Let My Wallet Go!

In True Confessions of a Fanboy (www.truefanboy.com -- *ahem!* shameless plug), one of the many subjects that I touched on happens to qualify pretty high on the list of worst vices known to fanboys the world over: DVD/Blue-ray collector boxed sets. You know what I’m talking about. Those over-produced, over-hyped, re-packaged editions of video compilations that seem to deliver high on style and low on substance every time out.

Needless to say, I’m a sucker for these types of collector editions of movies/ television shows/etc., that in truth are nothing more than glorified versions of content that I’ve already seen literally dozens of times and wouldn’t even feel like sitting through ever again. In fact, many of these sets are ones in which I *already* own the movie or show in question from the first three or four times it was offered to a mass market audience (it’s just that the hologram cover on that last one I got looks sooooo cool standing next to my newest sterilyte shelf). Now I don’t know about any of you out there, but, for example, I personally have completely lost track of the number of different versions of Superman I’ve got hiding in the deepest corners of my room. I mean, just off the top of my head, there’s the regular DVD, the 8-disc complete Christopher Reeve collection, the Director’s Cut, the one with the Margot Kidder audition, the one with the extended scenes that ended up in the sequel, the one with the pig who got really mad and “squealed” before Zod, the one where Ursa kicks the astronaut in the nuts before taking his Nasa patch, and on and on and on from there. Suffice to say, it’s just out of hand.

But with all of that said, and all of the versions of different movies that I own, and all the editions of cartoon shows I’ve seen one hundred thousand times and can just watch online whenever I feel like it anyway, the *ONE* movie that to this day I still have never owned is The Ten Commandments starring Charlton Heston. You see, ever since I was a wee little lad, it has been a yearly family tradition to gather 'round the tube, eat enough gefilte fish to feed a small army, and watch the story of Moses as he takes on the Pharaoh of Egypt in the grudge match of the century, as big Mo’ with his white beard and red robe shows up his big ‘Pho (that’s my witty mix of ‘pharaoh’ and ‘foe’ for all y’all ignant folk) with a sea-parting display the likes of which nobody had ever seen (who could ever forget the timeless “God opens the sea with a blast of his nostrils!”). Now I don’t know what the reason was, be it the fact that I always saw it every year, the incessant need to watch it during an actual television broadcast, or (more likely) the sad truth that I had already spent all my money on something else, but I had actually never thought much of owning the movie on DVD/Blu-ray before. Never, that is, until NOW:

The Ten Commandments DVD/Blu-ray Combo Pack!

That’s right, fellow Hebros (witty combo #2 “Hebrews” and “bros” – booyah!)…feast your spaghetti-starved eyes (it is Passover, after all) on this bad boy. This one has got it all. We’re talking about a DVD/Blu-ray combo box set that literally parts like the Red Sea (!!), revealing two Ten Commandments tablets which house your multiple discs! And if that’s not cool enough, also included are treasures from the MGM vault, a special commemorative book, an original 1956 souvenir program, and more additional swag than you can shake a staff-turned-snake at. Oh, and it’s numbered, too (who cares if there are about 100,000 of these?!). Now if that type of package isn’t tailor-made for an impulse purchase, I don’t know what is… and I don’t wanna know!

Of course, I’m still guaranteed to be there in line when they eventually release yet another version of this movie, which I’m hoping will include a limited edition box of matzo. But until that day comes, I guess this latest version will just have to “tide” me over. (Get it?? “tide”??? like the ‘tide’ of a parting sea???? Haha! I slay me!!!)

Turn Out That Light!

I’ve been spending the past couple of days physically (and more importantly, mentally) preparing for a major renovation of my room this weekend that has been in the works for quite awhile now. The point, as always, is to make things more manageable so I can continue this sick and twisted collecting lifestyle of mine. In case you were curious, I’m finally at a point where I have to do this once or twice every year now, with each specific renovation ‘project’ consisting of anywhere from one to three action items. This weekend, in particular, has two:

True Fanboy Room Renovation Action Item #1: All windows must be boarded up for the summer.

I used to tell myself that “a *little* sunlight on my precious possessions here and there wasn’t so bad,” and actually believe it! Sadly, I can live this lie no longer. It’s simple physics, folks. We’re already in April. The days are getting longer. The birds are chirping louder. The seasons are changing ever more dramatically. And with the change of seasons comes summer. And with summer comes dreaded cursed HEAT. And as any TRUE fanboy knows, heat is the death of just about anything worth collecting. It ruins comics pages, spoils cardbacks, melts toy plastics/rubber/paintjobs/etc., and ruins the collectability of just about anything else I dare stuff in my room. Granted, I’ve got one of the best mini-fans money can buy, strategically placed with the precision of a laser surgeon to equally distribute air to each minute available spec of free space my room has to offer. And true, the fan needs to work less and less with every passing week, as said level of free space decreases with each new reckless convention purchase I make. So yeah, cool air gets where it needs to go when it needs to get there. But really, people, could that ever be enough? I think not! So call my collection "Team Edward." Call it "Team Jacob." Truly, it doesn’t matter what vampire metaphor the kids these days might go with. The bottom line is that after this weekend, not a single ray of sunlight shall reach any of my comics, toys, or other related chachkies during this long, hot summer.

Bringing us to our next order of business…

True Fanboy Room Renovation Action Item #2: Mandatory reorganization of sterilyte shelving system, orchestrated with the specific goal of opening up at least 24 inches of available space, 20 inches of which will immediately be occupied by eight newly-purchased sterilytes, which have been measured to fit *perfectly* on top of one another so that they seamlessly reach from the floor to the ceiling with only two (!!!) millimeters of space being wasted at the very top!

This one is a little more complicated, my little Gaga monsters. You see… I… er…. Eh…. Ah, who the fuck am I kidding. There’s no way I’m going to be able to complete this second action item. I’ll just cross my fingers and pray that the whole window-boarding thing goes off without a hitch. And while I’m crossing my fingers, I might as well cross my legs as well. Because with the kind of drama this weekend's renovation is sure to bring, I think I may just shit my pants. Yo Joe.

Tag ‘Em and Bag ‘Em!

Trending today was Nicholas Cage’s stolen copy of Action Comics #1, which for those of you living under a rock your entire life, features the very first appearance of the Man of Steel himself, Superman! This little sumbitch of a comic dates all the way back to 1938, so it goes without saying that it can fetch itself quite a price on the open (or not-so-open) market. Anyway, it turns out that Cage’s copy was found in an abandoned storage unit in Los Angeles, of all places. By the way, this comic was stolen from Cage over a decade ago, way back when he could actually make rent; so to confirm, Cage himself was not the thief. Either way, however, there is no denying that this week’s little discovery is quite the ‘national treasure’ (ha!), if I do say so myself.

Now that five minutes have passed and you’re done laughing at my joke from the end of the last paragraph, the question I’m sure you must all be asking yourselves is “how in the blue hell is it even officially known that this is actually Cage’s missing copy??” A good question indeed. Well, true believer, apparently it turns out that each of the 100 copies of this rare and worship-worthy gem that are known to exist have literally been ‘tagged’ with unique ink markings (much like Angelina Jolie before she had her doctor laser-tag “Billy Bob” off her ass, or whereever she had it placed). So it really is possible to identify each documented existing copy.

Now I don’t know about all of you, but I would be pretty damn excited if I had a way of tagging all of my own obsessive possessions so that no other nerd could ever lay claim to anything of mine that dared wander from my sight. So appealing is this concept, that I’ve spent the last couple of hours running through possible scenarios in which I could accomplish this. So far, I’ve only managed to think of a way to ‘tag’ a significant other, but I won’t go into that because: 1. it washes off, even if the icky feelings don’t, and 2. I’ve got enough problems without all you people blaming me for your sexual assault charges. Figure it out. And while you’re at it, let me know if you figure out this whole ‘collectible tagging’ thing as well. Now that I know that a washout like Nic Cage can enjoy the benefits, I pretty much won’t rest until I’m living the dream as well.

JoeCon!

That’s right, bitches—JoeCon. And no, I don’t mean a gathering of fools named Joe. Nor am I referring to the conning of said fools. Rather, this is the annual pilgrimage to some randomly selected lucky city in which all things G.I. Joe converge for a weekend of complete and unadulterated awesomeness. This is the big one. And it’s got it all. We’re talking semi-attractive harlots who suddenly become totally attractive upon donning their leather-studded Baroness body suits. We’re talking not-so-attractive Hasbro hotshots who suddenly become -– er, stay not-so-attractive -– yet suddenly earn extra cool points in their pimping of totally sweet new Joe product. We’re talking “Yo Joe” chants at 5:00 in the morning from an adjacent hotel room. We’re talking those same harlots in the Baroness body suits recoiling in disgust from the bad breath those nachos just gave me. We’re talking multiple trips to the potty courtesy of the very same nachos. In short, we’re talking FUN.

This year’s FUN took place at Disney World in Orlando. Now honestly, how exactly anyone was expected to afford both the various limited edition (e.g. – expensive) convention exclusives AND the standard fee access to the Disney parks themselves is way beyond this true believer. I sure as hell wasn’t able to do it. I mean, look at the choices I was faced with: Buy delicious plastic men which will appreciate in value over the course of just a few hours, along with as many duplicate purchases as possible to sell on ebay (to all the pathetic bastards who just weren’t willing to take a second mortgage out on their homes and take the trip out) in hopes of breaking even… OR go meet Mickey, Donald, Goofy, and Minnie (possibly in a Baroness leather body suit). Take a wild guess which door I went through on that one.

I won’t bore you with every last detail of my weekend in Orlando (I’m guessing you don’t have all week here), but suffice it to say, I didn’t do my room at home any favors in the available space department. In fact, one of the exclusives was so massive that I needed to ship it out via UPS since it had absolutely no hope of fitting on the return plane’s overhead compartment (and I sure as shit wasn’t going to check it and trust it in the hands of those clueless baggage handlers, lest my precious possessions end up crushed, bent beyond recognition, and shipped to Zimbabwe). So I ask you, what idiot spends $56 on shipping after already having pissed away what little money he had to begin with at JoeCon? THIS idiot right here. And if you don’t believe me, come check out the hotels at next year’s con. I’ll be the douchebag screaming “Yo Joe” at 5:00am.

Hi, I’m James Jacobs…and I’m a Child-Man

With no end in sight to books examining the various sociological issues which pertain to men, women, and children, it’s become very clear to me that I’m one of the people some of those so-called “experts” are writing about. Hell, I myself am apparently an expert, having written my own look at the hopelessly obsessive collector…and it’s an autobiography! But I must say that I was especially interested in this article that I came across over the weekend:

Manning Up

So yes, people…there is indeed a child-man. And according to many, he’s wasting his 20s and 30s living in a fanboy’s paradise (and contributing nothing to the world as a whole). Now honestly, I call bullshit on this whole “rise of women resulting in a generation of men who act like overgrown kids” notion. Granted, as a TRUE fanboy my interaction with women ain’t exactly the most thorough of experiences, but dammit people, I did this to myself. Period. And so did you.

What really led to this fanboy lifestyle was a youth dominated by slick marketing, infusing colorful toy packaging, catchy and addicting commercials, a ‘you gotta have this!’ message drilled into me on a daily basis, and vibrant comic book stories the likes of which no nerd had every before seen! THAT’S why I am who I am. Not the fact that a woman knows how to brush her pretty teeth better than a man does.

So let’s just be honest—we fanboys have done made our own beds here. And I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty fine with laying in it now. I just need a little extra counseling and at least 50 single bills for every bachelor party I attend…

I Like Flocked Butts, and I Cannot Lie…

Okay, so for those of you out there who have been lucky enough to read my book, True Confessions of a Fanboy, you’re probably already aware of my curious obsession with flocked toys.  And for those cheapos who couldn’t even plunk down a few measly bucks for it because you’re busy saving up for Hitch on BlueRay, thinking that you might actually learn something about girls (you won’t), allow me to illuminate all you suckas. 

Put simply, flocking is a process by which life-like hair or fur is applied to a figure, offering a more realistic play value unparalleled by most industry standards.  It’s kind of like what The Jersey Shore is to all those dumb teenagers these days.  They don’t know exactly why they think it’s cool; they just do.  Only, unlike the whole “Gym Tanning Laundry” lifestyle all of those crazy kids are talking about, flocked toys actually ARE cool!  Take those classic G.I. Joe Adventure Team toys, for example.  My obsession with flocked figures actually stems from the fact that those figures have such wickedly awesome life-like hair and beards—making them a hell of a lot more manly than I could ever hope to be.  And, to me, anything more manly than I am is usually the perfect recipe for awesomeness.

Now since spending money is always better than actually having it, I’ve recently taken to collecting those high-priced 12-inchers from Sideshow Collectibles.  But the thing of it is, I’ve always been able to rationalize these huge purchases by constraining myself to their G.I. Joe offerings only.  And, as any of you TRUE fanboys out there know full well, it’s our ability as fanboys to rationalize (or ‘rational lies’) our expenses that keeps us in the game so long, delightfully buried in our own denial.

So with all of my rational lies on the line, what, pray tell, do you think was finally able to drive me to the dark side?  Ladies and losers, I present to you… Sideshow’s Gamorrean Guard:

Order the Gamorrean Guard!

No, you’re not seeing things—that’s a fully-flocked belly/ass combination, yo.  Did you just hear what I said??  A flocked belly AND ass, people!  One hundred percent, unadulterated, Grade-A quality, scruffy-luscious, bitch-you-better-wax-that-thang, furfest extravaganza… and all on places where it just shouldn’t be.  Forbidden flock, if you will.  And that, my friend, is cooler than Wonder Woman’s bush on a breezy February morning.  Speaking of Wonder Woman, and women in general… you know how a real man would have just the best time rubbing his face in a nice pair of extra perky boobies?  Well, not me.  Not this day.  Me, I’ll take a nice fat face-full of that furry belly/ass flocking any day of the week and twice on Sundays.

So go out and get yourself this awesome piece for your 12” collection.  And get me some help while you’re at it.

An Ultimate Work of Art

You know…I can actually remember a time when the only thing that mattered about my toys was whether or not I actually enjoyed playing with them.  Those were the days indeed…the days when it wasn’t about the cool paint job.  Or the unique sculpt.  Or the variant version that put a left hand where the right one should be.  Or any of that nonsense.  I can actually remember that time in my life! Then again, I can also recall the days when my appearance in front of the opposite sex was actually a huge concern of mine.  Man, those were good times.

But while I don’t care all that much about how I look these days (roaming the halls of most comic book conventions in nothing but tighty-whities tends to easily communicate that, I’m sure), I unfortunately can’t say the same thing about the toys I collect.  There’s no way around it – it’s different now.

So nobody should be surprised to hear me say that it can be a really stressful thing when you’re walking the aisles of Toys “R” Us, desperately looking for a reason to fork over some more cash to the big giraffe, and half the stock on the shelves just doesn’t meet the refined standards of a collector of my caliber.  It’s not about the kung-fu grip anymore.  Or the swivel waist action.  Or the way Zartan turns green-blue in sunlight (okay, that’s still pretty awesome, but I digress).  I mean, with the kind of history I have in the hobby, what else would you expect?  You’re talking about someone who’s purchased so many G.I. Joe flocked hair throwbacks that I half expect my next Wonder Woman action figure to have a flocked va-jayjay.  And I’m left to wonder…will nothing come out this week to give me my long overdue nerdgasm?  

Enter the Defining Moments Ultimate Warrior action figure from Mattel.

Yeah, you heard me right.  The Ultimate Warrior.  That incoherent whackjob who spent the better part of the late ‘80s and early ‘90s running to wrestling rings in face-paint, arm streamers, and multi-colored title belts.  The guy whose first move when reaching said ring was to wig out completely, snarling loudly at opponents and shaking defenseless ring ropes.  The lunatic who just up and dominated the entire WWF (now the WWE – stupid World Wide Fund) and even took out the big cheese himself, Hulk Hogan, in a dramatic title-for-title match at Wrestlemania VI. 

The guy was just out of his mind, and quite honestly, had no place in normal society (yeah, this is ME saying that!).  Most of his promos consisted of things like “Load the spaceship with the rocket fuel!” and “When the moon is blood red and the planets from the grimlock system converge…battling in the sheets of the wind…then I will…prevailllll!!”

But even with all of that silliness up against them, Mattel managed to rise to the occasion and make something truly awesome with the Warrior’s name attached to it.  Here, take a look:

Ultimate Warrior review

I mean, look at this thing!  Those tights.  Those knee pads.  That fine coat!  Yeah, I realize that reading that last sentence, it would probably be more appropriate had I been describing some hot thang I saw across the bar this past weekend.  But with everything I just described, to say nothing of the things I haven’t even gone into (like the paint job and printed graphics – and NO, I’m not talking about NASCAR now!), why would I even go out on a weekend??

So even if you still do date, take my advice on this one.  Buy it.  Display it.  Invite people over for a viewing.  And make sure you’re wearing a smoking jacket-with-pipe-Hugh Hefner ensemble while you’re doing it.  Because fine art like this doesn’t come along all that often.  Load the spaceship with the rocket fuel!!!