To Nashville and Back

This morning I got up early to drive to Nashville for the Nashville Comic Expo. Both of the friends that I asked to go with me earlier in the week ended up backing out (for totally legitimate reasons), but I really wanted to go since I haven't been to a large scale comic convention in a while and I haven't gotten out of town in a while. Even though it is about three hours one way to Nashville, I decided to go for it. I am a grown adult, and capable of going places by myself.

After I spent a half hour choosing an outfit.

And no, it wasn't a choice of which costume to wear.

My goal for this convention wasn't to see any of the guests, or to participate in the speed dating (what?), or even the "spoken nerd" poetry slam (again, what?). My only goal was to see vendors, which meant that I needed to be ready to haggle. This also meant that I had to plan my outfit carefully, and not wear anything comic-related. This might seem counter-productive, since the goal of a comic fandom expo is to celebrate being a fan, but revealing yourself as a fan of something in particular can also put you at a disadvantage when it comes time to haggle. If I'm wearing a Legion of Superheroes t-shirt (I have four; doesn't everybody?) the message I am sending to the other attendees is "Long Live the Legion", but the message I am sending to a dealer is "Weak spot! I will probably buy your Legion crap anyway unless I already own it, so by all means please don't bother giving me a real deal". I also didn't want to wear anything university-affiliated, since Nashville is Vandy territory, so most of the reason it took so long to find a shirt was that almost all of my t-shirts reference comics or work.

Other people clearly took longer to choose an outfit:





(cute, but none of those outfits are in canon)



and I love that the last guy is dressed as a Dr. Fate action figure, rather than as Dr. Fate.

(I say that because, in the comics, the helmet and all of the other non-blue pieces are always colored the same, a shiny golden yellow or yellowish gold. While the "Super Powers" Dr. Fate maintained this color scheme, casting the helmet in yellow plastic and painting the rest of the yellow parts to match, most other Dr. Fate figures have given the helmet a metallic look while leaving the other pieces flat yellow.)

I didn't so much love this:



as I find the Bronies movement a little odd but also because I found it offputting to see so many parents let a random adult who is completely unknown to them hug their children just because said adult is dressed as a stuffed animal. This isn't a mall Santa or anything. It's some guy who bought, created, or rented a My Little Pony costume and now has his hands on your child, and under that mask he could be anybody. Shouldn't that bother a parent? Then again, I saw a mom dressed as female Freddy Krueger and her two kids wearing t-shirts that said "Freddy's Victim", which, given the history between Freddy and his child victims, sends the message that she's dressing up as someone who molested her own kids. Maybe parents aren't nearly as weirded out by things as I think they should be, or maybe I've already established that I spent way too much time thinking about the message that outfits send and couldn't get my mind out of that rut.

No, actually, I think the Bronies hugging children is creepy and I'm not apologizing.

Anyway, my first interaction in the vendor area:



did not go well. I was walking past a table, looking at the titles written on the long boxes, when the vendor yelled at me.

"Hey! Don't just look at the boxes! You have to look at the wall, first, where the good stuff is. Then if you see stuff on the wall you like, you know that there's probably something in the boxes you like."

"That makes sense," I said neutrally, even though I was thinking, "Or you could properly label your boxes, and I would know if there's something in them I might like, but hey. You started talking to me. I'll talk back and see what happens."

"Is there anything in particular that you're looking for?"

"Why yes, actually. Do you have any copies of 'Superman's Girlfriend: Lois Lane'?"

"Yeah! Come over here!"

He had seven issues, and they were all priced between $40 and $65 an issue.

"How firm are you on these prices?"

"Well, these are what the priceguides list as."

Not only is that not an answer to the question that I asked, but that also reveals the problem with issues of "Lois Lane". Issues before #100, and especially before #50, tend to be priced high in the guides because they are older and rarer, and it just seems like they should be valuable because they are comics from the 1960's starring iconic characters. However, the pool of collectors out there who will actually buy an issue of Lois Lane is rather small, and with almost 140 issues to track down many of us are not willing to pay those kinds of prices. Since there are so few of us and we are so stingy, comic sellers who are not willing to move on the price of the issues are going to end up sitting on them. If you're not willing to lower your $65 tag to something manageable, you and Lois are going to grow old together, something that probably happens in an issue of "Superman's Girlfriend: Lois Lane".

"So you're asking $65 for this issue, and not willing to move on the price at all?"

"That's a very important issue."

Mister, I already own that issue, and I didn't pay anywhere close to that for it. I don't carry a priceguide around with me, so my only way of evaluating your prices is by benchmarking against something I already own, and that leads me to believe that I should not shop with you.

"Well, I'll think about it."

"Don't think too long! Someone will snap these right up!"

Liar.

The next table was much more promising, with a number of signs saying "Silver Age Comics 50% Off Marked Price". I decided to give him a try.

"All of the comics in these boxes are half off?"

"As a starting point. I don't want to take any of them home."

"Maybe I can help. Do you have any Lois Lanes in there?"

He grinned, and reached under the table.

"I have a whole box of them. You're looking for them?"

"I am, but that guy over there just tried to sell me some for sixty-five dollars EACH."

Laughter from the vendor. "Wow. Well, look through, and see what you're interested in."

"You don't want to take any of these home, right? I have a proposal."

"Oh?"

"I have fifty dollars. Why don't I start pulling issues, and when you feel like I've hit fifty dollars worth, let's see what we think."

"OK."

See? A vendor was willing to work with me, and we both walked away happy:



That's not even all of the haul. After some dickering back and forth, I ended up with 24 issues, but I couldn't get him to put the one where Lois runs for Senator on an anti-Superman platform (issue #62) back into the pile without losing too many of the cheaper ones after #100, so I had to let it go.

It was a good day, though, but I was saddened to realize on leaving that I'd only stayed an hour. At $20 for entry and $10 for parking, that's fifty cents a minute without even considering the six hours of driving time and the tank of gas. I don't know if I would call the trip a failure, because my God, that pile of Lois Lanes, but it feels like I should have stayed longer or gotten more out of it. I didn't find any of the figures I wanted, and that's actually what I was hoping to get.

Surprisingly, though, the Lois Lanes weren't the only fantastic bargain of the day. Since I left Nashville close to lunchtime to start heading back, it was pretty early in the afternoon when I got close to Crossville, and I decided to stop at the flea market there, which I've never been to.



I was pleasantly surprised, as it looks more like the outdoor flea markets I remember from when I was little:



although at the back it had a lot of empty (and apparently abandoned) booths:



I wasn't expecting much, and was really mostly looking for a drink and maybe a snack for the last part of my drive, but then this happened:



I never told you that I have a small collection of vintage Pyrex, have I? I don't buy every piece I see, as I think some of the patterns are fugly (looking at you, Forest Fancies), but I'm ok with that pattern, Golden Hearts. It was only produced on one dish, and for less than a year (late 1958 and early 1959), and the only other time I've seen one it was in the antique store down the street, where they have it priced at $55.

And then this happened:

"Sir, this tag says 'Lid - $5'. How much do you want for the bowl, too?"

"That tag means that the bowl comes with the lid. The pair is five dollars."

"Five dollars?"

"I think that's a fair price."

"I'LL TAKE IT."

I don't know which purchase I am more excited about, but damn, I had an exciting day.

The Package of Misfit Toys

When my parents were here a few weeks ago, one of the places that I took them to was the giant indoor flea market at Sweetwater. They'd seen a sign on the highway, and they like flea markets, so it seemed like a safe bet to consume part of the afternoon. They got some snacks, I got some discounted Heroclix figurines, and Dad bought something metal and clanky from a tools and parts booth, but I have no idea what it was because it was in a paper bag when he caught up with us and I didn't ask. Just as we were about to leave, I also saw something odd and wonderful:



SUPERHEROES SAVE THE WORLD!

My mom pointed at it, hanging from a peg in all of its seven dollar glory, and we both laughed at how awful it looked. After about a minute, though, I decided that I wanted it after all, and offered the lady at the booth five dollars for it. A minute later, the plastic superhero freakshow was mine! My original intention was to open it, maybe blog about them, and then just give the figures to Elizabeth and Ben's son, since he loves superheroes, and that would be it.

Now that I've opened them, though, I can't possibly give these to a toddler, for reasons which will become clear in a moment.

From the outside, they looked terrible, but not dangerous. The back of the package was as amusing as the front:



Superman, Batman, Spider-Man, some Power Rangers, and... uh...



The Hulk Man?



I have no idea, She-Hulk. I was kind of hoping you did. He looks quite a bit like Mr. Incredible, but there's nobody in the package that looks like that.

Maybe he's one of the random guys that I think are supposed to be Power Rangers?



I could tell these would be kind of terrible but maybe funny while they were still in the package, since I noticed that the tabs in the back let you try their chest lights:



but I didn't notice how flimsy and poorly made they were until I opened it. That's when I discovered that their arms are hollow:



Granted, many action figures have hollow arms, but they usually fill enough of the mold to cover it. Not only are they hollow, though, but they're all falling apart, right out of the package. The yellow one, especially, was splitting from the first moment that I handled him:



and then, when I tried to pose him in a sitting position:



His leg fell off.





Maybe Batman can help them!

With, um, you know, his chest laser:



The only purpose that seems to serve is to emphasize that his emblem is off center, but that's not even the worst part of fake Batman. The worst part is the face.

Gaze in terror for a moment:



His eyes aren't painted where the eyeholes are molded. Not only that, but what the hell artistic style are they basing that on, anyway? Mad Magazine? And the chin: is Batman supposed to have whiskers, or did they just not have enough paint? I can't even describe the cape, mostly because I still don't know if it's plastic or fabric. I just know that it shouldn't be near an open flame.

Oh, and Batman's head is splitting in half, too:



Spider-Man is just as terrible:



Regular Spider-Man has one spider on his chest, but this one is twice as spidery, I suppose. They might have put the extra emblem on the front to make up for the fact that there's no paint on the back:



And yet, even after all of this, Spider-Man, Batman, and the Power Rangers aren't the most terrible toys in the package. That honor is reserved for Superman:



Unless that creature is the Hulk Man.







You tell them, Lois. You don't want any part of this, and neither do Ferro Lad or Invisible Kid. All of you, just head on your way, and we'll try to forget these toys ever happened.



Right after we clean up their pieces.

A Hideous, Terrible Beauty

Art speaks to people, but it doesn't always speak to everyone. When you see something you like, though, it calls out to you. It strikes a chord somewhere, and you feel like you have to have it. You may not be able to explain why, or even want to, but you just know that some things are meant to be together, like peanut butter and chocolate or me and the hideous, terrible clock that I bought today:



Yes, I own that now, and am proudly displaying it on top of a bookcase in front of the window.

It's a little over a foot tall, roughly the size of a box of breakfast cereal. It's molded of hard orange resin, some sort of plastic, and the mold was filled with decorative gravel before they poured the plastic in. Also, it weighs a ton. As a rough guess, it feels about the same as three or four bricks taped together. I can't find a manufacturer's stamp on it anywhere, and have no idea how old it is, but it feels kind of 70's to me. Someday, if I have a fireplace and mantel, I will put this clock upon it, and be happy.

You're probably wondering how this happened.

This morning, Kristin and I decided that we would hit the flea market before grabbing lunch and heading up to the ICU for visiting hours. I haven't been to the flea market since 2008, although I've driven past a number of times, and I was really disappointed. There were hardly any booths, possibly because of the rain, and the things for sale looked even worse than usual. It was more depressing than interesting:



and Kristin wanted to leave before we even got halfway through. I was ok with that, as the comic book dealer that was there last time was now gone. In an effort to salvage some of our morning, though, I suggested we go swing by Nostalgia, a store that Elizabeth said we would like.

Elizabeth was right.

They had shelves and shelves of vintage, antique, and not quite either objects:











We stayed for about two hours, looking at the good, the bad, the odd:



the really odd:



and in the case of my clock, the strangely endearing. They had a clear one in one booth and the orange one in another, and as soon as I saw it I had to have it. Thank God it was cheap. Kristin agreed that I should buy it if I wanted it even though it is hideous, but she really has no room to talk.

She has this on hold:



I'm assuming it speaks to her, but in comparing it to my clock, well, I just don't see it.

flea market!

We lived in Tennessee and Kentucky when I was little, and every few weeks my mom would bundle us up and take us to the flea market. I don’t remember them very well, but a few things stick out:

1) They were always outside. This also meant that they were usually hot and dusty, but when I was little that irritated me much less than it does now.

2) They had comic books. I used to buy “Swamp Thing” there, and thought it was awesome to just sit and go through the boxes and get a stack of comics for a dollar.

3) My mom bought doilies at one that we used on the coffee table and end tables for years afterward and probably still own.

When I moved back here I didn’t wait very long before I went to my first flea market, but it was different. It was inside, and there weren’t really that many interesting things, just tables and tables of homemade crafts, Tupperware, Avon, sample sized packs of medicine in Rubbermaid bins, and a lot of similar stuff that seemed like you could just get it at a dollar store or discount outlet. Not many antiques, or weird stuff from people’s houses, or the kind of atmosphere that I remembered. I found it disappointing and haven’t gone back to the Expo Center for another.

I never knew where the outdoor one was, though, until last week when my friend Lauren told me she was going to set up a table at one. She just got a new job on the west coast, so she’s trying to sell a lot of her stuff instead of packing and moving it, and I said I’d swing by and show some support.

It’s the flea markets I remember!

Acres of cars parked out front!



Colorful, yet somehow sad, displays of unwanted goods!



And then there’s the oddities, the things you don’t ever see for sale anywhere else, like a vaguely blasphemous Virgin Mary beach towel:



Nothing screams “Day at the beach!” more than a scantily girl slathered in cocoa butter and laying on Jesus’ mom as topless guys walk by and ogle her. It’s pretty much the definition of “wholesome family fun”.

More photos are on the photo page, including the live chickens, which disturbed me. My taking a picture of them disturbed the guy selling them even more, though, which makes me wonder about the legality of the whole thing. That’s probably also part of the fun of the outdoor flea market.