I'm going to try really hard to write this without coming off in an obnoxious hipster-y "I was a nerd before it was cool." kind of way, but that's going to be difficult, seeing as how I was a nerd before it was cool.
I don't mean that in some pretentious, entitled way, as though I have more claim to the culture than those who joined late in the game when things I grew up loving have become mainstream and acceptable. I don't begrudge those who are on the geek boat now that it's turned from a kayak into a cruise ship. Because at least now they're on a boat, boldly going where they've never going before.
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| Just... you know... stay away from any boats called The Minnow |
Television played a huge role in my youth. Some of my fondest memories growing up involve my entire family sitting down to watch any number of shows we didn't miss every week. That was the closest I ever got to church, I suppose, having never been a religious person. These characters were my deities, my villains and role models, their adventures my morality plays. None moreso than Star Trek: The Next Generation. I'm not sure that a TV show (or movie or play, for that matter) has ever or will ever affect me as much as TNG did. It introduced me to so much, serving as my first exposure to everything from the limitless potential of the universe to the inconvenience of love.
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| They were meant to be together and you know it |
My parents introduced me to Star Wars at so young an age I can't even remember how old I was when I first saw it, but I do remember not understanding that there was a third movie, so the end to Empire was incredibly upsetting. But I've loved it ever since and, in 2007, I went to my first convention. Celebration IV was held in Los Angeles and I went with two friends. We stayed at a sketchy motel on the wrong side of Hollywood. And, when I say sketchy, I mean they charged by both the hour and the week, and one of the beds had a congealed pool of blood underneath it. The three of us have stories from that convention, both good and bad, but what I remember most, what I choose to take from my experience over those four days is the overwhelming sense of camaraderie. From the moment we arrived at our scary hotel to find cars with 501st stickers, to the time spent in panels and on the convention floor, to the last weary hours on Sunday when everyone slowly files out the door, arms full of swag, costumes half-removed, you know you are not alone. It's a feeling I had only ever experienced in fleeting moments of my youth when I would make a Star Trek joke and someone, somewhere in the room, laughed at it and, for that second, we shared something special that no one else understood. Even if you never spoke to that person again, you connected with them in a meaningful way and you reminded each other that YOU ARE NOT ALONE. It may not seem like our people need reminding of that nowadays. It seems like that once lonely world of nerds is now everywhere. And, to an extent, it is. Things that were once the minority hobbies have become the interests of the majority. The deeply uncool has become cool. Conventions have become more popular than ever. And, unfortunately, there is a certain percentage who have jumped on the bandwagon just because there's a bandwagon to jump on and they don't want to be left out. But, those people aside, we go to these things to be with other people and collectively experience something that brings joy to our lives. And you can't argue with that.
What prompted me to write this today is my activity from last night. Again, this stems from something my parents introduced me to when I was very young. Sometime in my childhood, I watched Monty Python And The Holy Grail. I was too young to understand most of the political, sexual, or highbrow humor, but the killer rabbit and the Frenchman were just the funniest things I'd ever seen.
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| I don't even have to caption this. |
Growing up, every time I watched it, I understood more and more of the jokes. To this day, I'll watch it and laugh at something I never got before. It's a truly brilliant movie and, if you haven't seen it lately, or saw it once and thought it wasn't for you, I urge you to give it another try. Anyway, last night, I went to Los Angeles to see Spamalot, the musical based on the movie. We took our seats and the show began. And then, something magical happened. The monks came on stage, doing their chant and hitting themselves in the face, and the audience erupted into cheers and applause and laughter. Nothing had yet happened in the show, but an entire theatre full of people from all manner of places and professions and lifestyles expressed their shared delight over some insignificant characters, because somewhere along the line in our vastly different lives, every person in the room had laughed at those silly animated monks on a screen. And all of us, who may have nothing else in common, found each other and shared that moment and many others like it throughout the evening.
That's what Comic-Con is about, for me anyway. It's about those moments. And, with tickets going on sale any day now, I'm just hoping that as many people as possible have a chance to experience those moments, as I have for the last three years. But I would also like to make a plea: if you want to go solely because of all the celebrities that will be there or just to see what all the fuss is about or just to say you've gone... DON'T. If you are not legitimately interested in the culture being discussed and celebrated, leave the tickets for someone else who will appreciate the experience far more than you.
If you do end up going, though, keep an eye out for someone who looks remarkably like me in this year's version of this photo.
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| I hope. |
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