Costume Fails

The 2012 New York Comic Con is coming up, and by "coming up" I of course mean in two months. That may not seem around the corner-ish to you Muggles, but for we geeks that's practically tomorrow.

Thing is, October is generally a busy month for me. I've got my son the Juban Princeling's birthday on the 8th, my husband's birthday on the 17th, my brother Mr. Funny's birthday on the 22nd, and Halloween on the 31st. (I guess technically we all have Halloween on the 31st. But I like it more than you do, probably.)

That's two things I need costumes for: NYCC and Halloween. 

Halloween is easy. My friend NoLa does a theme party, and even if she craps out on the party I still make us dress up for it. Last year she used the excuse of having "foot surgery" and "not being able to walk" for "10 weeks" as her excuse not to create a space alien theme party, but I still made the Princeling dress up as a spooky alien, because do you know how hard it is to find a space alien costume for a 3-year old? Surprisingly hard. But it paid dividends in cuteness:

"I'm a spooooooky alien!"

This year her theme is Classic Haunted House, though she's threatened to crap out on me again. Doesn't matter. I already have our costumes: we're going as the ghosts of a family who drowned in the Gowanus Canal. Body glow paint will be employed, as well as our masks from Sleep No More:

"MacBeth hath murdered sleep!"

So, Halloween is covered.

My problem is what to wear for NYCC.

NYCC does a Family Day, and I want to take the Princeling for his first ever geek con. One year they had the New York Jedi Academy - yes, that's a thing - train younglings on how to use light sabers. If they do that this year I may actually drop dead of happiness. But I've been racking my brain for good mother-son costumes for us. The problem is that most mothers in fantasy and sci-fi are either dead or bat-shit crazy. Some ideas I've had for us, but had to dismiss:

• Joffrey and Cersei (My son will be 4, and I know I'll end up having to schlep around the head on a pike when he gets tired of it.)
• Superman and his Kryptonian mother, blown to smithereens (too depressing for a 4-year old)
• Spiderman and whatever happen to his mother (ditto)
• Harry Potter and Ghost Lily Potter (super ditto)
• Spock and Winona Ryder (seeing a pattern, yet?)
• Luke Skywalker and Padme Amidala (I cannot pull off a white bodysuit) (no, not even a little bit)

Maybe we can do Wesley Crusher and Dr. Crusher? I already have the red hair. All I'd need is the blue ST: TNG body suit (still more flattering than Padme Amidala's), a tricorder, and a poorly hidden lust for Jean-Luc Picard. Like that would be so hard.

Ideas? What sort of family/parent-child/group costumes have you all done?

NOT the Juban Princeling Photo of the Week: 7/30/11

Instead, this week I bring you Mr. Funny and I at the Star Trek con in Parsippany, NJ, June 26:

Photo Credit: Chris Schmelke


Mr. Funny being charming, Nichelle Nichols being amazing, and me being a drooling idiot.

Forgiving Brent Spiner

For seventeen years now my family has been deeply devoted to an angry - and mostly* one-sided - feud with Brent Spiner, "Star Trek: The Next Generation"'s Lt. Cmdr. Data.

It all started 17 years ago when my then-14 year old brother, Mr. Funny, went to a Star Trek convention in Miami dressed as Data. It being 1994 and me being a high school senior, I had nothing better to do that weekend than apply my brother's makeup for him. Brent Spiner spoke at this particular con, and called my brother up for an impromptu photo op, because there's nothing cuter than a pup-sized fan in cosplay. He promised that if Mr. Funny sent him the photo, he would autograph it and send it back. A nice fan took my brother's address and sent him an 8 x 10 color photo:

Makeup courtesy of Meredith Morgenstern's Fantastic
Sci-Fi Makeup Studio. Brent Spiner's pants courtesy of a
serious Fashion Don't.

My brother sent it on to Brent Spiner.

Who never sent it back, autographed or otherwise.

I realize that Brent Spiner was at the pinnacle of his "ST:TNG" career at the time, but really? REALLY? He didn't have two seconds to autograph this photo, which he promised he'd do, and then have one of his assistants mail it to us? Did he think we'd be impressed by that, like all, "Ooooh, that Brent Spiner! He's too busy and cool and douchey to keep his promise to a little fanboy! We love him and should name our guinea pigs after him!"

Well, Brent Spiner, WE WERE NOT IMPRESSED.

Ever since, my family has collectively shaken our fist at the Heavens and spat curses upon the name Brent Spiner.

Fast forward several years, through Lewinskygate, Y2K, the 2000 Subway World Series, 9/11, a new Pope, Hurricane Katrina, the rebooting of the Batman franchise, and the 2008 Presidential Elections, to 2011. Like the Montagues and the Capulets at the end of "Romeo and Juliet,"** our long-standing, multi-generational feud has come to an end, albeit one a little happier than those stupid Renaissance teenagers.

A friend of my brother's - by way of their wives, who are friends - happens to live in Ye Olde England, which is why I'm going to call him Sir Brit. Sir Brit recently attended a major sci-fi con over there across the pond, where a certain Brent Spiner happened to be speaking and giving autographs. Sir Brit, knowing the sad saga of my brother's failed attempt to get his own photo signed by Brent Spiner, acquired himself a standard-issue publicity photo. But here's the best part:

Sir Brit told Brent Spiner the story, and Brent Spiner not only autographed the publicity shot for my brother, but he apologized!

Seventeen years in the making.

But, as Inigo Montoya famously said at the end of "The Princess Bride" (greatest movie ever ever ever ever EVER***), "I've been in the revenge business so long, I don't know what to do with the rest of my life." Now that we are no longer coming together as a family over our hatred of Brent Spiner, what do we do with ourselves? Find someone new to collectively hate? To whom will my poor mother spew her venom now? What will my brother long wistfully for at each upcoming Star Trek con? Whose pants can I make fun of now? Won't someone please think of the children???

Sir Brit also (very nicely) sent me an autographed photo of Alex Kingston as River Song in the most recent season of "Doctor Who." But she autographed it as Alex Kingston, not River Song. Maybe I can hate her for that? No? Oy.

*completely

**if the Capulets had no idea the Montagues even existed

***that is, the greatest STAND-ALONE movie ever ever ever ever ever EVER. Of course, "Star Wars" wins greatest series of movies ever ever ever ever EVER.

The Trekkin' Siblings

Yesterday my brother, Mr. Funny, and I totally got our geek on at a Star Trek Convention in Parsippany, New Jersey. We had the honor of hearing the lovely and superawesome Nichelle Nichols speak, and she was so amazing and incredible that it made our entire 2+ hour trek worth it.

Hailing frequencies open!
(Photo from classictvbeauties.com)

Because New Jersey is the suck of America.

And we're from Florida, are Mr. Funny and I. We know from states that suck.

The road system in New Jersey appears to have been designed by M.C. Escher. Somehow it took us two hours to get from Brooklyn to Parsippany, with only 40 minutes stuck in traffic, but coming home took 1/3 that time. (And then we got stuck in Staten Island's permatraffic. More on that later.) I half expected David Bowie and his hair (which would have been totally appropriate for New Jersey) to pop up and try to steal my little brother, something Mr. Funny was actually afraid of when we were kids. Believe me, if Mr. Funny never got kidnapped by the Goblin King it wasn't for my lack of trying. Though now he's 31 and less likely to be Goblin King fodder, I guess.

"Do I remind you of the babe? The babe with the power?"
(Photo from morethings.com)

Part of the problem of driving in New Jersey is that every street, highway, and dirt path has at least four names, so that by the time Mr. Funny read the actual direction in its entirety we were pretty much past where we needed to be.

Me: Which way do I go here?
Him: "Take 440 north - slash - 278 west - slash - NCC1701 - slash - Beetlejuice Nebula - slash - Burt Reynolds Highway Northwest South."
Me: Too late. I think we're in Delaware.

Actually, we didn't get lost. But we did end up in some horrendous traffic out in the middle of nowhere that I can only attribute to New Jersey's natural tendency to have flash traffic jams, like sandstorms in the desert.

Two hours and a whole lot of making fun of our spouses later, we arrived in Parsippany (motto: "If You Can Get Here, We'll Show You Nichelle Nichols") for the convention.

Now, Mr. Funny and I are not Star Trek Con virgins, as evidenced by my use of the word "con." We've been to cons. I ONCE GOT TO SHAKE HANDS WITH TASHA YAR. GO AHEAD AND PUKE WITH JEALOUSY.

Another time, when he was but a wee Trekker, my brother got to meet Brent Spiner, who promised him an autographed photo and never sent it.

"Hi, I'm Brent Spiner and I like to make promises
that I don't keep and break the hearts of little boys.
Bwahahahahaha! And also? My pants are stupid."

So we went to hear Nichelle Nichols, aka Uhura, who is so awesome it makes my skin glow. Seriously. Her greatness is so vast it actually exfoliates my skin.

Behold. Your pores are now clear and tiny.
(Photo from uhura.com)

She, of course, told the famous Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. story, which our mother recites like Scripture. And then she patiently sat through about 10 kajillion fan photos and had the good grace to make small talk with each and every one of us.

I am super lame, though. I get starstruck. Once, when I met Spike Lee, I had this whole speech in my head about how important "Do the Right Thing" is in the canon of American film. A whole speech. What I said when I shook his hand was this: "I love you." Another time I stood in line to have Hillary Clinton sign her latest book, and again, I had a whole speech in my head about how she is a feminist icon and a role model, and that I've been a supporter of hers since 1992, and how I think it's great that she's always fought for better health care in America. What I said when my turn finally came around was this: "I'm a feminist." She gave me a thumbs-up and then pressed the hidden Secret Service button to have me forcibly removed from the Columbus Circle Borders Book Shop.

So, I'm not great when it comes to meeting famous people, despite living in New York City for 15 years, where we treat celebs like they are somewhere between a crime scene and a unicorn: we acknowledge them out of the corners of our eyes, confirm with our fellow citizens, and then move on. Once, I got hit on in an elevator by Colin Quinn, only I didn't know it was him, and I got annoyed. Mr. Funny still has not forgiven me for not somehow magically whipping his headshot out of thin air and passing it on.

Long story short, there I am, in the presence of NICHELLE NICHOLS, who is arguably one of the most important women in Sci-Fi, and certainly is a geek feminist icon, and I was all ready to say to her, "You're an inspiration!"

What I said was this: "....."

Nothing. Not a damn thing. I froze up and smiled like the village idiot I am.

Thankfully my brother saved the day with something like, "You are fantastic."

This is why my husband says I should never go into politics. I blank out in front of people I admire. I imagine if Barack Obama ever accepted my invitation to come over for gluten-free pasta and Tasti-D-Lite, I'd probably just drool and pee. God forbid I ever get to meet the Dalai Lama. My skin will probably melt off and my eyeballs will pop out of their sockets.

So, it was a successful con in that I made a total ass of myself in front of Lt. Uhura. Which, really, is all I ask of life. I'm a woman with simple needs.

On the way home, the 2+ hour drive suddenly morphed into 35 minutes to get from Parsippany to the Goethels Bridge, which attaches New Jersey to Staten Island like a dirty cop handcuffing two criminals together. Staten Island has a giant highway running down its middle like someone's trying to cut it open, and that highway has permatraffic. There's no other way to describe it. Day or night, weekend or weekday, there's traffic. It kind of reminds me of that episode from Season 3 of Doctor Who.

Thankfully, Bon Jovi came on the radio while we were still in New Jersey, because by law you cannot leave New Jersey without hearing either the Jovi or Bruce Springsteen. The rest of the radio was devoted to Michael Jackson's yartzheit, which got annoying after a while because when you're on the tail end of something like that you are just plain not going to hear the good songs like "Billy Jean" or "Black and White" - you're going to hear the lesser known crap that is lesser known for a reason.

But, again, all worth it for Nichelle Nichols.

Mr. Funny: Maybe you can write her a letter with all the things you didn't say when we had our photo with her.
Me: Yeah, that's not going to happen.

Instead I did what any good 21st century chick would do. I "liked" her Facebook page and posted it on her wall.

You're next, Hillary.

"Get this crazy chick away from me."
(Photo from news.antiwar.com)