Comic Con Quotes

I think, that if the world were a bit more like ComicCon, it would be a better place.

You believe what he's saying - that they're demons?" Simon nods. "Like, from hell?'" "No," Rafa says, "from Comic-Con." He shakes his head. "Yes, from hell.

When you’re telling a story, you’re trying to connect to people in a particular way … The way in which you guys have inhabited this world, this universe, has made you part of it, part of the story. You are living in Firefly. When I see you guys, I don’t think the show is off the air. I don’t think there’s a show; I think that’s what the world is like. … The story is our lives.

At the end of the day I have many answers for it. It has to do with my mom, who was an extraordinary woman, and a great feminist. It has to do with the people in my life. It has to do with a lot of different things, but -- I don't know! Because I'm not just writing from the female characters for other people. I have a desire to see them in our culture -- that was not met for most of my childhood. Except occasionally by James Cameron. [From the 2011 San Diego Comic Con, in response to being asked why he writes strong female characters.]

Nor am I wearing a cloak that makes me look like I won a participation trophy at the special needs comic con, Carl. I’m a cat. Cats don’t wear pants.

I don't get as much fan mail as an actor or singer would, but when I get a letter 99% of the time it's pointing out something that really had an impact. Like after 'My Own Private Rodeo' all these people wrote to me and said Dale's dad inspired them to come out. And this was when it was still illegal to be gay in Texas and a few other states. Another one that really stuck with me was this girl who survived Columbine. See, "Wings of the Dope," the episode where Luanne's boyfriend comes back as an angel, aired two weeks after the shooting. About a month after that, I got a letter from a girl who was there and hid somewhere in the school when it was all going on. She said the first thing she was gonna do if she survived was tell a friend of hers she was in love with him. She never did. He ended up being one of the kids responsible for it. So you can imagine how - you know, to her, it felt wrong to grieve almost, and she bottled it up. But she saw that episode and Buckley walking away at the end and something just let her finally break down and greive and miss the guy. I remember she quoted Luanne - 'I wonder if he's guardianing some other girl,' or something along that line, because she never had the guts to tell the kid. That really gets to people at Comic Con.

Naked, tattooed men meandered around, lit torches, congregated in groups, spoke in hushed voices. It was like pictures I had seen on the internet of Comic Con, except no one was wearing a cape. And there were no females. So, yes, it was just like Comic Con.

Gail and Lonny find me as I’m tugging on my shirt. I can’t wait until my clothes start fitting normal again and aren’t uncomfortably tight around the chest. I can’t wait to go back to all the familiar comics T-shirts that don’t fit me at this bulked-out size. “Well?” Gail says. “How is it? How do you feel?” “I can eat bacon again!” I yell, throwing up a fist. “All the bacon! Bacon or bust!” “Yes!” Gail cheers. “After your promo shoots, you absolutely can!” My cries of glee turn into an actual sob. I quickly shove my face into my arm. Thank god it’s just Gail. She pats me on the shoulder. “I know,” she says. “But you’ll get to have it soon, and then—” “No.” I swallow and shake my head, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “It’s not the bacon.” I mean, it is but it’s also not. I’m overcome right now with everything. These last few months leading up to the shoot, the mounting pressure, the twenty-three days of high stress and rabbit food and Elle. All of it. “Why does it have to be so hard?” “Getting a six pack?” I give her a feeble smile. “I am more than my body, thank you.

When I was initially approached about going to Comic-Con, the giant comic book convention, I said, 'I wouldn't be caught dead at one of those has-been roundups." But, as it turns out, I've been caught alive at those roundups often enough to wish I was dead.

Hardison held up a gigantic bag that Parker could have used as a dress. "I picked up all sorts of things," he said with a smile. "I grabbed the entire run of Chew, and I savaged the first trade paperback for the Magic: The Gathering comic, signed by the writer, no less.

Instead of the White House, why not take our visiting space alien to ComicCon. We’d have legitimate concerns that nobody would notice an actual alien camouflaged among those pretending to be one. The upside? Our alien visitor phones home and instead reports—“They’re just like us!

Fandom has a nasty tendency to absorb the surface appearances of a thing without ever bothering to internalize its underlying message. Huh. I guess it is just like a religion

(Marvel belongs to Disney, DC to Time Warner) that are the kingpins of superhero comics.

Who the hell is Warren Ellis again?” Hardison gaped at the man. “Only one of the greatest comics writers in the past twenty years. Might as well ask who Alan Moore is, or Frank Miller, or Mark Waid, or Brian Michael Bendis, or Marv Wolfman, or Geoff Johns.” Eliot gave Hardison a blank look as they wove their way through the hall. Parker took the lead, toting a printed sign with her. Eliot and Hardison trailed in her wake. They made a point of striding right past Patronus’s booth. They didn’t turn to see if he noticed them. “No one?” Hardison said. “Nothing? Not even Kurt Busiek? Neil Gaiman?” “I have a life. I do things, active things. I date women.” “Stan Lee?” Eliot gave Hardison that one with a wag of his head. “Who hasn’t heard of Stan Lee?” “All right,” Hardison said with satisfaction. “You had me worried there, man.

Coming back for Comic-Con. Now that the seal has been broken and we all know each other as in know each other, expect you and Chace to meet me there,” Benji told me and my mind filled with thoughts of Chace at a Comic-Con. Because it did, I burst out laughing. Chace’s eyes came right to me and seeing the look on his face, openly happy, I sighed again but this time on the inside. I grinned at him but murmured, “I’m not sure that’ll ever happen.” “I am,” Ally replied and I tore my eyes away from my husband… My husband. I looked to her. “No way.” Ally looked to me. “That man would do anything for you. Even commune with a bunch of geeks.” Well, I figured she would know. Since she had one like mine. I grinned at her.

Pop culture. Nobody does bullshit better than us. Right? China took over manufacturing. And the Middle East has us on fossil fuels. That's just geography and politics. We're a nation of whacko immigrants. Scavengers and con men. We crossed the ocean on faith, stole some land and stone-cold made up a whole country out of nothing but balls and bullshit. Superhero comics got invented by crazy genius Jews who showed up and revamped the refugee experience into a Man of Steel sent from Krypton with a secret identity.

It struck Sophie that Comic-Con was something like a modern-day Brigadoon, a thriving city of a hundred and fifty thousand people that sprang up here in San Diego for less than a week every summer. People flocked to it from across the nation and around the world to populate it for its all-too-short existence, played their chosen roles, then dispersed back to their real homes as soon as the city disappeared. And the next summer, they'd do it all over again, forming a living history of their own in annual installments.

Superheroes are just American myth. They haven’t been passed down long enough to take spiritual form, but if they last another few centuries, I reckon I’ll be playing mahjong with Bruce Wayne on the same ethereal table as George Washington.” “What?” Zack shot to a new level of disbelief. “But superheroes aren’t actually worshiped as real.” “Then what’s Comic-Con, huh?

I personaggi dei fumetti raccolgono le tendenze inconsapevoli del tempo, diventando i portavoce di tali tendenze. Proprio perché le persone riescono a identificarsi così pienamente in loro, i personaggi dvengono parte del mito. I personaggi di Stan Lee hanno fatto tutto ciò negli anni Sessanta. Lui si è riallacciato ai sentimenti contro l'ordine costituito, all'alienazione e all'autosvalutazione... Stan ha usato personaggi con l'alito cattivo e l'acne, più punk, più giovani, in un momento in cui i giovani avevano bisogno di simboli che prendessero il posto di molte delle cose che respingevano." Citazione di Lenette Kahn, DC Comics - pag. 155

I took a step toward him, planning to knock him out of his chair, then pour milk on him for good measure. Selene put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t bother.” She was right, and I knew it. The Will wouldn’t let me hit him. I contemplated using Mr. Ankil’s snatch-and-smack trick, but I hadn’t practiced it yet, and Lance wasn’t carrying his wand, just the stupid joker playing card he liked to fiddle with whenever he was bored, weaving it in between his fingers like he was some kind of card shark. I’d once asked Selene what the deal was with the card, and she explained that Lance was obsessed with the Joker from Batman. In an ordinary high school, he would’ve been ridiculed for this behavior, but not at Arkwell. Most magickind teenagers were fanatics about ordinary pop culture. Almost everybody was a Comic-Con–attending, play-dress-up fan boy. And he had the nerve to make fun of me. Go figure.

We love the famous. The plastic pretties. Airbrushed arses. Fantastic titties. Hunks and comics to entertain us. Make no mistake, we love the famous. We love to praise the rich, it seems. We love to raise our hopes with dreams, Wanting a piece of the luxury action, 'Cos life gives little satisfaction. We'll prop up the famous, buying in To the media con that always spins, To sell mags and rags and movie

near-deserted parking lot, both buildings looking freshly painted and hopeful for a marina in which there were no yachts. The biggest boat moored at the dock looked to be a forty-footer. Most of the others looked to be lobster boats, aged and constructed of wood. A few of the newer ones were fiberglass. The nicest of those was about thirty-five feet long, the hull painted blue, the wheelhouse painted white, the deck a honey teak. She paid attention to it because her husband stood on it, bathed in their headlights. Caleb exited the car fast. He pointed back at her, told Brian his wife was not taking things well. Rachel was happy to note Caleb limped even as he speed-walked to the boat. She, on the other hand, moved slowly, her eyes on Brian. His gaze barely left hers except for the occasional flicks in the direction of Caleb. If she’d known she’d end up killing him, would she have boarded the boat? She could turn around and go to the police. My husband is an impostor, she’d say. She imagined some smarmy desk sergeant replying, “Aren’t we all, ma’am?” Yes, she was certain, it was a crime to impersonate someone and a crime to keep two wives, but were those serious crimes? In the end, wouldn’t Brian just take a plea and it would all go away? She’d be left the laughingstock never-was, the failed print reporter who’d become a pill-addicted broadcast reporter who’d become a punch line and then a shut-in and who would keep the local comics stocked with weeks of fresh material once it was discovered that Meltdown Media Chick had married a con man with another wife and another life. She followed Caleb up the ramp to the boat. He stepped aboard. When she went to do the same, Brian offered his hand. She stared at it until he dropped it. He noticed the gun she carried. “Should I show you mine? So I feel safer?” “Be my guest.” She stepped aboard. As she did, Brian caught her by the wrist and stripped the gun from her hand in the same motion. He pulled his own gun, a .38 snub-nosed revolver, from under the flaps of his shirt and then laid them both on a table by the

What made a crush “obvious” to other people? Was it when someone noticed your drawing, and remembered it for months afterward? Or kept talking to you, but always with a bunch of awkward silences? Or wouldn’t stop blushing? Or invited you to Comic Con?

We'd been trying so hard to look like our heroes, we'd kinda forgotten what a hero really is. Capes, masks, powers — sure, that's great and all, but in the end ... it's just window dressing. Like Emile says: clothes don't make the man!

Ringo Starr. Chuck Lorre: Well, it was a fun conversation based on Simon’s haircut and physical appearance that you could buy the genetic link to Richard Starkey. [Laughs] I think the idea started with Simon, and it was a good idea. I think we pursued it to the point where we got a solid no [from Starr’s team]. But if not Ringo, then I wanted his impact to be such that we didn’t actually see him, but we saw the fact that he’s missing from this character’s life. His absence was more important than casting the character. Simon Helberg: That would have been the most absurd twist to find out Howard is actually the son of a Beatle from a wild night in the ’70s where Mrs. Wolowitz and Ringo had blacked out at the Rainbow Room or something, but it was never to be. Basically I’ll be working on my own Big Bang fan fiction in twenty years and selling it at Comic-Con. But yeah, we never did get to meet him.

We find happiness in a kaleidoscope of stories: in books, in comics, in dance, in podcasts, in film and TV shows and video games. We find happiness in cosplaying as our favorite characters, and going to meet-and-greets with our favorite celebrities, and Dimension Door-ing onto the back of an Ancient Black Dragon, and finger-gunning Magic Missiles with our murder-hobo friends in a weekly session of Dungeons and Dragons. We all deserve to be happy, and love what we love, and be unironically enthusiastic about it. There is a magic in fandom that there rarely is anywhere else—where you can raise a TV show from the dead, and un-fridge a favorite character, and write fanfic that becomes canon. It is the kind of magic that brings our far corners of the world together.

You can see our religious brains, wired for community, pattern-creating, and meaning-seeking, in fandoms where pilgrimages to Comic Con allow us to interact with an imaginary universe that helps us make sense of our own lives. More people can name the four houses of Hogwarts than the first four books of the New Testament, and we certainly organize ourselves as a Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff with as much pride as a self-proclaimed Baptist or Lutheran.

Sensation Hunters (January 3, 1934), features Brennan as a stuttering waiter in a nightclub, whose scenes usually end before he can finish a sentence. Dressed in a short cutaway jacket with a lock of hair curled in the middle of his forehead, he is ridiculously slow on the uptake when he is addressed ironically by his employer—“Hey, Handsome,” “Hey, Honey”—as she brushes past him. Before he can say much, she is gone, leaving him to stare dumbly at the tray in his hands. This a typical example of the comic relief he brought to otherwise ordinary scenes, but in this case he also serves as a foil to the fast-paced world of showgirls, con artists, and pickpockets. In a way, Brennan became a specialist, employed to get scenes off to a fast start, or to make a snappy transition with just a little bit of the actor’s business—in this case straining for words that his impatient employer cannot bother to take in. His one moment of joy comes when several showgirls jostle him on their way to the stage, his one brush with stardom. And then he vanishes from the film, no longer of use to the plot.

A feature story every time a new stamp was printed, fluff pieces on idiotic muscle head car shows on Coney Island, the occasional actual news coverage of a rare coin heist, God, at least those were engaging. The comic cons, ugh, they were the worst. All those fat nerds dressed up in latex and slobbering over Lucy Lawless.

I think back to the parties Aimee and I planned, and how all those tuxedos and ball gowns weren't really that much different, costumewise, than some of these getups. Not as elaborate or out there, to be sure, but not so different. After all, is an hour at Bobbi Brown for the perfect party makeup that much of a stretch from an hour putting on a Klingon forehead or Spock ears? Is searching for the perfect dress, shoes, bag, wrap, jewelry so much different from the perfect jumpsuit, ray gun, ammo belt, and communicator? And unlike most of the regular parties we did, these people are way open to each other and the experience. There don't seem to be gaggles of people standing back to judge the other gaggles. And while a lot of the subsets do seem to flock together, Star Wars over here, Lord of the Rings over there, I haven't overheard one snarky comment about someone's costume. None of the women here, in all of their variety of shapes and sizes, seem to be doing anything other than squeeing at each other and praising how gorgeous they are. And everyone seems to just own themselves. I've been at hundreds of events looking at a sea of black dresses because everyone thinks it is slimming. But today I've seen a riot of color and skin. Including a 350-pound raven-haired vixen in a chain-mail corset, with cleavage you could park a hovercraft in, surrounded by a coterie of clearly smitten men. I wanted to high-five her.

I gazed at his face in the rapidly fading light of day, admiring his five o-clock stubble and ruggedly handsome features. If you were being technical about it you could say I was fawning. Like a fan girl at Comic Con who’s just spotted Loki - Logan Blake

novels [4]. It follows that authentic text—text written for native speakers—is inappropriate for unassisted ER by all but the most advanced learners. For this reason, many educators advocate the use of learner literature, that is, stories written specifically for L2 learners, or adapted from authentic text [5]. For learners of English, there are over 40 graded reader series, consisting of over 1650 books with a variety of difficulty levels and genres [6].However, the time and expense in producing graded readers results in high purchase costs and limited availability in languages other than English and common L2‘s like Spanish and French. At a cost of £2.50 for a short English reader in 2001 [7] purchasing several thousand readers to cater for a school wide ER program requires a significant monetary investment. More affordable options are required, especially for schools in developing nations. Day and Bamford [8] recommend several alternatives when learner literature is not available. These include children's and young adult books, stories written by learners, newspapers, magazines and comic books. Some educators advocate the use of authentic texts in preference to simplified texts. Berardo [9] claims that the language in learner literature is ―artificial and unvaried‖, ―unlike anything that the learner will encounter in the real world‖ and often ―do not reflect how the language is really used‖. Berardo does concede that simplified texts are ―useful for preparing learners for reading 'real' texts. ‖ 2. ASSISTED READING Due to the large proportion of unknown vocabulary, beginner and intermediate learners require assistance when using authentic text for ER. Two popular forms of assistance are dictionaries and glossing. There are pros and cons of each approach. 1 A group of words that share the same root word, e.g. , run, ran, runner, runs, running. Permission to make digital or hard copies of all or part of this work for personal or classroom use is granted without fee provided that copies are not made or distributed for profit or commercial advantage and that copies bear this notice and the full citation on the first page. To copy otherwise, or republish, to post on servers or to redistribute to lists, requires prior specific permission and/or a fee.NZCSRSC’11, April 18-21, 2011, Palmerston North, New Zealand

I'm evil - I just wear white to mock you.

Odia lo suficiente y olvidarás que vives en el mierdero sin trabajo, sin seguro médico y con seguridad. Además de que eres un jodido estúpido sin esperanzas de nada

I lied,” he starts. My jaw unhinges. “Wha…” This was a bad idea. “I’m not actually going to Comic-Con—” “I knew it!” I should have listened to my gut. “Get out.” He tilts his head with a frown at my asinine order. “We’re on a fucking elevator. In fact…” He presses the emergency stop, and it rumbles to a halt.

If I were an actual spider-centaur, I’d go to Comic-Con as the Stalk from Saga and get my picture taken with every famous person I could find.

Diante dos seus olhos apareceu então a imagem minúscula e claramente iluminada de Adolf Hitler dirigindo-se ao servis lacaios que deviam constituir o Reichtag por finais dos anos 30. Der Führer estava então com o seu ar sarcástico, jovial e zombeteiro. Aquela cena famosa ― que todos os homens de Yancy conheciam de cor― era aquela em que Hitler respondia ao requerimento que lhe fora feito pelo presidente Roosevelt para que garantisse as fronteiras de uma boa dúzia de minúsculas nações europeias. Uma a uma Hitler enunciava as nações que constituíam tal lista, a voz ia num crescendo ao ler o nome de cada uma, e de cada vez, as marionetes articuladas exultavam com o crescendo de troça do seu líder. A emotividade de tudo aquilo ― der Führer, possesso de um divertimento titânico perante aquela lista tão absurda (mais tarde iria invadir, sistematicamente, quase todas as nações então referidas), os rugidos daqueles loucos… Joseph Adams escutava, observava, sentia ecoarem dentro de si esses berros, sentia um divertimento sarcástico em consonância com o de Hitler ― e ao mesmo tempo sentia um receio pura e simplesmente infantil de que aquela cena tivesse alguma vez ocorrido realmente. O que de fato acontecera. Aquele segmento, do primeiro episódio do documentário A, era ― por estranho que tal pudesse parecer, dada a sua natureza de tal modo demoníaca ― autêntico.

explore Becker’s concept of the art world but in relation to Henry Jenkin’s use of the idea in relation to fandom and fan conventions. In Jenkins’ view, an art world involves networks of artistic production, distribution, consumption, circulation and the exhibition and forums for the sale of artworks. In this regard, argues Jenkins, fan conventions are not simply events in which fans can interact with fellow fans, but they also perform a key role in the distribution of knowledge about media productions and are one of the modes by which producers promote cultural products such as comic books, science fiction novels, new film and TV releases, or online/game releases (typified by events such as Comic Con). More importantly, Jenkins argues, conventions provide spaces in which producers have the opportunity to communicate directly with the consumers of their cultural products

Sure, I could have, no problem. The security they got around those room booking systems is like a kid’s playpen, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.” Eliot reached across Parker to grab Hardison by the front of his shirt, but Parker shoved her shoulder between the two men, foiling the effort. “That’s your thing, man,” Eliot said over Parker’s shoulder as Hardison backed away into the corner of the cab. “What’s stopping you?” Hardison shrugged, embarrassed. “All the people who come out here, they’re doing it for the sheer joy of being a geek about something. Might be the Avengers, Star Wars, Sailor Moon, or even them sparkly vampires, but hey, they took a week off work, saved up all their pennies for the badges—which sell out in about ninety minutes—and got their butts out there for the show. I—I just couldn’t do that to them.

You want us to take on a job about funny books?” “They’re graphic novels,” Hardison said in a grave tone. “And it’s a serious art form. They’re the most vibrant format for modern literature. And—and they make freaking great movies. I mean, have you seen The Avengers?

How did you get the badges?” Parker asked. “You didn’t steal a badge from a pro, did you?” “Of course not,” Hardison said. “Geek solidarity to the end.” “Then whose name is this on my badge? Who’s Diana Prince?” Hardison laughed. “That’s Wonder Woman’s secret identity.” Parker giggled at that. “And who are you? Carl Lucas?” “That’s Luke Cage’s original name.” “Who?” Eliot didn’t bother to conceal his irritation. “Luke Cage? You know, Power Man? Of Power Man and Iron Fist?” Hardison waited for a response that never came. “Sweet Christmas, what’s wrong with you people?” “We have lives. And just who am I supposed to be, huh? Batman’s secret sidekick?” “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Sophie said. Nate gave her a nudge with his elbow, and she fixed him with a mischievous smile. “Naw, man,” said Hardison. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I know how you feel about ‘fictional’ people.” “So who the hell is Warren Ellis?” “He’s a comic-book writer. Good one.” Eliot groaned. “For God’s sake, do I look like a comic-book writer?” “Hey, don’t knock Warren Ellis. He wrote all sorts of great stuff. Global Frequency, The Authority, Transmetropolitan. Good stuff.

CPAC is Comic-Con for Nazis.

Warhol never tires himself. The agnostic isn't going to tire himself out working for the glory of God, or to prove his existence. Warhol isn't going to tire himself out proving the existence of art. Because, fundamentally, there is no need. We no more need the pathos of art than we need the pathos of suffering or the pathos of desire. A Stoic trait, this. What is good about Warhol is that he is Stoical, agnostic, puritanical and heretical all at the same time. Having all the qualities, he generously credits all around him with them. The world is there, and it's excellent. People are there, and they're OK. They have no need to believe in what they are doing, they're perfect. He is the best, but everyone's a genius. Never before has the privilege of the creator been quashed in such a way, by a kind of maximalist irony. And all without contempt or demagogy: there is in him a kind of airy innocence, a gracious form of the abolition of privileges. There is in him something of the Cathars and the theory of the Perfect.

It’s a classic scam.” “Classic or classless?” Hardison said. “Ripping off old people for the simple crime of trusting you doesn’t seem like much of a challenge.” “Aren’t we a little out of this guy’s league?” Parker said, blunt as ever. “The man’s out to rob these comic-book legends of the last things they want to get rid of,” Hardison said. “They gave the world some of its finest heroes. Saving them’s the least we can do.

I’d decided I’d be Tank Girl for Comic-Con. The outfit would be a challenge, but I’d found an online tutorial for making armor out of PVP foam and Mod Podge. Mod Podge was basically magic in a bottle for crafters.

DAN WEISS: We were once at Comic-Con, and Samuel L. Jackson explained to us for five minutes why Joffrey absolutely, positively had to die and gave us all his reasons for wanting Joffrey dead.

comic-con

He nodded to me. “What are you doing?” “I’m a nerd, sir. I fell over. It happens 22.6% of the time.” “And what did you mean when you said, ‘We got ‘em!’?” I got up to my feet, thinking. “Umm, I crushed a bug when I fell.” “And the part about the police?” “It was on the Federal Bug Investigation’s Most Wanted list,” I said.

More broadly, it's the place where people who really love stuff go to express that love, and where people who want to sell them stuff try desperately to woo them.

Nor am I wearing a cloak that makes me look like I won a participation trophy at the special needs comic con, Carl. I’m a cat. Cats don’t wear pants. Don’t be so droll.

someone had been offended by Miss Barton, this was one drastic method of showing displeasure.” “Yes,” Vining said. “You have contact info for the comic con organizer and his secretary for operations there. I can’t tell you how many people are involved. There are some closed-circuit cameras around the convention floor. But not enough to cover the entire area. I’m willing to bet, however,

And I mean, sure, I could eat a salad instead of fettucine alfredo for lunch. But to be honest… I just don’t want to.

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