Shown: Look at that sexy bitch! Also, look at that girl!

Time for a palate cleansing. Yesterday, I wove a tale of a shitty band connected to a recent (justified) anti-Wizard tirade, bookended by my own mud-slinging at the terrible shenanigans and cast of unfortunate characters with the Panels on Pages weekly podcast folks.

Fun as hell, but it made me exhausted from all the negativity I felt I was creating, and I remember a time when I wasn’t just some disgruntled ex-Wizard guy (which I am, to an extent…but I’m more interested in making jokes and hurling occasional poo-balloons than I am mounting any sort of real anger-campaign against Wizard. This is all fun for me, I have no real impact on anything Wizard Magazine does. Though I’d like to think, somewhere, a Shamus is bristling with anger, that’s probably not happening. Not once did the man remember who I was in all the times I met him.)

Yes…I remember a time when I was…a WIZARD FAN! Not yet a Wizard Employee—that would be years and years and years later—but a FAN! Yes, I remember a time when—after the now-defunct Wizard Universe Message Boards got particularly angry and riled up—editor and friend Brian Cunningham would step in an start a thread called “A return to our roots as comic fans” or something. Like, “I know the magazine is doing some dicky stuff, but let’s just talk comics and be civil, okay?” And he was genuine, and nice, and everybody got like Fonzie, real quick. And then they fired Brian, and everyone else, and that went right out the window. And it’s that little Brian Voice in the back of my head now, squatting beside my desk (he would squat like that) and saying “Be cool, man. Things were good once. Before the Dark Times. Before the Con Wars…”

It reminds me of my first Wizard Convention. The one I talked my parents into taking my brother and I to just prior to my Freshman year in high school, after reading about these storied conventions in the magazine year after year.

The one in Chicago, where I lost both my contacts in the pool the night before and MIRACULOUSLY FOUND ONE at the bottom. Chew on that for a bit. I found a clear contact lens at the bottom of a pool. With two bad eyes. It was fate. And I enjoyed the entire convention, half-blind, with a big stupid look on the Acne Plantation I called a face. And I didn’t have to work any booths, or clean up anything, or be there on business. And things were good.

…This was back when I was EXCITED to see LOU FERRIGNO in person! Look how excited my dad and I are to see THE HULK! Hell yeah I’ll pay $20 for that! Long before people were like, “Lou Ferrigno is an asswipe!” Long before I saw the Hulk drinking alone at the bar at some Wizard after-party in Texas, where he could only DREAM of being more deaf so he wouldn’t have to hear the incessant come-ons of a hanger-on sorority girl!

…back when my favorite artist in the entire world was Mike Wieringo, and I stood in line forever just to see him! Back when I kept his Wizard cover under plastic until I could finally meet the guy in person, and he was as cool as I imagined and answered all my dumb Spider-Man questions. Back before I grumbled about calling some creator for a Spider-Man quote I didn’t care about getting, for a magazine they didn’t care about being in, so we could all go back to getting blackout drunk with interns. Back before Ringo passed away, and Wizard named a room after him, which caused a shitstorm of controversy!

…back when the line for the guy who played Spawn was so big, I had to take a picture from the sidelines! Back when I approached him and his model girlfriend outside the convention hall and got his autograph, as he acted like a total asshole about it before getting in his limo! Yes…A LIMO! FOR SPAAWWWN, DUDE! It was awesome. And I had a cool story about the guy playing Spawn being an asshole to me to tell my friends.

…Back when the hottest girls in the world were Avatar booth babes! Back when I wore a Star Wars t-shirt—and not even a cool Star Wars t-shirt—to a convention and it felt RIGHT!

…Back when scorned Darth Vader actor David Prowse wasn’t a DICK! Ok, he was always a dick, even back then. Just look at him, sitting there, wishing he had voiced Darth Vader. What a rube.

Which brings me back to this picture. This was the hottest girl I’d ever met, and the closest I’d ever gotten to a hot girl. Really, any girl. When she moved, her suit bowed out and I could see her full breasts from the side, and down the front of her G-string thing. Her wrist made crumpled, creaking sounds when she twisted it, on account of all the tight rubber material and aching seams.

I snuck away from my parents and my brother, said I had to go to the bathroom or something, and jumped in with a big crowd of men with cameras surrounding her. I quickly got some guy to take a picture of us. My eyes darted back and forth. At boob. At inner-thigh. At boob. At thigh. I was freaking out. Someone was gonna catch me. Hurry up and take the goddamned picture. But I didn’t care about my sun-burnt hair. Or the big zit on my nose. Or my trap-jaw teeth. Or my turkey-neck. Or my goofy Star Wars/Calvin Klein parody shirt. At this moment, I was hellbent for pleather.

When these pictures were developed, I had to get ahold of them first to sneak this one out. I was afraid my parents would flip.

Moments after this picture, I saw a skinny, big-eared man hurriedly walking across the convention floor. I knew instantly, from the Masthead page of Wizard, it was Publisher Gareb Shamus. I ran over to introduce myself, completely starstruck, as he continued toward a door, with purpose. “Hi! The Big Cheese!” That’s all I could think of to say. I was so, so incredibly nervous. That was his nickname in the magazine. So that’s what I said. “Oh hi…hi, howareya…” he said, nervously, and disappeared into a stairwell that headed to the show announcers booth. Years later I would meet him again, for the first time, at a company picnic. “I’m an intern for you!” “Oh that’s great, great!” he would always say back. “Just great…great!”

And then later, for the first time, we’d meet at the premeire of Spider-Man 2 in New York City. “Gareb! How’s it going? We work for you! For a few years now, actually!” a friend and I said. He looked at us, awkwardly. “Oh hi guys! That’s great…great!” and he nervously disappeared in the theater. Later, by total chance, my friend overheard him telling a story of how “these two guys approached him at Spider-Man 2 and said they worked for him, but he thinks they were screwing around.”

That guy never did know who I was. And man…Those were the days.

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