So, just by chance, I found out that Will Pfeifer is from Rockford, IL. In fact, he writes for Rockford's local newspaper (movie columns, which should give you some idea about the genesis of Film Freak).
This is unbelievably cool.
See, where I am right now (home for the holidays), I'm less than an hour and a half from Rockford. I have a Rockford Area Code. In theory, I could call Will Pfeifer right now, and it would barely be long distance.
I won't call, though, because that would be slightly more than moderately creepy.
"Yes, um, hello, may I speak to the incredibly awesome Will Pfeifer?"
"Oh, um, Mr. Pfeifer, you're incredibly awesome."
"I know. Thank you."
"So, how many kidneys should I sell to get DC to bring back H-E-R-O? Should I start with one, or should I be getting them in bulk?"
Yeah, creepy. But plausible. I don't really have a problem with getting starstruck, per se, but I find that I don't usually think of anything to say around famous people. I just kind of stand there awkwardly until I get comfortable, which is usually long after they've finished signing my whatever I've given them to sign. Though I managed to have a decent (albeit brief) conversation with Geoff Johns at WizardWorld, I suppose.
So, um, right. The point is, one of my current favorite comic writers, a guy whose books consistently find their way into my "first reads" pile, lives within a short drive of my house. Not only is that supremely fantastic, but it gives me a certain degree of hope for my own comic-writing ambitions.
By the way, Mr. Pfeifer, in an age when comic writers have problems cranking out one script in thirty days, how do you manage at least one monthly title, usually a miniseries in addition, and a regular newspaper column?
It's writers like Pfeifer and Simone who make the chronically-late look bad.
I had a stalker moment when my family visited Ohio when I was fifteen. I called up Cartoon Books trying to get a tour and a meeting with Jeff Smith. I got questioned about where I got the unlisted phone number (from a three year old phone book) and told that if I could make it to San Deigo (there was no way for me to get there or pay for the con) I could meet Jeff there, but no tours. I haven't made a call like that since, but if I had the chance, I'd be sorely tempted.
So...how many kidneys WOULD it take?
Seriously, I did a review of GLC #7 a little while back, and both Pat Gleason and Keith Champagne were kind enough to say something about it. I walked on air for a week.
Delurking, not that I was keeping that low a profile in the first place:
I don't get starstruck when I meet the moderately famous, but what usually happens is that I'll get my book signed, or whatever, and the moderately famous person will say something clever that I won't catch, because I don't have my brain set on 'wit' at the moment, and I'll seem like a dullard.
It doesn't happen often. Usually my instinct is to leave the moderately famous alone. The last thing they want is me bugging them, and what do I really have to say to them anyway?
Actually, I think it's the chronically late that make the chronically late look bad...
But yeah, I'm from Galesburg, IL (you're probably the only blogger outside of me that knows where that is). Not so close as you, but still.
And as an aside, I went to your old comic book store in the Quad Cities when I was home over the summer. Thanks for pointing me in the right direction way back whenever that was...
According to Google Maps, I'm 2 hours from Rockford. You know what that means...
Stalker road trip!
Come on, it'll be great. We'll take in the sights, maybe see a show, then I'll dress up as a 300-pound Catwoman and we'll go mentally scar Pfeifer.
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