Thursday, July 23, 2009

Comic-Con International!

*sigh* Such are the perils of shuffling your scheduled posts around. I originally had this as a footnote to the next post, which was originally going to go up on Wednesday but got pushed back to Friday thanks to the "Let's Recast 'Futurama' For No Good Gorram Reason" debacle. Blame FOX. For everything.

Um, I mean, San Diego Comic-Con is this weekend! Woo-Hoo!

As you may have noticed, I usually focus on announcing conventions that take place in the upper-right-hand corner of the country (it's so that I don't have the "Ha ha, you can't go" song in my head), but this one's too important not to get a mention. I am unable to attend, due to being in the exact opposite end of the U.S. right now. But for those of you who can go, have fun, get your butt in the seat for the Disney Animation Panel tomorrow at 12:30 (Miyazaki!!!!!), and good luck dodging the Twilight fangirls.

Speaking of: Dear mainstream media. Girls enjoy attending comic book conventions. I know that, for whatever reason, this is very hard for your tiny minds to understand. But girl geeks who don't give a fetid pair of dingo kidneys about glittery vampires exist. And we are legion.

As far as the girls attending comic-con this year who do care about glittery vampires, a FARK commenter with the excellent screen-name Brigid Fitch said it so I don't have to:


"
...The problem isn't women attending the con -- it's gaggles of non-fans swarming all over a con, sucking all the fun from the room. We'll never escape the Asperger's candidates & hygienically challenged portion of our ranks, but if you're stuck next to one, you can at least find common ground and have a reasonable conversation with them (if by "reasonable" you mean discussing the finer points of violating the Prime Directive, of course).
"But the Twilight fans aren't like that. They're interlopers. We couldn't care less about sparkly vampires and they haven't a clue what to expect at a ComicCon! They're there to swoon over Robert Pattinson, and have no idea who Ray Bradbury is, let alone why someone would give their right arm to be at his discussion panel.
"...It's like a school trip to a Yankees game: The girls know NOTHING of baseball, ask a lot of inane questions, and are only there because they think Jeter is hot. And whenever he's on the field, they squeal in that ear-piercing way that only 15-year-olds know how to. How patient would you be?"

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