[Groop]Fanboys

[ReallyBigChin@aol.com]

Jeff Allen wrote:

>You obviously missed Warren Ellis's point.  He wasn't saying all fan
>boys are that way, just the wacked out ones,  the ones that really scare
>him...

(SNIP!)

>Your post on the board will probably start a landslide of Anti-Larry
>postings, prepare yourself for the worst,
>
>-Jeff Allen
>Groop Lurker


Psst! Hey Jeff! Go on and reread Warren Ellis's rant, and let me know at what 
point he says anything remotely like "(not) all fan boys are that way, just 
the wacked out ones." He doesn't exclude anyone. He's attacking comic book 
fans as losers. Who missed the point here? I'll include the text below for 
your convenience. 

Now I admit I probably shouldn't have lumped Nate & Rich Walker in with 
Ellis; Rich made it clear he wasn't talking about ALL fans, and I'll give my 
pal Nate the benefit of the doubt on that one, too (even though he never 
refuted anything Warren said, but expanded upon on it...) However, you have 
completely missed MY POINT:

This is a list for fans of Groo, and I don't enjoy reading obnoxious attacks 
on fandom in a fun forum such as this. It's really just an extension of 
GrooGrams in it's own way. We don't censor anyone or tell anyone what they're 
ALLOWED to say, but I'm PROUD of how few flames make it's way onto this list. 

I get tremendous enjoyment out of this Groop, enough enjoyment that I chose 
the San Diego Comic Con International as my one vacation destination 
specifically so that I can meet up with some of the wonderful loonies I've 
met here on the Groo List! Every single one is a decent, caring, fun loving 
person whom I'm proud to have finally met: Gary Grossmann, Eric Chun, Greg 
Craille, Sean McCoy and his friend Eric, Jeff Kozicki, Ruben Arellano, Scott 
Hudlow, Rich Morissey, Rocky AKA MOORST -  I can picture a couple of faces 
whose names I forgot, SORRY!!! What a fun Groop!

I made the mistake of reading my mail during the con, and really got angry at 
Nate's posting of Warren's Rant! I look forward to my Groop email every day; 
I've got a highly stressful job and need something fun like this at the end 
of the day. 

Now you predict "Your post on the board will probably start a landslide of 
Anti-Larry postings, prepare yourself for the worst." You obviously don't 
know this Groop as well as I do! You really DO have to pay more attention. I 
said my piece once and intended to drop it, but now you feel like picking a 
fight? Once again, wrong list. I'll say no more on the subject, and APOLOGIZE 
PROFUSELY to the rest of the Groop for posting this publicly instead of 
privately, but sometimes it's just got to be done.

Larry Steller



In a message dated 7/21/0 10:34:33 AM, nate@piekosarts.com writes:

>For all us groopmates who aren't at Chicago, I have a treat for you.  Ever
>wonder what some of the comic creators actually think of fanboys?  I think
>this is a good example...  and since I'm going to be presentling in Chicago
>this year, and I've never even been to a con, this hits home..  (I've
>bleeped out the naughty words... I think I got them all.....Eric...)
>
>COME IN ALONE (from cbr.cc)
>by Warren Ellis
>
>
>I am not at San Diego. 
>
>                 It's Thursday night, and I'm at home in Southend
>                 after having taken Niki and Lili out for a meal in
>                 nearby Canewdon. Canewdon's witch country, and I
>                 believe the local coven still dance naked in the wheat
>                 fields at Hallowe'en, the local police maintaining a
>                 perimeter presence to keep the t*t-crazed sweaty
>                 adolescents out of the witches' way. We wandered
>                 out into the wheatfields after dinner, giving some
>                 space to sleepy ducks sitting by the pond at the field's
>fringe. Lili
>                 counted the colours in the sky: Essex has explosive
>sunsets in the
>                 summer, orange and purple and blue and pink and gold and
>bright silver. 
>
>                 At exactly the same time, my peers are inhaling the sweat
>of their two
>                 hundredth fan of the day. Aspirating their disease-laden
>breath and the
>                 airborne motes of their last meal. Watching a line of
>snot
>connecting
>                 their nostril and upper lip vibrate like a plucked string
>with every word
>                 they say, wondering if it'll fire into your face when
>it
>finally snaps free of
>                 one anchor or another (this perfect vision was visited
>upon me at a New
>                 Zealand convention last year). Sat next to an editor they
>probably
>                 despise. Being shouted at by a booth runner who wants
>to
>know why
>                 they weren't there at 10am like it said on the schedule.
>Having your
>                 eardrums ravaged by a thousand kids with sharp little
>teeth grabbing at
>                 everything but the short on your f**king back and
>shrieking "Is this
>                 free? Is this free?" Being harangued by a thyroid case
>in
>a rotting
>                 Spider-Man 2099 t-shirt three sizes too small about having
>killed a
>                 character who to you may just have been a handful of words
>and some
>                 pictures, but to him was the woman he loved, damnit --
>
>
>                 Sun's gone down, now. Sitting here with a 21-year-old
>Scotch, a
>                 smoked trout fillet and a handmade unpasteurised cheddar
>from an
>                 organic farm. Warm, but not hot, you know? Comfortable.
>Phone's quiet,
>                 email's light. Everyone's in San Diego, you see. 
>
>                 I've done conventions with actresses. I remember vividly
>a
>                 post-convention drinking session where an actress on a
>popular sf TV
>                 show came in, downed one drink fairly fast, and then
>headed straight to
>                 her room to "wash them off me." She had been posing with
>fans for
>
>                 photos for approximately eight hours straight. TV SF
>fans. The hardcore
>                 kind. I was going to ask her how it made her feel, to
>pose
>for personal
>                 photos with people who probably masturbate over her at
>home. But I
>                 figured it was kindest not to. At times like this, senses
>of humour can
>                 fail. Here's where my sense of humour about conventions
>failed: when I
>                 found out Claudia Christian had been shot during one of
>those
>                 pose-with-the-fan sessions. Her manager, Damon, told me
>about this.
>                 (Damon, incidentally, is a diamond, and if you ever see
>him at a con,
>                 buy him a drink.) Some freak turned up to a con dressed
>as
>a Tribble -
>                 enormous shapeless furry thing - and wanted to have his
>pic taken with
>                 Claudia. Who did the usual, stood next to him, arm around
>him, big smile
>
>                 -- and a gun poked out of the side of the Tribble and
>fired into her side.
>
>                 Blank round. Extensive bruising, bit of a mess, but she
>lived. And now
>                 she has a security presence at conventions. And she has
>a
>drink after
>                 them. Believe me. 
>
>                 Met another actress from one of these TV shows who
>basically travels
>                 the world on convention accounts and bleeds dry every
>fan
>of that TV
>                 show she meets, just sells them signed glossies and other
>crap until all
>                 their cash is sucked right out of them. She'll get
>convention organisers
>                 to drive her into the middle of nowhere if she smells
>fifty bucks in the
>                 pocket of a fan out there. And she'll get it. She's in
>business. Her job is
>                 to be Someone From That TV Show. The fans want to touch
>her,
>                 because she has the magic of that piece of sh*t on her.
>She makes them
>                 smile and feel connected to it. This is a big business.
>Damon set up a
>                 Women Of SF convention featuring Claudia and two actresses
>from Deep
>                 Space Nine, and Alice Krige (an accomplished actress who
>was in a Star
>                 Trek film), evidently got use of a Star Trek attraction
>in
>Las Vegas to
>                 host it, and explained that he was essentially going to
>make a shitload,
>                 and that Claudia was going to make a sh*tload. This
>vaguely bugs me,
>                 because Claudia, aside from being possibly the most
>likeable actress I've
>                 met (this doesn't include the ones I've had relationships
>with. No, hold
>                 on. Yes, it does.), can act. And now her job is to be
>Someone Who Was
>                 In A TV Show, flapping around conventions looking for
>blood to drink. A
>                 Star Trek producer told me that there's a guy who played
>a
>Borg kid in
>                 some episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation who now
>does every
>                 con on the face of the planet, billed as WAS FRED BORG
>IN
>STAR TREK.
>                 He was in the show once. That's his job now. Was Fred
>Borg, on the
>
>                 convention circuit. 
>
>                 One of the saddest things I ever saw was at San Diego.
>I
>was still on
>                 cigarettes, then, and was outside the convention center
>smoking the
>                 day's seventy-fifth when I noticed something odd. A very
>old man, very
>                 thin, slightly hunched, was working his way slowly down
>the crowds of
>                 smokers on the pavement outside the center. He'd stop
>by
>one group,
>                 say something. There'd be a strange short pause. And then
>nodding and
>                 smiles, and they'd all shake his hand, and he'd beam with
>joy for a
>                 moment, and then move down to the next group. So I waited
>for him to
>                 get to me. 
>
>                 One of the saddest things about this, by the way, is that
>I cannot for
>                 the life of me remember his name. 
>
>                 He got to me and said hello and introduced himself and
>said: "I was
>                 Adam West's dead partner in Robinson Crusoe On Mars."
>
>
>                 And it dawned on me. This poor bastard had trekked from
>God knows
>                 where to come to the one place on Earth where someone
>might
>                 conceivably have heard of him. The San Diego Comics
>Convention. 
>
>                 And you know what I did? I said, "Oh, yeah, right!" and
>nodded and
>                 smiled and shook his hand and told him it was nice to
>meet
>him. Just like
>                 everyone else. And his face lit up, and he shook my hand,
>and then
>                 shuffled off down the sidewalk. To the next group. 
>
>                 Half past ten. Sun's gone down. Right now, it's the
>hottest part of the
>                 day in San Diego. There was forty five thousand attendees
>last year. All
>                 crammed into a giant plastic humane mouse trap with two
>airholes in, in
>                 the middle of summer. 
>
>                 I'm going to open up the conservatory, light some candles
>and some
>                 garden torches, pour Niki a drink, sit by the
>strawberries, the
>                 honeysuckle and the lavender, and enjoy the evening. 
>
>                 Bollocks to San Diego.