Hobby Lobbyists

I suppose it was because they were a throwback to a simpler time, these basement dwellers, these mama’s little darlings. They were veterans of the Geek Culture Wars, who had suffered the 20th century wedgies of Melvinhood back when reading The Eternals got you beaten up by girls. These were the pioneers who had debated time travel’s effects on werewolves and quoted Holy Grail back when comic cons were at Steve’s house. They had braved the indignities of TV adaptations where the boots were the wrong color and the origin story now had a talking dog. They saw the Howard the Duck movie on opening night and then warned the others.

And do they get a parade in their honor today? You bet they do, every summer in the streets of Atlanta and San Diego, complete with Stormtroopers and Ectomobiles. Because these dollar-box warriors made the world safe for blockbuster movies about Legos shaped like Batman.

And here they were, enjoying the fruits of that victory: Another mega-budget CG spectacular, starring Hollywood’s biggest celebrities, acting out events straight from the Jim Starlin classics still nestled in their long boxes. And their commitment was total, this obviously being the fourth or fifth time they’d seen this particular masterpiece. Long after the buzz of opening weekend, they’d returned to the now-empty theater to quote the jokes they’d memorized and debate the plot points that could’ve been more canon. Later, they’d log into their favorite fan groups, argue with the usual trolls about whether or not the thruster jets would’ve been decommissioned by the Delta Gate, unbox the blue-vest, Earth-3 variant for their You Tube channel, and drift off to a key grip’s commentary on the limited-edition Blu-ray. The athletic He-Man of the last century is no longer the Master of the Universe; these mint-condition Stinkors are.

As for me, this was the last funny-book film epic I bothered to see. Concluding that it was likely the best super hero film ever made, I figured I’d quit while I was ahead, seeing as Hollywood surely wouldn’t. And anyway, I had forgotten nearly everything that happened in the best super hero film ever made by the time I was in the parking lot. Maybe it’s the unrelatable, computer-game graphics, or maybe I’m just not “young at heart,” but when skyscrapers are being toppled by giant androids juggling gamma bombs, I start thinking about whether or not I should check my tire pressure on the way home. I long ago had my fill of action movie rumbles with the standard, tough-guy wisecracks. I’m too old for “I’m too old for this shit.”

But that’s because I’m not a diehard. I’m a GINO*. I abandoned the fight, letting the Comics Aren’t Just for Kids Anymore flag drop to the ground back in the ‘80s. I sold my action figures. I stopped recommending Watchmen. I didn’t even march for social justice by going to see the Wonder Woman or Black Panther movies. I have been publicly disrespectful concerning Stan Lee. I’m a traitor, a false friend of the Super Friends.

Would that I could be so devout as these fanboy faithful, for their God is truly an awesome God. A God with distribution deals in every global market, with retail dominance in every conceivable outlet. The Geek God’s word is now law, and we owe it all to these spinner rack missionaries. They foretold that their holy franchise could never truly die, but would someday reboot eternally.

*Geek in Name Only