Ottawa Comicon: to boldly convene where no one's convened before.

 NERDVANA: THE OTTAWA COMICON

Last weekend, Ottawa hosted its first-ever comic book convention, or 'comicon' for those in the know. This was a big deal for me...well actually, for a lot of people, because some of us have just never had the opportunity to head out to San Diego for the major comicon. For us local nerds, tthis con was like having the mountain come to Mohammed. We have talked of little else for months preceding the event.

The back door line to get in. 1.5 hr wait.

I was raised on comic books, thanks to my dad. He got us hooked on the XMen from an early age, throwing in the occasional spiderman or Batman title. I learned about justice, honor, hubris, and spandex from the heroes on the pages. I found role models in the female characters--women portrayed as surrealistically beautiful, yes, but also powerful, assertive, and yet, still sensitive.

Don't roll your eyes, I'm being serious.

                                                                

Anyway. Walking in the doors at Ottawa Comicon, my dad in tow as my official photographer for the day (all these photos are his), there was a palpable atmosphere that can only be described as 'happy nerd vibe'. I thought of the years when my comic book obsession made me a pariah amongst female peers who were far more interested in Cosmo than comics, and I smiled. This here was my 'It gets better' moment. So let me just say to all he young nerds out there: you may get teased a lot right now, and you may find your potential mate pool to be sadly small at present, but one day you will go to your first comicon, and you will know it gets better. You are not alone, not at all. The nearly 20,000 people who showed up for Ottawa's event proves that quite nicely.

We observed that the organizers seemed pretty overwhelmed by the turn-out--in fact, there were people lined up around the block, most waiting over an hour-and-a-half to get in. Hopefully next year, there will be better organization, and hopefully some more entertainment going on in the main hall, because the space was a bit too focused just on selling/buying. But it was still great to walk around, see the Magic card tournaments, the incredible artists in Artist Alley, and the many, many costumes on the fans. The talk of the town wasa couple of weird pyramid-headed monsters from a game called Silent Hill...a game I will never, ever go near, now that I've seen some of the nightmares that are found in it.

The Comic Book Shoppe had a large presence, and it was at their booth that I finally caved and bought something: a pair of Batman bootie shorts. I have already found an opportunity to wear them, I swear. They hosted the Magic card tournament, and sported some of the best-costumed staff.

I enjoyed watching people gawk as they noticed my

Magic Card tournament.

Battlestar Gallactica-inspired tattoo (the one that Brian and I share), because while they may have had some rockin' cool costumes, clearly I am queen of the nerds, having adorned my skin permanently with a giant sci-fi tattoo.

CELEBRITY SIGHTINGS

Many celebrities were present for signings, but the fees were high (a separate cost for signature, photo, etc, and some as high as $80), and the lines were long, so we stayed away. I did, however, see Lou Ferrigno from a distance, towering over his fans.

I also caught a glimpse of Brent Spiner (Data from Star Trek TNG)

Happy Jordan!

up on his feet, shaking hands and beaming at his fans. (Beaming as in smiling, not transporting somewhere. Sorry, that could be confusing given the fan base.) I was wrought with jealousy, however, on Sunday as my BFF and Brian came home from the con where they'd been helping out at a vendor booth. Apparently, they actually got to chat, touch, and eat fudge with Data. I'm a bit fuzzy on how the fudge got involved, but the looks of nerdy joy on their two faces was priceless.

Putting aside the celebrities, shopping, game tournaments, and panel discussions, I think one of my favourite parts of the comicon was simply being surrounded by other sci-fi and fantasy dreamers. It's a pleasure to be amongst others who understand what it's like to love a band of characters so much, they become real for you. To be with kindred spirits who have also cried when a superhero has died, or who have cheered aloud when a villain has been vanquished...that was a really great experience.

Oh, yeah: and getting my photo with a storm trooper...also pretty damn cool.

The original Delorian.

Eeeeee!

Adorable.

Like daughter, like dad: a Canadian blog story.

MY DAD, LOSE ON THE INTERNET.

Read the full post.

My dad is an opinionated man. He taught me everything I know about debating, arguing, and pontificating. He listens to talk radio, he’s always up on the latest politics, and generally he seems to have a working knowledge of just about anything you might want to discuss. My dad is the original Google.

So why it’s taken him this long to start up a blog, I do not know; but his subject matter is fitting, and so far, he’s off to a great start. The Canadian Defined is a blog about, well, just that: defining what ‘Canadian’ means. If you, yourself, are a Canadian, maybe you gave a little snort of laughter just now, as if to say, “What do you mean, define ‘Canadian’? It’s so obvious what Canadian is,” but I defy you to give a clear definition.

As a born-and-bred Canadian, my dad (Bill) has over 50 years of lived experience as a Canadian citizen. He’s worked as a photographer, a bicycle mechanic, a copper mine worker, and a business owner (of several businesses, actually). He was married to my mom at the same church his own parents were married, and three decades later, he and Mom are still very much in love. He’s experienced many Canadian things, from back bacon to social health care, and he’s lived everywhere from the nation’s capital to the backwoods of BC. And this man came up with the very poignant question: What is Canadian?

 THE BLOG, DEFINED

Read the full post.

The blog is quite new, with a handful of posts ranging from topics like poutine, to politicians. Bill sees this blog as being most valuable if it generates discussion, so he encourages you all to visit the blog regularly and comment on the posts. And then come back again, and comment on the comments. Together, we may actually succeed in sketching out a rough definition of what it means to be Canadian.

You non-Canadians are also welcome to partake; an outside perspective would likely help quite a bit.

I’m writing about The Canadian, Defined today partly because I’m just so darned proud of my dad and his new endeavour, but also because it’s been a time of reflection for me. Brian and I are frequently asked by people to help them get their social media/blog going, but there’s something really special about helping my own dad. It’s fun to share blogging wisdom with him, to show him the ropes and keep him out of trouble in the big scary world of the internet. Maybe it’s just a bit mindblowing that, for once (and only once) in my life, there’s something I know more about than he does.

Me and my dad.
And a really good pina colada.

Short Story: Dad learns of The Bloggess

I have begun blogging very short stories because my BFF is moving away; explanation is here. 

I started reading the new novel by Jenny Lawson (aka the Bloggess) the other day, and it's so funny that I keep telling people stories fom it. I was describing Jenny to my dad and told him about Jenny's obsession with antique taxidermied animals, and he got all riled up; apparently antique dead animals have all sorts of carcinogens going on, though I can't remember what type. He said that the museum he works at has a HazMat team handle those things, and that I should warn Jenny not to touch them anymore. I tried to explain that Jenny's dad was a taxidermist and probably knew this stuff, and also that Jenny Lawson is a big deal and I don't know her, nor do I think we're ever going to be engaged in casual chat where I can warn her about her cancer risks. But I guess it's a bit like when people ask a Canadian if they know Steve or Joe...that assumption that we all know each other, right? Apparently in my dad's eyes, all us bloggers meet up at our blogger gentleman's club and drink sherry. Anyway, Jenny, if you ARE out there somewhere, my dad thinks you're a comedic genius and would like you to watch out for your health.

Friday with Jordan: random rambling

Fridays are usually Brian's day to post, but he's working at the Ottawa Comicon, so his brain is set to stun. (Trekkies are laughing.) That's okay, because I have started writing on the bus, which means that I'm producing more writing than I can post the rest of the week. Consider this like the bonus footage on the DVD.

WORKSPACE THAT FITS MY HEADSPACE  

I was surfing the net the other day (why does that sound antiquated?), when I came across a local company that had the most intriguing 'we're hiring' page ever. They promised catered meals, open workspaces, and freedom with your schedule. They talked about fostering creativity by letting you do your job, your way. While I love my job I’m in right now, I'd be lying if I didn't find myself wishing I could work at this other place. A few days after seeing their site, I actually drove past this business and saw that the staff had been drawing foolishness on the windows. I sighed in utter envy.

I’ve worked in offices before, but my new one is definitely the most formal and structured. It’s a bit of culture shock, and I’m learning to adjust. But seeing this local biz, I found myself thinking, what would be my ideal workspace?

Naturally, my first thought was of a blanket fort. Yes, that is my natural first thought, and I’d argue it should have been yours, as well. Actually, maybe more of a pillow fort. I would drape my workspace in sheets ‘til it resembled one of those gypsy tents in the movies. I would sit on the floor in a nest of pillows and play music softly on my laptop. People who want to talk to me would have to knock, or maybe ring a little bell, take off their shoes, then come in—just for the theatrics. I would have incandescent bulbs, not fluorescent headache-makers, and strings of led fairy lights.

WORK CLOTHES VS. CLOTHES THAT WORK

Of course, wardrobe would have to change, because curling up cross-legged in polyester pantsuits is just awful. There have been studies on the effect of wardrobe in group settings, and the reality is that any sort of uniform--this includes business suits--are meant to psychologically set people into certain cognitive-behavioural patterns. Business attire is formal, standardized, conformist, modest. Studies show that this will affect your behavior for the time you're dressed in such a way. I find myself missing the creativity I would show each morning, in previous jobs, where I'd put together a funky and unique outfit each morning, one befitting my mood and projects for the day. In jobs with wardrobe freedom, it was like I was priming my imagination each morning for a more improvisational, artistic headspace. Naturally, as a marketer/writer/social media person, this is a good thing.

CREATING A BUBBLE

As for open-concept workspaces, well, I haven't had a ton of love for them in my career; but I'm an introvert when I'm working (read this article or this one about the power of introverts) and my jobs haven't generally allowed for introverted time. In a past job, I worked in one of these trendy multi-organizational offices where there are four people slotted into one four-person cubicle, which is supposed to foster connectivity and collaboration (despite thestudies that say they're actually failing). My opinion on why this is failing: it’s the deterrent to personalization. One of the cubicle 'pods' was made up of a team that decorated with plush animals and goofy knickknacks, and they seemed happy in their space. Meanwhile, I placed my 6-inch-tall Tokidoki tiger balanced on top of my cubicle wall, and I was promptly told that, while my desk was my personal space, no one was prepared to accept that the airspace ABOVE my cubicle was also my space. My tiger came down, and I realized I was pretty much stuck in an invisible mime box. What if my head came up over the fuzzy partitions? What happened if I stood up while filing stuff? 

DREAM A LITTLE DREAM WITH ME

But imagining my dream space...well, it doesn’t have to be an entire fort. My desk would sit near-ish a window, close enough that I can throw some cushions into the window bay, drag my laptop over, and work in a sunbeam. On rough days, I would pull my Tarepanda stuffie down under my desk, where I will have made a piecemeal chair out of pillows and probably strung my fairy lights. I'd have a huge whiteboard to myself for all my organizational post-its and my sudden dry erase marker scribblings. On this particular day maybe I've worn my ninja cupcake tee, and a pair of the striped rainbow knee socks I still keep from my roller derby days. I wore Converse on the commute but I've changed into bunny slippers because when my feet are cold I can't focus. I take a break in the afternoon to go buy a new mug, then I have a ‘lightbulb moment’ on York Street, so I stop on a bench and write it out.

I’m not sure I can convince my officemates that this is an ideal setup and dresscode, but I was thinking on Monday I might just wear my ninja cupcake shirt under my suit jacket. A tiny nod to my creative spirit, who’s struggling to fit into her current digs.