Juban Princeling Photo of the Week: 10/24/11

Spooky pumpkin + hot chocolate face + hoodie = AUTUMN:

Getchur Geek On

I cannot believe I have not written about New York Comic Con yet!

It's been four whole days since I was there, and yet my blog remains void of any mention of NYCC. For shame, self.

So, er, on Sunday, my brother Mr. Funny, and I went to New York Comic Con 2011. It was awesomesauce, or whatever the kids are saying these days. We would have liked to have gone all four days of the con - as we geeks in the know call conventions - but alas, he had work and I have a three year old who naps in the middle of the day and also isn't as into the Star Wars movies as his cousin Rudy, Jr. is. (I'm not saying I feel competitive with my cousin Rudy over this or anything, but when his little boy - who is the same age as my son, the Juban Princeling - referred to "Empire Strikes Back" as "The Ton-Ton Movie," I seethed with envy. Now, my son is my son and I love him as-is, but I'll admit here that I might love him slightly more if he did something adorable and geeky like that and just once asked to watch "The Ton-Ton Movie" instead of "Yo Gabba Gabba.")

Also, cons cost money, both to attend, and while you are there. The Jacob K. Javitz Center here in New York, which plays host to NYCC, charges an arm, a leg, and a kidney for the grub in the food court (no joke: my lunch of 3 chicken fingers plus a handful of sad french fries, plus a small soda and a mini chocolate bar, came out to $15 and change), and then there's all the geek crap you have to buy. YES, YOU HAVE TO BUY GEEK CRAP. YOU JUST DO, OK? Mr. Funny walked out of that con $50 poorer, but the proud owner of a Mr. Spock-inspired bathrobe. It's about quality of life, people. Try to keep up.

We chose to go on Sunday because there were two panels I wanted to attend: the Geek Parenting Panel, and We're No Angels: Leading Ladies of SF/F. Actually, honestly, I felt like I had to attend the Leading Ladies panel because it featured Patricia Briggs and Kim Harrison, both of whom I've read and both of whom I adore and want to stalk a little bit. 

When we got to the con, my brother made a comment to the effect of, seeing people in costumes we don't recognize makes us feel less geeky. And that's pretty much how I felt at the Geek Parenting panel. It was good times for sure, and gave me lots of food for thought - I'll never buy a pre-packaged costume for the Princeling again, I promise - but I went in thinking we were all going to discuss methods of slipping more Star Wars-themed media into our children's lives, and whether or not we should show the series to them in order of when the movies were released versus their chronological order (I vote the former). Alas, silly Mer. That's not what the Geek Parenting panel was about at all. Most of the other geek parents in the room - the overwhelming majority, in fact - were avid comic book readers and/or role-play-gamers, or RPGs. I...have never picked up a comic in my life, except for when I dated that idiot in college who read them and I had to step over them to get into his room. I've also never played an RPG. Once in a while when we're watching "The Guild," my husband will causally suggest we try out World of Warcraft, to which I respond it's not like I've got tons of free time on my hands and need something new to occupy my life. Besides, thanks to "The Guild" we know how real gamers feel about "casuals," which is pretty much all we could be.

So, I felt slightly inadequate at that panel, geek-wise, but at least I learned that certain RPGs are actually good for kids and help children and teens build worlds and tell stories, so that once day if the Princeling decides he's into it, I'll be prepared.

The Leading Ladies panel was also informative, for wholly different reasons. As a writer, getting to hear Patty & Co. wax eloquent on subjects like writing discipline, world-building, faith in yourself as a writer, and publishing myths, made me want to come home, lock myself in a room, and finish my damn novel already. Which I've been mostly doing all week, when I'm not picking my son up from school, spending quality time with him so he doesn't turn into a recluse, feeding myself and/or my family, seeing a chiropractor for my sciatica pain, or sleeping. And, I'm pleased as punch to report that I managed to finally break away from my habit of acting like a total jackass in front of famous people I love, and actually said hello to Patricia Briggs and told her what a fan I am, and she did not seem scared or weirded out by me. That's progress.

My inspiration.
Photo copyright: http://mimg.ugo.com/200902/20522/alien.jpg

Mr. Funny, for once, did not attend the con in costume, but I did. I needed something to go with my pregnancy, and there's not a whole heck of a lot out there in genre-land. The night before the con my husband and I worked on attaching the head, arms, and upper torso of an alien from the "Alien" movies onto either my baby bump or a t-shirt, but the thing was just too damn heavy and kept flopping down. And here I bought an ounce of stage blood for it and everything. Instead, I put on one of my husband's grey undershirts, and then one of his black tank tops, and my army green cargo pants, and went as Sharon from "Battlestar Galactica." I kept rubbing my belly at the con hoping someone would get it, but no one did. Sad face. And it wasn't until the Leading Ladies panel that I even saw another BSGer. We gave each other mutual props. 

What I actually went as. Or, tried to. Not shown: Sharon's baby bump.
Photo copyright: http://www.thescifiworld.net/interviews/grace_park_01.htm

In all, the con was amazing, and I'm glad we went. Maybe next year we'll go for two days so we have time to go to more panels.

I came home with a bag full of swag, including a Lego Transformer for the Princeling, courtesy of the Geek Parenting panel, a Peter Parker/Spiderman mask he hates, and a Stormtrooper coloring sheet he ignored. But I also spent $8 to buy him a little plush Ewok - shut up, my son is 3, I'm not about to buy him pointy-toothed Chewbacca - which he LOVES. He's been a little scared of monsters lately, so I told him the Ewok is a protective Ewok that will look after him when he sleeps. He even asked me to tell him a story about the Ewok, so I did:

Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away, there was a place called Endor. And in that place lived the Ewoks. And they were furry and small and sweet and wore clothes. So once day, some monsters came and wanted to build a weapons system on Endor, [Princeling: "What's that?" Me: *ignoring and continuing*] but the Rebels, lead by Luke and Leia, went to Endor to fight the monsters. And the Ewoks helped the rebels! They helped protect Luke and Leia and the other Rebels! That's what Ewoks do, they help people against the monsters. And so the Rebels won and the monsters ran away and everyone was super happy. The end.

We may not read comics or play RPGs, and my son may not know his TIE-fighters ("twin ionic engine," don't test me) from his X-Wings just yet, but that kid loves him some protective little Ewok toy. It's a start.

Juban Princeling Photo of the Week: 10/15/11

Brunch at Barrio in Park Slope for Daddy's birthday (on Monday). One of these guys has red sangria, the other has chocolate milk. Guess who has which:

My Happy Place

I am not coping well with the news lately. And honestly, I probably shouldn't be allowed to watch the news. Not in my delicate condition.

During my last pregnancy the entire economy crashed. At the time I worked at a high net worth wealth management firm (exactly what it sounds like), and pretty much every morning for a week in September 2008 we had "emergency" all-staff meetings that went like this:

"Well, Bank ABC has gone under, but please assure your clients that Banks DEF, GHI, and JKL are still fine and cannot possibly go under."

"Well, Bank DEF was just bought by bank GHI, but please assure your clients that Bank JKL is still fine."

"Well..."

"Um..."

"Oh, crap."

And so on.

I ended up on bed rest three weeks before my due date because one day at work I lost the abilities to speak and to see. Literally. The day my replacement came in to train for my maternity leave I sounded like a stroke victim and kept bumping into things. I didn't even think to call my doctor about it until my husband - who has no medical training - said that losing vision and speech is not normal in the 9th month of pregnancy. I was all ready to tell him what a nervous nelly he is, but the nurse on the phone sent me to the labor & delivery ER and the doctor told me to go home and stay there. That sure showed my stupid husband!

This time around there is no need to force myself to endure the slings and arrows of this cold, cruel world and endanger both myself and my fetus by doing stupid things like paying attention to the world outside my little life. Besides, there are natural disasters beyond my control happening here in New York, and the 10-year anniversary of September 11th just passed, which, even with my news-blackout I can't avoid because we LIVE in New York City and because I was here on September 11, 2001. And, my neighborhood is currently being terrorized by at least four would-be rapists, which I can't avoid even if I want to because I have to pass by the enormous NYPD double-wide parked on my route to my son's preschool.

So, some things I can't avoid, but most things I can. I've told my friends and family that from now until I am 6 months post-partum I do not want to hear about anything going on in the world unless it involves me directly, and not in a New Agey, hippie, Mother Earthy, "We are all part of the interconnectedness of Life and the Universe, and when a mosquito dies in Australia all our hearts die a little inside" kind of way. I mean a direct way, like, "Michelle Obama is hosting a dinner party and wants advice on a good budget wine from a fellow mom, so she needs your cell number, MEREDITH LOPEZ," kind of way.

That, I can handle.

Anything involving politics, the economy, natural disasters in places that are not New York City, wars in foreign countries, and so on, I cannot handle. For the sake of my baby, I'm not even going to try. I can't have booze to take the edge off, I'm no longer on anti-depressants, and every time I tear up it induces vomiting. I have zero release for my stresses, plus a 3-year old who thinks that I force him to nap as a way of ruining his life, a husband who works late most nights, and at least two pinched nerves in my back. And did I mention no booze, pills, or even crying to make myself feel better?

The other day when we had our friends and their kids over for a playdate, and the husband started talking politics with my husband, I just sort of spaced out and thought about this instead:






And really, what does the rest of the world need from a pregnant, tired, achey woman anyway? Do I control the world's economy? (Though, with the timing of my pregnancies, it looks like my womb might... I promise, no more kids after this, lest we all end up in bread lines again.) Can I avert natural disasters? (Answer: not yet, but give me time.) 


So, I'm on a news hiatus until well into 2012, at which time I am sure there will be world peace, no hunger or disease, and the economy will be fixed. Right?

The Paris Museum Experience

Not Paris, France.

The other Paris.

The drunk, annoying one who used to haunt the celebrity gossip rags. 

The other night I went to the Museum of Sex, alone, as you do. Yes, that's a real thing. New York has everything! Our McDonald'ses even deliver!


So, I went to the Museum of Sex, alone, while pregnant, because they currently have an exhibit I wanted to see about the history of sex in the movies, both inside the mainstream and outside. I'm a BA in Cinema Studies, and my senior thesis was on the relationship between American culture and Hollywood movies, so this was right up my alley, no pun intended.


Also, I thought it would be funny to walk around a Museum of Sex with my baby bump, no partner with me, and no ring on my finger. (I've developed a metal allergy with this pregnancy. It's a thing.) When he was still cooking in my baby oven, my son the Juban Princeling got to go to the last home opener at the old Yankee Stadium; this baby got to go to the Museum of Sex. I'm nothing if not fair.


But no one noticed me, because everyone at the Museum of Sex is too self-conscious to pay attention to what anyone else is doing.


Do you know what people aren't too self-conscious to do? Call to each other across the room to come over and see something and then giggle about it like 12-year olds. (Who are not allowed into the museum.) 


The exhibit I saw, "Action," included a brief summary of each era of cinema and what kind of moral code was in place at the time regarding how moviemakers were forced to deal with the issue of sex. (From the 1930s to 1968, during the time of the "Hays Code," you could not show "white slave trade" or miscegenation, which is just dumb, or scenes of "real child birth," because that is so sexy, I guess.) It was actually quite interesting, and if there are any other cinema students out there who have seen the exhibit, I wouldn't mind getting into a super nerdy discussion about it. 


Part of the exhibit covers sex in modern day films, including the popularity in the past 10 or 15 years of the celebrity sex tape. This part of the exhibit included the showing of Paris H.'s infamous sex tape (I'm not using her entire name because I don't want this post popping up on searches for her). And this group of 6 or 7 young men could NOT tear themselves away from it, calling each other over, loudly talking about it, and generally acting like a bunch of morons. Like, haven't you guys seen this already? And, can't you go home and watch it in private, and not, say, when you are blocking the path for me to get through to the other part of the exhibit?


Listen. 


I know when I go to a museum called The Museum of Sex, there are going to be idiots there who just want to be titillated, who think that the museum is some sort of giant, walk-on porn set. And, yeah, the exhibits do show a lot of graphic photos and videos to get the point across. (Part of the "Action" exhibit showed some of the old "stag" films from the early 1900s.) But it's also a museum, not a 1970s Times Square peep show.


Eh, what did I expect on a Saturday evening?


As I left through the gift shop, I was almost inspired to do a bit of impromptu performance art: picking up one of the condoms for sale, looking at it sadly while rubbing my baby bump meaningfully, and then sighing dramatically and shaking my head. But I chickened out. I'm not a performance artist. I'm just a film nerd.