He who makes a geek out of himself…

…gets rid of the pain of being a man.

In March-April of 1971, Dr. Hunter S. Thompson drove straight into the heart of Las Vegas, bringing with him a drug-fueled, frantic and honest expose on the collapse of the American Dream. Thompson’s work, now known as Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, showcased how America was slowly dying off of the feel-good vibes of the 60’s and entering the new “Nixon-ian” 70’s, an era that swallows the hope and peace of the previous decade in a brutal, unrelenting wave of nausea and restlessness. By many, Fear and Loathing is considered to be Thompson’s magnum opus, a work that transcends any generational boundary, exploring the vastness that is/was the slow, painful death of the American Dream.

Now, a mere 40 years later, we are left wondering if the American Dream actually died or was it more of a nagging injury that was grossly exaggerated due to Thompson’s viewpoint? Though I am hardly a worthy heir to the throne of Gonzo Journalism, I do plan to probe this issue to its fullest extent. I may not be able to go to Las Vegas with a suitcase full of mind-altering drugs and pharmaceuticals, but I can go to Manhattan with a backpack full of mood-altering caffeine and energy drinks.

I am going to New York Comic Con to find the American Dream.

Many see NYCC as nothing more than a jam-packed sardine can of anime school-girls, sweaty Pikachu costumes and dangerous amounts of comic book geekery, but I must protest this. In its purest form, ComicCon is a bastion of hope for these depressing times we live in. It’s a place that people of all demographics unite under one roof, regardless of sexuality, religious creed, race, gender or political persuasion. Nowhere else would you find a Progressive and Tea Party Patriot uniting towards speculation of a new comic book movie or glowing over a mint copy of Giant Size X-Men No. 1. In fact, I dare say that ComicCon is the very essence of a melting pot of harmony.

So come this Thursday, I will walk into the Jacob K. Javits Center in West Manhattan armed with my serious caffeine collection, a notebook, a cellular recording phone device and my wits. I don’t know who or where you are America, but I’m coming to find you.