It's a cute bit of fiction. One might wonder what led Lee to do an apparently unpublicized store signing in a random New Jersey mall. Maybe he was promoting something. Maybe he was just walking though the mall, had time to kill, saw the comic book store and decided to do an impromptu signing.
Regardless, make no mistake: this scene was no more realistic than anything else in Mallrats. Because in real life, there's a well-oiled Stan Lee Autograph Machine, whose sole goal is to make as much money as humanly possible. And you don't make money by giving your autograph away.
Regardless, make no mistake: this scene was no more realistic than anything else in Mallrats. Because in real life, there's a well-oiled Stan Lee Autograph Machine, whose sole goal is to make as much money as humanly possible. And you don't make money by giving your autograph away.
More on that in a bit. For now, some general observations about this year's con.
-- There were definitely more people there than in years past. The line to get in was really long when I arrived a half-hour before the doors opened, and soon became ridiculously long, winding back around itself. The guy behind me was practically having a panic attack, worrying we wouldn't get in until after 11. (Our actual time of entrance: 10:15.) He kept muttering that the line wasn't moving and come on, come on, come on!!!!, and his friend would remind him that was probably because the convention hadn't opened yet. Then five minutes later, the first guy would forget and start muttering again. This was the first of many times I wanted to kill a nerd that day.
-- The highlight of the con for me was meeting Keith Giffen, J.M. DeMatteis and Kevin McGuire, the creative team of the classic late '80s/early '90s Justice League series. This is one of my all-time favorite series, and meeting the guys who gave me so many laughs when I was a kid was awesome. I like the idea of the Baltimore con reuniting classic creative teams for group signings. I would have gone to their panel, but I was stuck in Stan Lee line hell.
But even this experience was marred by one guy in particular, who had about 25 comics for Giffen alone to sign. The line was held up for 10 minutes as he removed each comic from its bag, handed it to Giffen who would sign it and hand it back, at which point the guy would put it back in its bag and repeat the process. For the more popular creators, the convention really needs to have a line monitor or something to enforce a strict limit on comics. If you have more than that, just go back to the end of the line and come through again.
But even this experience was marred by one guy in particular, who had about 25 comics for Giffen alone to sign. The line was held up for 10 minutes as he removed each comic from its bag, handed it to Giffen who would sign it and hand it back, at which point the guy would put it back in its bag and repeat the process. For the more popular creators, the convention really needs to have a line monitor or something to enforce a strict limit on comics. If you have more than that, just go back to the end of the line and come through again.
(This did remind me of one of my favorite comic book memories, though. Back in the late '90s, Frank Miller did a tour to promote the release of 300. One of the places he stopped was Another Universe in Springfield Mall. Because it was Frank Miller, they had strict rules in place. If you bought a copy of 300 #1, you could get that and one other item signed. I only had one other item, so this worked out well for me. But way back in the line, there was a guy who had brought two long boxes full of comics for Miller to sign. Sadly, I didn't get to see what happened when he got to the front of the line and found out he'd only be able to get one of them signed, but I can imagine.)
-- Booth babes were out in force this year. There have always been a few at Baltimore, but nowhere near this many. There was a really hot Supergirl at someone's booth who was either married or at least had the foresight to wear a ring to keep guys from creepily hitting on her. (It didn't seem to be working.) There was an Elektra whose costume bordered on the vulgar. Two or three girls in daisy dukes asked every guy who made eye contact with them if he would be interested in checking out some comic-related website. A women in front of one table in Artist's Alley was wearing a red dress that seemed to be specially designed to shove her boobs directly in your face. Eye candy's nice and all, but it's hard not to feel at least a little pandered to.
-- Speaking of girls and costumes, this year's group of cosplayers seemed slightly more restrained than last year's. (Then again, I skipped the costume contest, so who knows what went on there.) There was a great-looking Zatanna walking around, who managed to keep it pretty classy. There were a couple of Babydolls from Sucker Punch who didn't go too overboard. I recognized last year's Black Canary, again dressed as Black Canary, but in her more conservative (i.e., no fishnets) '90s costume.
On the more disturbing side of the spectrum, without mentioning costumes, there was a girl who was probably on the wrong side of 18 who was dressed somewhat risque. Her mom was trailing after her, but Chris Hanson probably should have tagged along, too. And there was a woman who looked like she'd just given birth walking around in little more than a bikini. I'm all for confidence in your appearance, but still. Ugh.
-- Okay, Stan Lee. When I last brought him up, I'd already bought my autograph ticket and was wondering what comic of his I wanted to get signed. Over the past month, I really didn't put as much effort into it as I should have. I made a couple of half-hearted attempts at winning eBay auctions, but that's about it. Going into the con, I still hadn't bought a comic, but was leaning towards Fantastic Four #48, which aside from having a pretty cool cover (my main criteria) was also the first appearance of the Silver Surfer and Galactus.
I tried finding a lower grade copy that looked decent but wasn't overly-expensive. No luck. Every copy I saw was either crap (small tears or creases I was fine with, but not marks where someone had written on it) or priced higher than I would have liked. After a couple hours of fruitless searching, I realized that I had to make a decision. A) Buy a copy for more than I wanted to spend, B) Buy another comic I really wasn't crazy about, or C) Just eat the cost of the $50 autograph ticket and don't buy anything.
I went with A. I'm not going to say how much I spent, but let's just say that I had a figure in mind going in, and ended up going double that. Another way to look at it is that several years ago, I saw this amazing painting at the Georgetown Flea Market. Any description I give wouldn't do it justice. But it was by a listed artist, so I balked at the price. I think about it whenever I go to the flea market, and regret not buying it. This comic cost more.
I was kind of shell-shocked after spending that much money. I tried to do more shopping to clear my head, but my heart just wasn't in it. You know how when you've had a really big meal, the last thing you want to look at is more food? It felt kind of like that. It seemed like I was drowning in superhero comics. I went over to Artist's Alley and spent $20 on indie comics. Somehow that made me feel better.
But in the end, I think the expense was worth it. If nothing else, it'll look nice on my wall.
As for the actual signing, I have to admit, it was pretty efficient. I was in line for about an hour, but based on how slowly it was moving, mainly thanks to the VIP ticket holders who got to cut the line, I was expecting a longer wait. At the time, it kind of bugged me how they'd set up different stations and times for autographs and pictures, but then I realized it was probably saving me time, as there were--inexplicably, as far as I was concerned--far, far more people in line to have their photo taken with Stan than have him sign something.
The actual experience of meeting Stan left a bit to be desired. You go in, you hand your comic to a guy, who puts it in front of Stan, who signs it, at which point another guy picks it up and hands it back to you, and then you leave. You get a moment of eye contact and maybe a smile from Stan, and that's it.
And on one hand, I was fine with this. The line was long enough as it was without everyone stopping to tell Stan what big fans they were and shaking his hand. On the other hand, for $50, it seems like you ought to get maybe ten seconds of face time. I didn't have anything to say to him, but I was prepared with a line about him throwing out the first pitch at the Nationals game the night before. But I'm sure there were people who really wanted to meet Stan Lee, who can't really say they did. Everyone could have won if they'd capped the number of autograph tickets, but that would have obviously meant less money for the Machine.
I'll give Stan this, though. When the first guy put my comic in front of him, Stan started to sign it, paused, and then spent a couple of seconds trying to find the best place to put his signature. And he chose the one bit of empty space there was. So that was cool of him.
And with that, I'm going to live a life of poverty until I've saved enough money to recoup the cost of that comic. Oh, no, wait, I'm leaving today for a fairly expensive vacation. Shit. Okay, well, poverty will be here waiting for me when I get back.
I tried finding a lower grade copy that looked decent but wasn't overly-expensive. No luck. Every copy I saw was either crap (small tears or creases I was fine with, but not marks where someone had written on it) or priced higher than I would have liked. After a couple hours of fruitless searching, I realized that I had to make a decision. A) Buy a copy for more than I wanted to spend, B) Buy another comic I really wasn't crazy about, or C) Just eat the cost of the $50 autograph ticket and don't buy anything.
I went with A. I'm not going to say how much I spent, but let's just say that I had a figure in mind going in, and ended up going double that. Another way to look at it is that several years ago, I saw this amazing painting at the Georgetown Flea Market. Any description I give wouldn't do it justice. But it was by a listed artist, so I balked at the price. I think about it whenever I go to the flea market, and regret not buying it. This comic cost more.
I was kind of shell-shocked after spending that much money. I tried to do more shopping to clear my head, but my heart just wasn't in it. You know how when you've had a really big meal, the last thing you want to look at is more food? It felt kind of like that. It seemed like I was drowning in superhero comics. I went over to Artist's Alley and spent $20 on indie comics. Somehow that made me feel better.
But in the end, I think the expense was worth it. If nothing else, it'll look nice on my wall.
As for the actual signing, I have to admit, it was pretty efficient. I was in line for about an hour, but based on how slowly it was moving, mainly thanks to the VIP ticket holders who got to cut the line, I was expecting a longer wait. At the time, it kind of bugged me how they'd set up different stations and times for autographs and pictures, but then I realized it was probably saving me time, as there were--inexplicably, as far as I was concerned--far, far more people in line to have their photo taken with Stan than have him sign something.
The actual experience of meeting Stan left a bit to be desired. You go in, you hand your comic to a guy, who puts it in front of Stan, who signs it, at which point another guy picks it up and hands it back to you, and then you leave. You get a moment of eye contact and maybe a smile from Stan, and that's it.
And on one hand, I was fine with this. The line was long enough as it was without everyone stopping to tell Stan what big fans they were and shaking his hand. On the other hand, for $50, it seems like you ought to get maybe ten seconds of face time. I didn't have anything to say to him, but I was prepared with a line about him throwing out the first pitch at the Nationals game the night before. But I'm sure there were people who really wanted to meet Stan Lee, who can't really say they did. Everyone could have won if they'd capped the number of autograph tickets, but that would have obviously meant less money for the Machine.
I'll give Stan this, though. When the first guy put my comic in front of him, Stan started to sign it, paused, and then spent a couple of seconds trying to find the best place to put his signature. And he chose the one bit of empty space there was. So that was cool of him.
And with that, I'm going to live a life of poverty until I've saved enough money to recoup the cost of that comic. Oh, no, wait, I'm leaving today for a fairly expensive vacation. Shit. Okay, well, poverty will be here waiting for me when I get back.
