So we had a comicon here over the weekend. Vancouver cons are a fairly subdued affair. There are about a dozen dealer tables, and about the same number of creator tables. You never see anyone terribly big at a Vancouver con, although I did have an engaging discussion with Jason Lutes once, about his brilliant Berlin: City of Stones. All in all, they’re a good place to get some fair-to-middlin’ deals on trades and pick up some single issues to fill whatever collections you’re hoping to fill.
At a dinner with friends prior to the con, the following conversation took place:
“So,” I said, “There’s a con on Sunday.”
“A comicon?” asked a friend of mine eagerly. She’s been trying to get into comics, recently borrowing a chunk of my library to acquaint herself with some of the finer works of the medium.
“Awesome! Can I come?”
“Yeah, for sure. Lawrence and I are heading down-”
“Oh! Can I get dressed up?”
“Yeah! Like, as Catwoman. Or Wonder Woman!”
“Well, you could, but-”
“But it’s really not that kind of con.”
“It would be fun.”
“Maybe, but honestly? If you dressed up, you would be the only person there in costume. Guaranteed.”
“But everybody gets dressed up on TV.”
“People get dressed up in San Diego, or Chicago. This is Vancouver. You do not dress up in Vancouver.”
She was disappointed, but it needed to be said. As it turns out, she didn’t make it out, having to stay home and polish spoons in anticipation for Rosh Hashanah. Which may have been a clever excuse, now that I glance at my calendar and notice that doesn’t even begin until Wednesday, at sundown.
Oh, Aviva. You’ve outsmarted me once again.