck around" if you catch my drift.

The cool thing is the doorman was so terrified by the prescience of Crazed Fanboy members that he let us all in for free and told us, "the real show is upstairs in room 312, exclusive for VIP's such as you gentlemen". I don't know what was up there but one can imagine. These guys dont do anything unless it is in excess, it would have been instant death for that door man had a visit to room 312 been a disappointment.

We roamed the room for a few minutes before Chris spotted none other then Terence "The Tez Bomb" Nuzum, his current 'ol lady and none other then the don himself, Crazed Fanboy leader Nolan Canova. He doesn't have a nickname because his being is already so much larger then life that nobody dare offend by saying anything that may underwhelm his greatness. At this point I noticed Terence "The Tez Bomb" Nuzum shoveling novelty items into his pockets while his 'ol lady distracted the dealers. A terrible two-some if ever there were I tell ya what. Canova sat in the distance smiling with approval.

We made our way over towards the back of the room to exchange pleasantries with Canova, Nuzum and the 'ol lady. At this point I knew I was in over my head. Being a former Crazed Fanboy myself I knew their was a target on my back. Thankfully there are two ways of getting back into the good graces of this crew. Either kiss the ring or get the shit kicked out of you and have that ring shoved up your asshole. Scared to death, knees trembling I was in motion to lean down and kiss the ring. But just as I had started to move a choir of screams sucked the oxygen from the room (and the color from my skin I was so damn scared!).

Thirsty for vengeance over the savage death of a fellow colleague, DOB members including none other then Rob the "Bacteria Man" notorious for his vast knowledge of lethal pathogens and the HBIC Brandon "The Branjo" who's skill for playing his victims like a banjo is the subject of many a legendary story stormed the room with a small army of samarai sword weilding assassins.

It's difficult to explain what happend next, much of it is still a blur. What I could see through the sprays of blood and flying limbs was very little at best. I flipped over a table of bootleg hentai DVD's for protection from the chaos at hand. To the left of me was a bloodied severed head, probably a dealer, some poor son of a bitch trying to peddle a few comics to make extra cash to put food on his families table, a senseless tragedy. To the right, was none other then Laughin Lonnie, with a big bloodied smile on his face, gnarling the eyeball out of some poor saps face!

All I could hear was a bunch of back and fourth shouting over page hits and the content of computer cookies. Things were getting nuts.

As I cautiously peaked my head over the table I noticed the absense of Chris Woods from the brawl. At first I was concerned that he was possibly a casualty of the live-action blog madness at hand. Little did I know that Chris Woods has been living a lie this whole time.

Come to find out Chris Woods was none other then a android from the future sent back in time as a weapon to once and for all finish off first generation DOB members before they grew strong in numbers to overtake page hits from the Crazed Fanboys. Outside of the building his conservative looking Ford Explorer was quickly making its way towards the entrance of the building, where it would transform along with Chris into a gigantic steal fire breathing Tyranasaurus Rex. My mind was officially blown.

Things would only get nuttier from here. The Bacteria Man removed from his trench coat a small vile of powder, when approached by several Crazed Fanboys he began shouting from the tops of his lungs, "What? You want a piece, Fuckboys!" Then sprayed the contents of the vile into the air as it spread downward upon it's victims, eating away slowly at their flesh.

I looked around the once promising room of bargain deals on comic books and collectible items, now splattered in blood and guts. In one corner of the room was The Tez Bomb armed with a razor blade slicing up any and everybody who stood in the way of his madness, back to back with his 'ol lady who was armed with a sawed off shotgun blasting away at many a innocent by stander.

I peaked to the back of the room and spotted Canova shouting at a camera crew to document the days events, arguably for the purpose of adding the contents to his websites video archive. Diabolical bastard. A real life Schlock-O-Rama.

As the hotels foundation crumbled beneath the feet of the steal Tyranosauras fire breathing Chris Woods, I dodged flying knives, leaped over flaming corpses of melted bodies and ran away as fast and as far away as I could.

All I know is that as of Monday Feb. 21, 2011 both the Crazed Fanboy website and DOB had raving reviews of the convention both boasting of their respective successes for the day.

Reflecting on MLK Day

I like to celebrate MLK day by listening to nothing but Public Enemy's "By The Time I Get To Arizona" (which I guess is a little inappropriate considering what just happend in that state) for 24 hours straight.

When I'm not doing that I tend to reflect on the day itself. What it means, why we celebrate it and wonder if people in these harrowing times actually know or care anything about the man besides soundbytes from his "I Have A Dream Speech".

The reality of the day is that nobody really gives a flying fuck about Martin Luther King Jr. or his legacy. If we do then we have a pathetic way of showing it. Infact I am willing to bet that the modern world looks nothing as Dr. King would have envisioned it (Yeah I know the Boondocks already made a similar statement). This day really only exist as a means of giving the illusion that things have progressed.

Truth is (as I see it) black folks would have been better off in the long term by siding with a much more militant position as opposed to the movement that won out. By rushing into integration black folks were just sort of forced into adapting to a world that didn't work in their favor and from what I can tell taken advantage of by an opportunistic political/business establishment.

But I'm gonna shut up...I might get in trouble if I say anything more...

Blast From The Past Collectibles Show!

- Me with Brooke McCarter of The Lost Boys fame and the upcoming The Uh-Oh Show!

- Me with THE KING OF B MOVIES! Joel D Wynkoop!

After a less then stimulating Friday evening of making small talk with hot lesbians (or she might have just told me she was a lesbian?) in the CD section of the Goodwill and meeting a guy on the bus outside of the Derby Lane dog track with a gambling addiction (and cocaine addiction) who had just lost all of his money playing cards, I was determined to make the most of my Saturday. Oh wait, after re-reading that my Friday night was actually pretty fucking awesome!

I awoke early on Saturday morning, ran downstairs and caught the bus downtown to The Satruday Morning Market which is actually a pretty nice weekly event in St. Petersburg. From there I hung out in Williams Park with the homeless and caught another bus which dragged me on a 20 minute detour through "the hood" to the Central Ave Goodwill (if you havnt noticed I have a thrift store addiction).

While on the bus I managed to weasal a ride from a friend to the Blast From The Past Collectibles Show being held at Clearwaters Ruth Eckard Hall. What a blessing that was, without a ride I would have had to of made two or three different bus changes. Not to mention Ruth Eckard Hall is damn near a mile off of the main street! But hell, it was something to do and sure as hell sounded like a better option then sitting at home watching pornography all day.

What I didn't quite expect was just how much of a "blast from the past" this afternoon would really be.

I had a suspicion that my old running mates from the PCR (Nolan's Pop Culture Review) would be in attendence but it was an experience that I was hoping to avoid. After a timultous year of decaying relationships and verbal back and fourths it had been close to 6 months since we had shared even the slightest bit of contact let alone being stuck in a confined space with one another. Had I had a little bit more of a warning I would have atleast downed a bottle of Night Train to subdue my nerves.

Anyways, after paying the outrageous $10 entrance fee (ok maybe thats not so bad) I had entered the building and was greeted by no more then maybe six dealers tables and virtually no crowd, with exception for PCR'rs.

It was a little annoying at first cause I really didn't want to have to spend my Saturday afternoon being stuck in a ackward situation, but it was worth it. I was thankful to be able to make peace with Chris Woods and congratulate Terence on finally getting a piece of trim, hopefully he understands now why the rest of us spend our free time chasing after it.

It occured to me as we were greeted by none other then former PCR contributor Andy Lalino that the real highlight of the show for fans should not have been Mary Anne from Giligans Island or the awesome toy collection upstairs. The real show was taking place on a uncomfortable bench between a nasty concession stand with week old hot dogs and a table full of bootleg DVD's. It was a mini re-union of sorts, a collection of colorful charectors that have made up one of the most unique stories the general public will probably never hear.

But I digress, much more was happening at the con. Per square inch I'd make the arguement that this show had more going on in six or seven dealers tables and celebrity appearances then the standard Tampa Comic Con (The Double Tree con). Every table had something I would have like to of bought. In the end I settled for a original theatrical poster of the film "Walking Tall" (I love that movie!), a paper weight with The Jaugernaut from X-Men (for a buck!) and a Bart Simpson Key Chain (also a buck!).

After wheeling and dealing I wound up upstairs in search of seeing my old pal Joel Wynkoop and meeting Brooke McCarter from The Lost Boys. Also upstairs were the daughter from "Lost In Space" and Dawn Welles aka Mary-Anne from Giligans Island. Who, btw...Is still smoking hot!

After some small talk with Wynkoop I was honored to have met and conversed a little with Brooke McCarter an actor from a movie that was so pivotal to my childhood. I'm pretty sure the first two films my father ever rented for me were Blood Sport and Nightmare On Elmstreet but somewhere shortly following that was The Lost Boys. It was a defining moment in my childhood (and life).

Brooke was also kind enough to give me a signed photo with all The Lost Boys on it. The picture itself is pretty damn sweet for a fan like me but the autograph makes it extra cool. I even talked him into signing one for my friend Mindy who sadly is a fan of the crappy sequals Warner Brothers throwed together to exploit the originals retro cult appeal. Hers reads "The original Lost Boys is the BEST!"

On a personal level this show was a blessing. The dealers selection and celebrity line up were great for such a small show. Hopefully the promotors will hold other events annually and get bigger with time.

So Long Brighthouse!

**disclaimer** this was written at 5:03 AM after a debaucherous evening of bar hopping.

Its kind of funny. All of my earliest memories tend to revolve around television. Whether it was watching Star Trek with my father or baseball with my great grandfather (Actually I think thats the only memory I have of him). Television has always been the dominate force that life seems to centralize around.


And yet, it is with no sadness or regret that I can proclaim myself to be almost entirely free of the comforting enslavement of television. Sure, I will occassionally catch a ball game in a restaurant or a pub, but besides that the only time the boobtube is switched on is when I am selectively watching the video cassette or dvd of my choice.

Thing is, I really do love the boobtub. But lately things just havn't been the same. Television has been poisoned by less then a handful of greedy corporate over lords who corrupt it's charm in the interest of selling garbage and manipulating political debate.

After nearly two months of television free living I was taken back a bit as I sat in a restaurant and noticed a debate taking place on CNN. There was a hard lined left winger and a hard lined right winger and a wimpy moderator stuck in between to help give the illusion that this was all just a perfectly normal everyday regular Joe American back and fourth conversation. And suddenly, just like that, a moment of clarity had occured. It was all bullshit. We are happily being herded into boxes.

It took two months of detoxing to realize just how stupid this whole thing actually is. Television really serves no purpose beyond scaring the shit out of idiots and peer pressuring their kids into buying things they don't really need.

I mean, I guess I already knew that. It doesn't take a genius to realize that if a handful of intertwining corporations are in cahoots with one another that something is up. I cheated my way to a high school diploma and I'm barely capable of holding down a minimum wage job with the least bit of responsibilities, so why is this so clear to me and not so much to everybody else?

Anyways, going television-less is something that I truely recommend everybody try atleast once in their lifetime. It is truely a liberating experience. Why should I give a shit about what's going in Egypt when I am sitting on a peaceful park bench eating a $1 double cheeseburger? Right, I shouldn't, I can care less becaue it will never effect me. The only reason I knew or cared in the first place is because television told me too. Have fun being a bunch of "informed" citizens.