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August 7, 2006: Wizard World Chicago Report

WIZARD WORLD CHICAGO! (This is Why We Do This)

New journalistic madness from a bipedal reporter comic junkie...Neal S. Thompson...

ARRIVAL

Approaching Chicago from the El train, all Superman connotations aside, is perilous and strange from the perspective of a guy who comes from a crappy neighborhood and has always been told that Chicago is ten times more scary than his own crappy neighborhood by media and crazed friends from the locale. Little did I realize that my fear is not only unfounded, but frankly stupid, and that the only place I could go were I to desire death is instead the south side, where people disappear mysteriously in a puff of death and madness. Thankfully, I stayed in the geek circle.

I met Michael, a good friend who offered to put me up, after a bout of severe rain in ninety degree weather. I told him that I brought the rain with me from Washington State, and he told me to get in the car before the people behind us ran him off the road.

DAY ONE (no, really this time)

In the morning I woke up and realized that I somehow had to manage being a stranger in a strange land and get to the comic book convention arena without being killed, having my books stolen, or mussing my brand new and only pair of working jeans in one piece purchased especially for this con.

Clutching my bag filled with forty-nine point six pounds of books, weighed that I might slip it onto the plane with a minimal change of clothes and only the most precious little bit of toothpaste and underarm deodorant, I got on a bus and a train knowing that the convention center was merely in the direction of the O'Hare airport, a thought in my mind which could only continue with "hilarity ensues," given that I know directions like I know prose marketability, read: as I am a fan of Marvel.

GOOD SAM

At the Rosemont exit, I noticed a commingling of geeks, one of whom, bearing a very strong resemblance to Joe Pantigliano (CIPHER, YOU %$@%*#), looked at my nervous stare and said, "Follow me. I know where you're going." The last time I listened to someone saying that I ended up with five years of college and a crushing debt, but nonetheless my desire for faith in humanity allowed me trust, and he pointed me in the right direction, cueing me in to a stop one exit early and saving my buttonia. Thank you, unnamed stranger who said you bought Silver Age comics and really would come to visit my booth. You have my salute.

INSIDE THE LION'S DEN

There's a strange feeling picking up your first press pass, which the Wizard guys thankfully deemed us worthy of having due to Barry's persistance and the fact that thanks to you reader folk we appear to be making a dent in the Supermanarati anti-newsistas. I went to the first booth, grabbed my badge, went to the press booth, asked for my pass there, and asked the first, inevitable question that any rational and good reporter asks:

"Just how much corruption and debauchery will this press pass allow me to commit and infract?"

The kind young manager of the press simply shrugged and said, "Give us a list. We'll see."

TIMELY

Being an anal writer and a punctual one at that, I arrived four hours early for the preview night, which aside from being incredibly stupid, is also a good way to collect your thoughts and get a book read.

Big, blue collar, working class guys were driving forklifts over toes and throwing geek exhibitionists through the air like Circus Circus. A great time was had by all, and soon I was arranging the books over a fresh white plastic sheet and praying that Barry would have the business cards which were supposed to arrive the day before.

BARRY

Meeting Barry was crazy, mostly because when you meet someone you know online, there's always something crazy you don't expect, something different with how you pictured them. As Gary later told me (I'll get there) you always expect a different voice, attitude, or thought process.

Insanely, and great in its own way, Barry is exactly the guy I expected him to be, just as cool and frank and honest and a blast to work with as he is on the site, and I say that not because he may be reading this, but because honestly, knowing him for so long, I'd flip him crap if he had some strange quality I didn't know about yet. He's cool enough for that.

I will say, however, I'm shocked at how much he sounds like George Clooney.

And for that I may be smote.

DAY TWO

As I said in the last report, the first day most people didn't even show up. A comic convention is a lot like a group of press guys, actually. A beeline for the bar, disrespectful lack of attention to timelines, namely the booths around me were people holding their heads and a few minutes or hours late...not that I'm saying they shouldn't be, that's their business or my new business, depending on how you're looking at it, it was just odd to me.

Barry and I compiled a list of desired interviews per insturctions from the press guy, and got them to him. Promptly they were ignored and never brought to bear, which is why I have no great interviews for you beyond one which I secured myself and will later explain.

I thank Wizard for the press passes, and question at the same time why they offered it if there were no real reasons to.

And realize, in writing that, that the reason is because now I feel respected as a journalist of comics for the first time in official, brass-style capacity, so I'm shutting up, and thank you, guys. I'll take the next one, too.

GARY

Gary Ornsbee is a buddy of mine from a while back who I met through this site. We argue, debate, and correlate all kinds of great comic stuff fairly regularly, and have for years. He's one of those great guys who's willing to tell me when I'm full of it and why, but not to spite me, to improve my writing and to have a decent, robust, cogent debate, and that's the best kind of friend.

He set up a killer, cheap hotel room for us, and because of him, I saved a good 90 dollars, had some great pizza, he was just generally the best guide and bud I could have had at this convention, and without him I wouldn't have been able to come and make it through in one piece.

So thanks, Gary!

IS THAT...HOLY CRAP, THAT'S

"Dan Didio!" Barry screams.

My head comes up from the nether and says, "Wha?"

And sure enough, Didio walks past, with me and my mouth open and stupified.

"Should I tackle him?"

Barry gives me a deserved look. "GO!"

I leap over the table, knocking over several high class, blaster armed nerds, put Didio in a triple Suplex, and begin shoving business cards wherever I could find a hole...in my head. In reality, I jog around the table, tap this obviously busy man, and he turns, shakes my hand with humility, and recognizes the Superman Homepage. He says he'll try and clear up time for a few words (we later find out that not by his choice he can't, but the man was clearly a great guy, folks), and moves on.

I then realize I didn't give him a book or a card, and Barry convinces me not to jump off the Sears Tower.

BOOKS?

Somehow, in the middle of this, people signed up by the bojillions for the Superman Homepage registration letter and bought my books. A LOT of them. I brought a ton of books, thinking I'd have to lug them all back. Unlike in Seattle, this open, welcome, warming crowd cleaned me out by day three and by Sunday I had nothing but air. I think we got 8 pages of people who wanted to get a Homepage email, and a metric ton of folks who knew the site, who we are, heard Radio KAL.

It was flattering. My head grew a few sizes until I looked like a rabid Powerpuff Girl. And then I took the dress off and got back to work networking.

LOIS OF EARTH ONE AND EARTH TWO

Barry got the dish on Erica with Gary's help and some quotes, and soon after I met Noel Neill.

I am, as you can tell, a somewhat outspoken kind of guy. I sass pros and joke with them, but when I went to see Noel, I just kind of kneeled down, held her hand, and was speechless.

She got a nervous look because I wasn't saying anything, and I said, "I'm sorry, I'm just in awe." I then got up and beat feat until I regained my courage, when I went back and spoke a few words with her.

I'm still not recovered from her presence, her kindness, a true lady.

LIEFELD

Interesting side note: I met a guy who stood in line for three hours for Rob Liefeld just to get him to sign a picture to a guy who hated Rob Liefeld to get that guy's goat. Now THAT is geekdom.

TOM NGUYEN

I talk with a lot of creators, and one of my favorite Superman creators (even if he's not directly on a lot of books all the time) is Tom Nguyen. He does a lot of inking, but his pencils are great, and he's an artist beyond sequential art. He does pin-ups, he does astonishing real-life modeled pictures, and I'm proud to say that I've bought only one piece of art in my life, and it's his, because his use of negative space is only surpassed by Frank Miller, and while Frank has off days, Tom's always on.

I'm biassed because I know the guy, but how does one gain a bias about art? They learn who the artist is, they become accustomed to their talents and accessibility, and thereby they become beloved. I interviewed Tom a few years ago and he gave great answers, he sent emails with me back and forth, he gave me great private advice, and he's so committed to his fans that even the smallest comment gets a response.

So to put it mildly, I support the man and his work.

I finally got to meet him in person at this con, and I managed to snag an AWESOME green-and-purple suit Luthor from him. If you're interested, he has an inking video and a great group of pieces on his website.

Please, by all means, support his work.

A VERY BAD THING

What one might call a VERY BAD THING occured. What this VERY BAD THING is will forever be a private mystery guarded by the secret triumvirate of Barry, Steve, and myself.

However, because of this VERY BAD THING, I believe we didn't get any interviews. Don't ask what it is, because I won't tell, but I will simply say it was not our fault, but we're sorry.

And no, it wasn't me asking Erica out. Wisely, I decided to remain behind and not see her auction, and thusly didn't get arrested for trying to ask her out repeatedly.

FEAR AND LOATHING AND GEOFF JOHNS

Well, one asks, Neal, you've interviewed Jeph Loeb and Geoff Johns. What's the deal? Why not get a few words?

Oh, I tried. Interesting story. I hope they're not reading this, or if they are, they won't think me forever a hopeless wastrel nerd (ah, who are we kidding), but here's the meat of this here article, the story you won't want to miss.

I got a hot tip from a buddy that the place the artists were all hanging out wasn't the hotel adjacent to the con, but the one across the street, and that Geoff Johns, Joe Quesada, and Jeph Loeb were all hanging out and socializing.

I decided to go with my buddies to try and meet and thank Johns for his interview, as I'd never had a chance, and because I didn't get a chance to wait through the line and meet these guys finally, as I was manning the booth.

We arrive, and I order a beer. Which is funny, because honestly, I don't drink. Like, ever. I'm too busy writing and building houses. Not for a lack of want to know, not for an over-arching paranoia in the wake of an alcoholic family past, just because it's an expensive, time consuming task to learn how to drink. So me holding a beer makes me look like me holding a cigarette.

When we get there, Dan Jurgens is sitting watching hockey. I bite my knuckles, knowing these guys are "OFF THE CLOCK" and you do not, ever, ever, ever bug these guys off the clock, so I am told and so it would be wise to assume.

Johns walks in with Adam Kubert.

We all turn around and start talking.

"How do we talk to him?"
"He's just a normal guy!"
"Is this right?"
"FLY CASUAL!"
"What do we do? Do we drink our beer, wait for him to be alone, then order him a drink?"
"Can I hit on him?"
"NO!"
They pull me aside. "Neal, this is never going to work."
"Why?"
"Because you're acting just like George Costanza in an episode of Seinfeld!"
I grin. "Aha, gents, but it will work. You wanna know why?"
"Why?"
"Because I've never seen a single episode of Seinfeld."
I take my beery, wet, suicidal and stupid�hands, and walk over to Geoff, OFF THE CLOCK, and tap him on the shoulder. He turns around.
"Hi, Geoff. I'm Neal Bailey, Superman Homepage. I know I'm not supposed to bother you right now, but I just wanted to say thank you for the interview, and I appreciate your time. Again, sorry, I'll go now..."
Geoff walks forward, stops me, shakes my hand with a soft but strong mitt, and says, "Hey, I don't mind. Thanks. And by the way, Action Comics is going to blow you away. Me and Dick have some incredible stuff coming."
And then he said one more thing I can't really tell you about yet.

THE PUNCHLINE

George Costanza and his buddies are outside of the bar, with George plastered on his one beer and talking about Byrne and Swan dynamics in storytelling and other geeky, geeky things, when he feels a hand slap his right shoulder.

I turn, and it's Geoff. "Thanks, Neal, have a good night."

I nod. "Take care."

Geoff walks five feet away, I collapse to the pillar, the boys laugh, and I stand up. "He knows my name."

Instantly I feel like a rock groupie, but honestly, it's just a deep welling gratitude. For all these years I've been working to get into this business, caring about what these people do, and this week I get a press pass, I get to shake the man's hand, and he remembers my bloody name.

That's not fanboy reaction, that's me feeling a validation that I needed after a VERY BAD THING which shall go unspoken.

And in that, this con was a success, and I have nothing but personal respect for Geoff, who was kindly to a nerd who bugged him OFF THE CLOCK.

FINALE

By the third day I was out of books, low on gas, a hundred and fifteen miles to, well, Boston, and beat.

I took an El to Mike's, my buddy, got to this computer, and started pounding. I know it's a bit scattered. I know it's not so much an info report. But it is what happened as it happened, and that's why it's new journalism, ye gads, zonkers, and by the light of the El, buy the ticket, take the ride.

Tomorrow I go before the giant bean. I see the fountain that ceases to pump whenever Al Bundy flushes the toilet. I will look upon American Gothic and try not to sneeze.

And long story short, this is why the Caption Contest will not be updated until Tuesday afternoon.

Freak power, and thanks to all who showed.

Nine hundred dollars in the hole, yeah, but in years of toil, this was incredible. Like visiting colloquially with Rucka. This is why we do this.

Neal Bailey

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2006 Comic Book News Archives

August 7, 2006: Wizard World Chicago Report

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