Spandexless is a relatively new venture for us. This was not our first con, but it was our first mainstream convention (one that we got in with press passes, by the way) and also our first multimedia convention. The scope of this website is niche (on purpose), and the signal to noise ratio at a media orgy like New York Comic for us can be low. On top of that, the weekend, at least for me, was sort of a comedy of errors. In my infinite wisdom, I forgot to pack a phone charger, making the already strained communications of the Javits center that much harder to navigate. One big thing the center needs to work on was the press room; the WiFi was completely useless to us in the bowels of the con. Big ups to my fellow journalists that fought with me in the trenches while we tried to get so much as a tweet into the cloud.
That being said, NYCC ROCKED.
Outside of our wheelhouse, I danced, sung, and speed-dated like a kid in a candy shop. I had a lovely conversation on Thursday with Scott Snyder, who writes American Vampire (one of our first reviews). I got to briefly catch up with the crew at the Comic Book Leagal Defense Fund, and dance my heart out on the Just Move 3 Exhibit (a theme that will be repeated throughout the weekend, by the way).
I didn't make it to as many panels as I, personally, wanted. I was supremely happy to catch the latter half of the ComiXology panel, which was very enlightening. It was a frank discussion of the future of digital comics, something that we here at Spandexless are very interested in. Of serious interest to me was the question raised by friend of the site Rachel Mercer, who asked about the possibility for hypertextual comics. Imagine, for instance, being able to read a line that references a past issue, and then pressing a button and getting to read (or purchase) that book. That's a very simple idea that has grand implications, ones that I hope the great folks at ComiXology pursue. My question was much simpler: did they ever consider installing a "capes" filter?
Saturday was the second (and final) act in the comedy-of-errors subplot: My car was towed in Downtown Brooklyn after a momentary stroll to check out the Brooklyn Bridge, cutting into serious con time (and overall energy). After missing the Image panel (Something I was seriously looking forward to) I did get to hit up the Speed Dating event, something I was anticipating with a healthy dose of suspicion. After actually doing it, however, I was pleasantly surprised, both with how cool and casual the entire event was, and how well my new-found love of mutton chops is faring with members of the opposite sex (In my post-con decompression, I found my "#17" badge floating around in my bag, and it is now one of my favorite con artifacts, along with a few names and numbers that I should really, really follow up on.).
One of the highlights of my con was the Geek Girls Network party, where I got to meet some lovely Ghostbusters, dance with a female TARDIS, and rub elbows with the classiest nerds ever. Kristin from Geek Girls network was an absolutely lovely host, and was a pleasure to meet.
Sunday was much more casual. You can tell that everyone is really winding down after a long weekend. That didn't stop me from doing more dancing and a little singing on the Just Move stage, where my rendition of Cee Lo Green's "Forget You" has been graciously recorded (and kept as blackmail) by George Rohac of Oni Press. We love Oni Press. They've graciously supported us with absolute humility. And they're so handsome! Every last one of them, just a supermodel. Somebody get that recording away from George.
I was totally overwhelmed by New York Comic Con. My first year as a member of the press was a good one, if not a tiring and confusing one. SDCC is months away, and I've got a year until the next NYCC. Despite the bumps in the road (and the tow trucks, and the lack of cell phone chargers) I think we did really well at NYCC this year, and I can not wait until we get the chance to do it again. Once I get over this post-con plague, that is.
Stay Spandexless, kids.