The most effective way of describing the foreign is by comparison to the familiar. Comic Con is a huge event and because of its scope, there’s a lot to compare it to. Let’s start by saying it’s a recipe: what’s in it?

1. A heaping portion of writers, artists and filmmakers.
2. A smattering of retail giants.
3. Flambéed (French for “to cook”) with a large helping of Hollywood funding.

Now take that product and then obfuscate it entirely by using masses of glassy eyed models and in quantities so large as to prevent one from looking elsewhere, ever. Now splay this abomination out like a carcass for feeding. Who will come?

In a metaphor: the entire planet.

In Mazda’s, Scions and other affordable Japanese automobiles, 125,000 guests descended like vultures to feed and feed they did - upon a painstakingly crafted and barely clothed spectacle of a triple C[1]. I’m guessing the sight of those remains would turn the stomach of even the most experienced morgue technician. Autopsy report: too many good times.

Alternatively to a corpse: maybe Comic Con is like Mardi Gras (Brazilian for “Festival of Comics”). But instead of revelers wearing basically nothing, everyone dresses like homeless Batman. Homeless Batman is like regular Batman, but is down on his luck and could just use a few bucks to make it by. Or really anything, man. Remember that movie “Pay it Forward?” Anyway, the models aren’t accounted for in this literary flourish, because they are consumed in an alternation between two modes of emotion: shamelessness and empathetic embarrassment.

How about this: Comic Con is like a mason jar stuffed to the glass with tadpoles, meandering in a very lazy circle. The feeble and packed-in creatures are swimming just fast enough to stir a gentle maelstrom which, far from a regular (non-mason jar/tadpole maelstrom), is very tedious to watch. Further mocking the natural majesty of a non-metaphorical natural phenomenon – this one contains a group of tadpoles dressed as Voltron.

The boring really begins to sets in when one realizes that 80% of these tadpoles aren’t even dressed like a super hero and are instead dressed like a total dweeb.  Still, some are able to tolerate the jar’s confines by queuing up for 3 hours to see a screening of the “Big Bang Theory.” Another crowd might be waiting in line to get some tadpole food like kelp, algae or edible mold (these would represent the human foodstuffs that were ACTUALLY being sold like churros, pizza and edible mold.) One might think “I would definitely pay 175 dollars to see this!” Well you’re out of luck, because this is a metaphor. Save that cash and take a boat to Saltsraumen Norway: home of the world’s largest maelstrom!

So who was running the show? Were they too dressed like unkempt super heroes? No. But they did act like alligators. So I gave them the title “Los Cocodrilos” (Spanish for Los Crocodiles). Instead of using their teeth, like regular crocodiles, (which they are not - they are “Los Cocodrilos”) they would instead snatch up their prey with bargains on exclusive Dr. Who memorabilia and X-Men reprints. Our vultures and tadpoles are lucky if they got away with their necks, by which I mean wallets, by which I mean money.

To those of you familiar with Comic Con - the only surprises you might interpret are the great liberties I’ve taken with implied comparisons. Yeah, maybe there’s a chance I’m over-cooking these obvious beefs. Maybe. But we’re not done, so find yourself another plate and grab a seat at the bistro “SCPR Patt Morrison Blog” and get ready for more and watch out because it’s hot. In addi- and save room for dessert. In addition to being overcrowded and overpriced (this observation is original and good) the space could not accommodate. It felt like I was in a cattle bin packed hoof to hoof - with other cows (I’m also a cow ((I’m not above comparison)) in this scenario). Cows to be processed - processed into obvious beefs(teaks) and I think we’re about well-done.

For most of the patrons I spoke with, Comic Con seemed to have been a bitter-bite, but for others, it was an acquired taste. I’ll be honest that I used the words “hellish nightmare” in my four-hour long Grumble-Con (which was a “con” I was holding during and in the middle of Comic Con) but I’m guessing I am not in their target audience.

The moral is that clothes actually DON’T make the man, because a woman wearing a Batman costume is in reality, still a woman. Look it up if you don’t believe me. Another thing I learned is that metaphors can liken people to things that aren’t people and because of that, I don’t feel so mean. You see, I’m not doing anything to a person anymore –It’s like I’m only being cruel to a horse or a dog or something.

Check out the montage I put together at the bottom and remember: this entire piece is really just a metaphor for a well-written story published in The New Yorker.

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