Perhaps the definitive movie of the ’00s.

I honestly believe that Scott Pilgrim vs. The World will be a defining film of the aughts. Sure, the movie is actually being released in 2010 — a year technically no longer part of that yet-to-be definitively named decade. It is, however, based on a series of graphic novels, the first of which was published in 2004.

The movie itself is a wonderful encapsulation of this generation’s pop culture — its music, its entertainment and its sense of humor. Director Edgar Wright’s film has successfully captured this moment of time in today’s youth in the same way that American Graffiti did with the ‘50s, Dazed and Confused did with the ‘70s and Clueless did with the ‘90s.

It’s only fitting that the film, like today’s pop culture, is seeped in nostalgia for a childhood long gone. From the film’s opening shot of a pixilated Universal logo as an 8-bit version of the studio’s theme plays, Wright clearly establishes what kind of movie he intends Scott Pilgrim to be.

The movie masterfully bounces back and forth between being a loving tribute to the NES and Mountain Dew-soaked days of an ‘80s childhood and championing of a style yet to come. Wright, who has simultaneously honored and reinvented the zombie and action genres with his pervious film Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz, establishes himself as a cutting edge director with a fresh perspective. With Scott Pilgrim, Wright quickly makes it known that he is somebody worth watching for the long haul— a filmmaker who seems capable of doing no wrong.

In Scott Pilgrim, Michael Cera plays the title character, a hapless musician who is recovering from heartbreak by dating a high school girl. He is pleased with his life — content with his status even if that status is being constantly broke and directionless.

That all changes when he meets Ramona Flowers, a roller skate sporting girl with bright colored hair who jets out of his dreams and into his life — literally. Shocked to discover the girl that has been haunting his dreams is in fact real and in the same social circle as himself, Scott finds a direction for his life — winning over the somewhat moody and aloof Ramona.

It isn’t just her cold shoulder that Scott must conquer if he wants to date Ramona, though. To win the happy future he envisions with her, Scott will have to defeat her seven evil exes — a gang of superpowered asshats who are all too ready to beat Scott into the ground with a series of mulit-hit combos and energy blasts.

Scott Pilgrim is high on energy and dense in details. Wright fills nearly every single frame of the film with easter eggs, visual gags and funny little asides. High octane does not begin to describe the frantic MTV-style editing Wright provides for his action scenes — and I mean that in a good way.

While lately, comparing a film’s editing to MTV means quick, emotionless cuts that are designed to hide a lack of visual style, when I compare Scott Pilgrim to MTV I am talking about the early days of the music channel when every ounce of the programming was lovingly stuff with hipness and fun — like a trendy turducken.

Scott Pilgrim is what would happen if somebody took every single thing that was fun and interesting about being a geek in the last ten years, shoved it in a blender and served it in a tall glass of kick ass. The movie is witty, charming and just the right amount of cute.

While Michael Cera’s insistence of playing the same character in the last half dozen movies he’s been in can get a bit annoying at times, he really uses his disarming quirkiness to good effect in Scott Pilgrim. Cera is soft spoken, helplessly geeky and the perfect representation of the modern hipster — in a totally non-annoying way, of course.

In the role of Scott’s dream girl, Mary Elizabeth Winstead is aloof, unbearably hip and perfectly cute in that way Zooey Deschanel has made a living playing in role after role in the last ten years. Winstead isn’t given much to work with in the film — a few action scenes but not a lot of comedy — but she easily elevates the role from what was on the page. With her big eyes and expressive face, audiences will have no problem seeing why a character like Scott could fall head over feet in love with her — lending a believability to his later misadventures repeatedly getting his ass kicked in the name of love.

The rest of the cast is all top-notch — a fine assembly of some of the best young actors working today, Wright filled every nook and cranny of his film with talent and the end result shows.

Scott Pilgrim is probably just about the most fun you will have in theaters this year. As fresh and exciting as The Matrix was nearly ten years ago but with the disarming attitude of a Saturday morning cartoon and the unpredictability of a good mix tape, Scott Pilgrim is a movie worth seeing. Probably even worth seeing twice.

I know I will be.

Read more of my reviews.

At the risk of treading the same ground as every other hack movie critic come this time in April, Kick-Ass is just plain kick ass.

I’m sorry, but there is just no better way to sum up the general attitude, atmosphere and execution of Matthew Vaughn’s adaptation of Mark Millar and John Romita Jr.’s comic book.

While liberties were had with the storyline and some changes are better executed then others, the movie, as a stand-alone project, succeeds in what it set out to do: tell an off-beat superhero story about a loser who finds fame and nookie after putting on a superhero costume and getting his ass kicked.

Aaron Johnson plays Dave Lizewski, a high school geek who, in an attempt to provide meaning for his life, decides to become a superhero. Ordering a wet suit off the Internet and arming himself with a pair of batons, Dave takes to the streets as Kick-Ass — the world’s first official superhero (even if he doesn’t officially have superpowers).

Along for the journey are a trio of fellow vigilantes: Hit Girl, a cute-as-a-button pre-teen girl played by Chloe Moretz who will gladly rip your head off and show it to you; Big Daddy, a former cop and Hit Girl’s father played by Nic Cage in a weird amalgam of Greg Brady and Adam West’s Batman; and Red Mist, an even bigger dork then Lizewski with a dark past played by Christopher Mintz-Plasse.

Like I mentioned above, the move takes massive liberties with the source material — especially in the film’s climax. Fortunately, much like Vaughn’s adaptation of Neil Gaiman’s Stardust managed to build upon a great book to make an amazing movie, the changes in Kick-Ass don’t stick out like a sore thumb and actually lead to a pretty satisfying ending — though I do miss one particular twist about Cage’s Big Daddy character that was left out of the movie.

If you are thinking of taking your kids to see the movie because of the colorful costumes and peppy tween superhero — think again! The movie is as violent as a Charles Manson slumber party and four-letter words are thrown around more then feces at a chimpanzee retirement home.

Kick-Ass is like a cross between Quentin Tarantino and Richard Donner — a big, sweeping epic film that’s not afraid to get down and dirty with blood, guts and dismemberment.

In one particularly QT-move, the soundtrack almost exclusively of a lot of pop songs and score music ripped straight from other films. Much like it does in Tarantino’s films, this musical choice helps to build a sense of familiarity with the subject matter and makes it easier for audiences to associate with the fantastical violence being perpetrated on screen by a 12-year-old girl with a butterfly knife. Moments where 3 Doors Down’s Kryptonite blends seamlessly into Joan Jett’s Bad Reputation help to create a pop culture pastiche that easily sells a world where a teenage kid can associate so much with fiction that he decides to become a four-color crime fighter.

The movie is a blast, through and through. Hopefully it will open big when it hits theaters on April 16. The buzz that will erupt around the movie after SXSW should help in that regard.

If you’re at SXSW this weekend, watch the movie. If not, brace yourself for a very long month until you get your own chance to have your ass kicked.

Category: Headliners
Director: Matthew Vaughan
Showtimes: Friday, March 12 at 7 PM at Paramount

Inside Pulse — Movies will be on the ground at SXSW! For live coverage from the event, follow Robert Saucedo and Travis Leamons on Twitter at @robsaucedo2500 and @skipkassidy.

The South by Southwest film festival will be held in Austin from March 12 through the 20th. For more information about attending the festival and the films being shown, visit www.sxsw.com/film.

For Craig Thompson, love is a wonderful thing filled with pain and joy. The innocence of first love is countered at every turn by the haunting warnings of temptation that the Bible has instilled in him since his childhood.

In “Blankets,” an almost 600 page autobiographical comic book, Thompson recounts his first love, among other memories of his childhood.

“Blankets” begins plainly, with a simple panel that reads: “When we were young, my little brother Phil and I shared the same bed.”

The simplicity of this panel is a good indication of what comes next in Thompson’s touching rendition of his youth.

Throughout the graphic novel, the reader is introduced to a wide variety of characters that orbit around young Thompson. From his wild brother Phil to his sometimes cruel father, Thompson reflects upon the past with enough sincerity that readers will be tempted to take everything he says for granted, no questions asked.

“Blankets’” main story surrounds Thompson’s emotionally turbulent first love. Thompson meets Raina at church camp and together each finds in the other the comfort and peace that they had been lacking. Thompson had always been an outsider and in Raina he discovers a friend who makes everything else obsolete.

From their first encounter, each finds a serenity that they embrace along with each other. Thompson details his descent into love with a poetic meter that will remind readers of a love song. Not all things are rosy for the young lovers, though. Thompson is constantly at odds with his upbringings and battles with the dual nature of love — striving to find a balance between worship and lust.

The use of beautifully symbolic illustrations help to tie together his love story with the undertones of his faith. The saga of Thompson and Raina’s love is broken up with reflections about growing up with his brother and their misadventures.

Thompson’s illustrations perfectly convey the innocence of childhood with an almost cartoonish atmosphere that is well balanced with the many touches of intricate detail and deftly drawn emotions. Fans of pop art will appreciate the beauty found in the simplicity of Thompson’s art.

The simplicity of snow is turned into masterful artwork with clever panel layouts and creative uses of negative space. The black and white nature of the illustrations actually work well to convey the black and white nature of remembrance. The past is the only thing clear to Thompson as he looks back on his year with Raina.

“Blankets” is a story of love and loss that is not only an easy read, but a poignant one as well. Everybody who has experienced the bitterness of a relationship that they once thought would last forever only to have it fall apart will be touched as they read Thompson’s autobiography.

“Blankets” is, in short, an excellent read that manages to offer incredible insight into the life of a normal teenager experiencing life, in all its wonderful pain.

IMDB Score: 4.7 out of 10

In the early 1960s, writer Stan Lee helped create a few dozen comic book heroes that would prove to be some of the most enduring fictional characters to ever appear on the printed page. From the Fantastic Four to Spider-Man to the X-Men to the Hulk, Stan Lee was at least partly responsible for most of the building blocks of which the Marvel comic book universe is built.

He has been trying hard to replicate that success ever since.

From comic book series to web-based animated shows to even a reality TV program for the Sci-Fi Channel, Stan Lee has dabbled in numerous forms of media — all, seemingly, in the hope of lighting striking twice.

“The Condor,” an animated film that it appears Stan Lee did nothing more then produce and provide a voice for, was part of an attempt by Stan Lee’s POW Entertainment to introduce audiences to what they hoped would be the next big superhero, via direct-to-DVD cartoon.

Written by legendary comic book writer Marv Wolfman, “The Condor” isn’t too terrible a film. It’s just a bit too paint-by-numbers for my taste.

Think M.A.N.T.I.S. meets Rocket Racer

All the staples of a good comic book hero origin are here: egocentric skateboarding star looses parents to fishy car accident, has legs beaten to a pulp by extreme sport zombies, turns to nanotechnology-infused prosthetics, realizes true potential set to cheesy power-ballad and finally becomes endangered-animal-inspired superhero.

Are condors still endangered? I have to admit; I have very little knowledge of the buzzard-looking birds besides the fact that they inspired a ride at Astroworld that I remember riding as a kid.

Anyway, back to the movie.

“That ‘70s Show” star Wilmer Valderrama provides the voice for Tony Valdez a.k.a. The Condor. A masked skateboarding avenger, the Condor can save ladies from being mugged and avenge the death of his parents but he can’t seem to find the time to shave that scraggily mustache that’s growing like peach fuzz from his upper lip.

But of course The Condor has a mustache.

He is a Latino, after all.

“The Condor” is not an inherently racist film — it just managed to play into almost every stereotype about young Hispanics that exists.

There was the slang, the fact that the hero’s cousin is a gangbanger cholo and the fact that some of the character had the worst Hispanic accents since Speedy Gonzalez and Slowpoke Rodriguez.

It wasn’t just the Hispanics that got the short end of the racial sensitivity stick, either. The film’s main villains were a just as stereotypically portrayed white man and an Asian woman.

Maybe it’s not the film’s fault, though. Racial stereotypes are portrayed in films for a reason — because there is basis in truth. There wouldn’t be an animated cartoon that featured Latino clichés if so many Latino kids didn’t feel the need to feed into the clichés themselves.

I’m doing my part to put a stop to this behavior, though. I’m starting to loose my hair but I will never shave my head because I don’t want to be that stereotypically heavyset bald Hispanic.

In the end, the movie was an acceptable waste of an hour and a half. I’m not sure whom it was meant for, though. Released unrated, the film features extremely liberal use of adult language, violence and sexual situations — so it’s obviously not intended for children, the only audience who would be able to appreciate the film’s tired plot and dialogue.

“Judge Dredd” – 1995

He's Judge, Judy and Executioner.

Tagline: “In the future, one man is the law.”

Who wears the spandex: Sylvester Stallone

What’s it about: Based on the British comic book character who first appeared in the anthology “2000 A.D.,” “Judge Dredd” takes place in a dystopian future where America has become a handful of “mega-cities” that guard humanity against the horrors of the wastelands surrounding them.  Law and order is kept by militaristic Judges who act as police, jury, and executioner. Of all the Judges, the most feared and respected is Judge Dredd (Stallone).  After being convicted of a crime he didn’t commit, Dredd finds himself on the run from the law along with a criminal he helped convict, Fergie (Rob Schneider).

Key Moment: After surviving a plane crash in the wasteland that is America, Dredd and Fergie are captured by the Angel family – a cave dwelling clan of cyborg cannibals.  Fergie’s attempts to appeal to their Christian nature, leads him to be added to their menu.

Comic Book Geek Alert: “In the comic book series, part of the mystique surrounding Dredd is that he is never seen without his helmet, and if he does take it off, only his back or the lower part of his face is shown, BUT NEVER HIS ENTIRE FACE!!!!!!!!! Sure, the movie wasn’t all that, but Stallone should have known better. That’s like Spider-man doing his thing without the mask… in public!!!!!!! Are there any other 2000AD/Judge Dredd fans that agree with me?????”  ~ unclechuckf from imdb.com’s movie forum

Memorable Quote: “Emotions… there ought to be a law against them.” ~ Judge Dredd

Should you Watch It: “Judge Dredd” is a fun popcorn flick that makes for an entertaining Saturday afternoon viewing.  If you’re bored and in the mood for a little senseless Stallone action/adventure, you can’t go wrong with “Judge Dredd.” Just remember to check your brain at the door.

“Mystery Men” – 1999

The only reason to hate this movie is for unleashing the blight that is Smash Mouth's song "All Star."

Tagline: “This summer expect the unexpected.”

Who wears the spandex: Ben Stiller, Janeane Garofalo, William H. Macy, Greg Kinnear and Paul Reubens.

What’s it about: Based on the Dark Horse superhero team, “Mystery Men” features a band of misfits who are given an opportunity to become the heroes they aspire to be when Champion City’s resident superhero, Captain Amazing (Kinnear) is kidnapped by supervillian Casanova Frankenstein (Geoffrey Rush).  Among the team’s members is the always-upset Mr. Furious (Stiller), The Shoveller (Macy) who can shovel better then any mortal man, the bowling ball wielding Bowler (Garofalo) and Invisible Boy (Kel Mitchell) who can only become invisible when no one is looking.

Key Moment: While attempting to bulk up their team, the Mystery Men hold an audition for superheroes.  Among the contestants are PMS Avenger (she only works four days a month) and the Waffler with his griddle of justice and low-fat truth syrup.

Comic Book Geek Alert: “What was done in Mystery Men was not an easy achievement and will be absolutely overlooked as being great by anyone but those who have “collected” comic books.” ~ Tomstrange from imdb.com’s movie forum

Memorable Quote: “We’ve got a blind date with Destiny – and it looks like she’s ordered the lobster.” ~ The Shoveller

Should you Watch It: You bet! With a great ensemble cast and highly quotable one-liners “Mystery Men” succeeds in offering an entertaining look at the losers of the super-hero world.  With each viewing, the film’s silliness will grow on you until the film becomes a guilty pleasure that you’ll find yourself coming back to over and over again.

“Archie: To Riverdale and Back Again” – 1990

I've always been a Betty guy myself.

Who wears the spandex (so to speak): Christopher Rich

What’s it about: John L. Goldwater’s classic comic characters are brought to life in this made for TV movie.  Archie (Rich), Betty (Lauren Holly), Veronica (Karen Kopins), Jughead (Sam Whipple) and the rest of the gang gather for a high school reunion.  Now adults off in the “real world,” the “pals and gals” have grown apart from each other.  Archie is now a lawyer and engaged, Betty is a schoolteacher, Jughead has become a psychiatrist with his own emotional problems, Veronica’s still a socialite snob and Reggie is about to tear down Pop’s – the gang’s old hangout.  Together Archie and the gang must work together to save their childhood memories and finally answer the age-old question: “Blonde or Brunette?”

Key Moment: The film climatic scene involves Jughead Jones and his son performing a rap remix of The Archies’ “Sugar Sugar”.  That’s right… let it sink in for a bit.

Comic Book Geek Alert: “I have been an Archie fan since I was very young. I love the comic books, but I don’t love this movie. This movie sucked because Jughead shouldn’t be a shrink, the teenage Jughead we all know does not give a damn about other people! Yeah, he was an excellent friend to Archie, but Jughead isn’t the type to refrain from eating cheeseburgers’ all day and listen to pathetic problems. Puh-lease, who made this movie?” ~ Chantalle from imdb.com’s movie forum

Memorable Quote: “I have a fiancée” ~ Archie

           “Don’t worry, I’ve had thirteen.” ~ Veronica

Should you Watch It: Unless you are prone to masochistic behavior, stay far away from this video. Poorly acted melodrama does not suit the corny antics of Archie Andrews and his friends. If you are a fan of Archie, watching Betty and Veronica try to seduce an engaged Archie in the bedroom of a seedy motel will leave you feeling very dirty indeed.

I can always take comfort in the fact I never came close to prostituting myself for a new comic book. Except for that one time...

While I’ve often had a fascination for comics, I didn’t become an avid collector until I went to college. Before then, I would only buy comics when they caught my eye at the grocery store or bookstore.

As a kid, I was more of a fan of trading cards or action figures. Visiting the local comic book store was a rare occasion — one usually marked by 30 minutes of browsing the quarter bin.

The only book I followed regularly was Wizard, a monthly rag dedicated to providing the latest values for collectable comic books. I bought the magazine more for the juvenile humor scattered through the pages then an actual interest in assigning value to my tiny collection.

In high school I became friends with a group that shared an interest in comic books. This common bond we shared spurred me to increase my own consumption of the medium. I started buying a graphic novel every time I went to the bookstore.

By the time I enrolled in college, my interest in comics had reached a new peak. Because I didn’t have a car my first year of school, I would walk to the comic book store every month to pick up the latest issue of Wizard the week it hit the stands. Eventually I started to feel that if I was going to make the effort to walk five miles to the comic book store, I was going to come away with more then just a single magazine. I eventually started to buy other books that caught my attention. Soon, I was making a point to follow specific titles, buying each new issue as it came out.

I was going to the comic book store two or three times a month.

By the time I got a car my sophomore year, I was making a weekly trip to the comic book store. Now friends with the woman who owned the shop, I went as much for something new to read as I went to talk to the shop’s owner.

At first I only bought a single book a week but on one visit, before I was about to take a trip to San Francisco I decided to buy a handful of books for the plane ride.

That act opened up a proverbial Pandora’s box. Consuming the books with gusto during the trip, I came back and instantly went to buy a new batch of books.

Soon enough, on my weekly trips to the comic book store I was walking away with almost $30 to $40 worth of comic books.

Needless to say I wasn’t making enough money to comfortably support this habit. Because of the amount of books I bought each week, I would often not have enough money to eat well – surviving only on Ramón noodles or dollar cheeseburgers.

As much as I hate to admit it, I even put a sizable dent on my credit cards by pulling out the plastic whenever I didn’t have enough cash to buy my weekly fix.

I guess you can say that I came to the same end that every addict comes to – I hit rock bottom. My personal plummet came when I had two credit cards and a debit card denied as I tried to buy my new supply of books. Although the manager of the comic book store offered to let me take the books home that night and come back the next day to pay, I knew that I wouldn’t have enough money the next day either. I was flat broke and buying comics was the last thing that should be on my mind.

Embarrassed, I went home that day and put some serious thought into how unhealthy my obsession with comics had become. It was then that I realized that I had bought a comic book for the last time.

I still buy the occasional graphic novel but I’m proud to say that my days of plopping $40 down at the comic book store every week are over.

For a good part of my life, I’ve been drawn to advice columns.

Being somebody who is constantly plagued with doubt, reading “Dear Abby” or “Dear Prudence” has been a wonderful way to learn what is socially acceptable and what is the type of weird behavior that gets you talked about behind your back.

Today's guest columnist: Doug TenNapel

Unfortunately, the advice columns run in the newspaper rarely answer the type of burning questions that keep me up at night. That’s where my friends come in. I’ve been blessed with friends and family that are wonderful fountains of information and advice. Some of the advice has even been solicited.

Sometimes, though, I need help that my friends just aren’t able to provide. Whether because of my friends’ character flaws, limitations in knowledge or just because they’re tired of me asking them for advice all the time, I am forced to look elsewhere for guidance. Luckily, that’s why God gave us Famous People.

Doug TenNapel, for example, strikes me as a man of principal and insight. Between creating the video game “Earthworm Jim” and writing such incredible comic books as “Earthboy Jacobus” and “Creature Tech,” TenNapel’s character shines through every aspect of his work. His comic books are hands down the single best ambassadors of  faith I have experienced in the printed form. Full of hope and optimism, his books never fail to bring a smile to my face.

It’s no surprise, then, that I would want to read an advice column written by him. Unfortunately, Doug’s rather extensive criminal background he gained while participating in back alley naked mole rat trafficking prevents him from getting a job as an advice columnist at any respectable newspaper. That didn’t stop me from rustling up some of my own questions to solicit his responses for:

Dear Doug,

In my hurry to reach the fallout shelter before the bomb hit, it seems that I have forgotten a clean source of water. How can I sterilize my urine for consumption? Do I have any other options when it comes to hydration?

— Waterless in Walton

Dear Waterless,

There is no such thing as a zero sum game. Even if you drink your own pee, at some point, the moisture will escape your body, and you will thirst to death in that closed system. You’re going to die in the shelter, so why choose something as miserable as thirsting to death? I can think of two preferred ways to die … one is to paint the inside of the shelter with your own stool so that when rescue workers finally find you, they get a nasty mess to clean up. Serves them right for arriving too late. The other way is to pull a Michael Hutchence.

— Doug TenNapel

Dear Doug,

It appears that the family next door has become zombies. Because they are a nice enough family, I’m willing to forgive a few of their minor transgressions such as their habit of forgetting to clean the decaying corpses of victims from their front stoop, but lately something has been bothering me. They have left their Christmas lights up since last December, and quite frankly, it looks really tacky. Am I such a scrooge to expect them to take down their seasonal decorations after the season is over?

— Grinch in Davis-Gary

Grinch,

You’ve already told me everything I need to know. They’re a nice enough family. You seem to have a little hang-up because they are the evil undead.  Might I suggest you stop projecting your narrow, linear, Western, Puritanical, Republican meta-narrative onto those from different cultures? Who are we to judge our neighbor if they want to eat innocent children? I would also like to point out that Texas A&M has an inordinately low percentage of zombies in attendance (and they are all art majors). This is the typical kind of discrimination the undead have to face every day. Let them have their colored lights. Excuse me I just farted.

— Doug TenNapel

Doug TenNapel wrote this column in 2006. It originally ran in The Battalion, Texas A&M’s student newspaper.

The creator of “Earthworm Jim,” TenNapel found initial fame in developing video games such as “The Neverhood.” Since them, TenNapel has continued to find success in a variety of mediums. From authoring a series of children’s books to producing the ABC series “Push, Nevada,” TenNapel has dabbled in several aspects of entertainment. Several of his graphic novels have film adaptations in development. His first comic book, “G.E.A.R.” was adapted into a popular Nickelodeon animated series named “Catscratch.” To learn more TenNapel or to learn where you can purchase his highly recommended graphic novels, visit him on the web at www.tennapel.com.

In which my dad takes a stance against man-children who cut lines.

It was Friday afternoon and I had just gotten done with my afternoon job organizing the supply closet in the JROTC building. I was sitting on the couch reading the weekend entertainment section of the local newspaper when I noticed a small blurb announcing a comic book convention.

I’ve been a fan of comic books since the days of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Adventures. My first real experience with superhero comics, though, came when my father brought home an issue of Uncanny X-Men that he had bought for me at the airport during a business trip he took to Dallas.

Since that issue, I’ve had a strong interest in “funny books.” Going to a convention dedicated to comic books only naturally seemed like my kind of fun.

According to the news brief, the convention would have a dealer’s room with two comic book artists available for autographs and sketches. I looked at the artists’ names and didn’t recognizing either of them. This did not deter my excitement though. Even if the artists were not famous (to me), they might be someday (or even better — they may someday die a tragic death that would cause everything they touched in life to go up in value).

I decided I would get the artists’ signatures and would hoard them away — waiting for the day that their value would increase enough for me to cash in on a sizable profit.

Because my parents had not forked over the money for me to attend driving school yet, I needed a ride. I went to ask my mother, a supporter of the arts even if she didn’t necessarily appreciate some of the dorkier varieties it came in. I figured I could convince her to drop me off at the convention while she ran some errands.

When I told her about the event, though, the first thing out of her mouth was not the “sure” I expected. Instead, she gave me a half-distracted afterthought of a response: “Your father can take you.”

My father could very well not take me.

My dad, although a wonderful guy, is not the most understanding of “alternative lifestyles.” When we dropped off my oldest sister at school in Austin, my dad nearly had an aneurysm watching the freaks and geeks of The Drag prowl their beloved territory.

It wasn’t just junkies and hobos my dad had a problem with, though. I had long learned not to ask him to give me a ride to the comic book store as he couldn’t grasp the affection grown men could have for video games or collectable action figures. I was positive he would not be keen on taking me to a convention that celebrated the idea of adults playing with their toys. This could only end badly.

Nevertheless, Sunday found my father and I begrudgingly driving to the hotel that would house the convention. Neither one of us thought this particular father-son bounding time was a good idea but my mother insisted we attend together. My father and I remained silent during the trip, the two of us concentrating on the radio.

When we arrived at the hotel, we exited the car and walked towards the conference room.

A smug look appeared on my father’s face when he saw a couple of small children excitedly talking about Batman. While at first it seemed that my father’s claims that comic books were for kids seemed to have been validated, his smug expression soon turned to a frozen look of horror as we entered the conference room to find a smattering of 30-year old men, their common bond seeming to be obesity and pony tails. These living, breathing “Comic Book Guy” impersonators were gathered around old toys and boxes upon boxes of comic books. The din of hushed conversation about whether Black Cat or Catwoman was hotter was only overpowered by the attendees’ collective labored breathing.

The few children that were present clung to the hands of their fathers, men who eyed mint condition Boba Fett toys with the kind of hunter’s gleam that is usually reserved for barflies trying to pick up women.

A lone woman browsed through a dealer’s selection, her every move studied by love struck geeks too nervous to even breathe near her.

After scanning the room quickly, I made my way to the first artist’s booth.

I was low on cash and was not interested in the dealer’s floor. My primary objective was to collect the two artists’ John Hancocks and leave with a minimum of monetary damage.

I picked up a book from each artist and stood in line for my first autograph.

Mike Grell, illustrator/writer, was a grizzled old man hobbled over his sketch pad, fervently drawing a buxom image of some warrior woman for a sweaty man dressed in a too-tight Star Wars shirt. The line of those waiting for an autograph seemed to crawl as Grell switched between drawing sketches and signing books. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched my father move from booth to booth, staring in pity at the men who had devoted their life towards recapturing their childhood.

When I finally got within reach of Mr. Grell, he was working on a sketch. I stood patiently, watching the pro masterfully work his pen and pencil.

As I waited, a large figure filled the space to the right of me. I turned to look at who had just cut in front of me and saw the largest Mexican I had ever encountered.

Covered in bristle-like hair, the man-child resembled a cross between Danny Trejo and Louie Anderson. He asked Grell in a voice that rang out like Giant Man himself, “Are you signing comic books?”

Grell looked up at the individual and, after allowing himself a double take, nodded a quick yes and reached for the man’s book.

Faster then the Flash, my father appeared at my side. He whispered into my ear in a harsh tone, “You can’t let people cut in front of you! Speak up for yourself.”

I gave my dad a quick nod in agreement but that was not enough for my old man.

“You need to stand up for yourself,” he warned. “Otherwise, people are going to walk right over you for the rest of your life.”

Mr. Grell took only a few extra seconds to sign the Man-Child’s book before he turned to sign mine but those few stolen seconds seemed, to my dad, to be a personal attack on everything our family stood for. As I walked away from my fuming father, I stood in line for the second artist.

I cannot remember the other artist’s name for the life of me, but I do recall that he was Brazilian and he worked with a speed and rhythm that seemed uncanny.

It appeared to me that the artist could sketch with one hand while signing with the other. As I waited, the line in front of me quickly melted away.

The whole time, though, I was distracted from watching the artist work by the shadow of my father’s anxious figure as he supervised the proceedings. He had tired of the dealers’ floor and had taken active interest in my quest to gain autographs.

As the artist finished a quick sketch of the Flash, the same Mexican Man-Child appeared out of nowhere to stand at my right again. This time, it appeared he was hypnotized by the artist’s speed.

He clutched his comic book to his chest as his eyes followed the artist’s rapidly-moving hands.

The artist finished his sketch and looked up to call upon his next task when he saw the Man-Child. Standing next to this 6-foot-five, 300-plus pound mountain of a man, I naturally disappeared into the background.

My hair could have been on fire and the artist would have only noticed the comic book desperately clutched in the Man-Child’s sweaty hands. The Brazilian asked if the Man-Child would like the book signed. He mouthed a hushed yes before handing the artist the crumpled book.

My dad witnessed the Man-Child’s repeat offense and the dam broke. Exploding into a gnashing of sound and fury, my father roared, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Not comprehending what was occurring, the Man-Child only managed to mouth the word “Wha-?” before my father was in his face.

“You’re cutting in front of the boy again! That is the second time you’ve cut line. I don’t know how you people were raised to behave, but in a civilized society there’s such thing as waiting in lines.”

“I didn’t cut in line!” the Man-Child said, clearly confused by what was happening.

“Don’t give me that! We all saw you.”

By this time, the room had undergone a complete hush. Every eye was focused on the furious form of my father and the confused heap of fat and hair that stood next to me, already beginning to quiver with an untapped rage.

The artist tried to calm the rolling rock that had been unearthed but to no effect.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t see your son.”

“You stay out of this,” my father replied. “Get a real job!”

He quickly returned to his angered belittling of the Man-Child.

I quickly offered my book to the artist who signed it with a defeated aura.

We left shortly afterwards.

During the car trip home, my dad talked my ear off about how I needed to stand up for myself. It was my duty as an American to speak up against the injustices of life. He wasn’t going to always be there to look out for me, he warned.

I couldn’t have despised my dad more then I did during that trip home. I spent the ride steaming inwardly as I buried my nose in my comic book.

When I was young, it seemed as if my dad was always attacking innocent cashiers and waiters who got on the wrong end of his short fuse. Not satisfied with piss poor service, my dad would always demand perfection when it came to a job. He was not afraid to return hamburgers to the cooks or call out slow service with an almost gleeful fury. It was often an embarrassment to eat out with my dad. Going to the store was not any better. My father would often compare stories with my uncle about their exploits at terrorizing stock boys and cashiers.

Flash forward three years and I’m standing in line at the local on-campus café. The waiter has to be the stupidest girl ever to work food service. As she stares at me with a vacant expression in her eyes and her mouth hanging ajar I can’t help but verbally assault her, asking for quicker service and at least a quarter of her concentration. I have turned into my dad in more ways then one.

I have inherited his impatience, his sense of humor, even his snore.

Now, as I find myself living away from home and visiting him only on the rare occasion, I realize that my dad was not the bad guy that I made him out to be when I was younger. In his own way, he was merely trying to teach me valuable life lessons that I could take with me into my future. He was a real-life superhero, trying to impose upon me a sense of value and a code of living that I would use to define right and wrong — to learn about truth, justice and the American way.

My dad didn’t understand all of my hobbies, but that didn’t matter. He supported my interests even if it meant having to be face-to-face with a sad reminder of the loser comic book nerd I could potentially turn into — that is, without the ethics he was imparting upon me.

I have found that the love for my father and the memories I have with him (such as our first and only comic book convention) more then make up for any slight embarrassment I felt as a kid.

My dad won’t be around forever, but the memory of him telling the poor Brazilian comic book artist to get a real job will be. And in the end, that’s what’s really important.

Read more stories of my childhood.