WEST PALM BEACH, Fla. -- Christian Holmes is a nice, normal fellow. Has a good job designing home video games, makes decent money, lives in a comfortable home outside Orlando. At 30 years old, the future looks bright.
And he really enjoys dressing up like a superhero.Not Superman or Batman. He's got a thing for a comic-book hero known as The Thing.
For special occasions, Holmes dons an orange ski mask, orange socks and a pair of orange longjohns covered with orange sponges and made modest by the addition of a skimpy blue Speedo. The Thing, you see, was damaged by gamma rays in a horrific accident years ago that made his skin look like a portable rock slide. Holmes couldn't glue rocks to his longjohns. Sponges had to suffice.
"I drove here like this in my convertible," he says, his voice tinged with pride. "Got a few honks."
It isn't often he gets to show off this getup. But he did break it out for one of his favorite events, the MegaCon comic book and science fiction convention in Orlando this month.
Standing straight, a bemused smirk on his face, he strolled through the aisles of booths, drawing the oohs and ahhs of Spider-Man worshipers and "Star Trek" fanatics who respected his commitment to the character. A few booths away, a 6-foot alien even turned his head for a look.
Why would an otherwise normal guy pull such a stunt?
"This is the one place where it's acceptable to do this," he said. "You can get into character and lose yourself for a little bit and have a little vacation from who you are."
Just then, a woman with a toddler taps him on an arm sponge.
"My son wonders why you have a lumpy tushy."
Oh, the indignities of the modern crime fighter.
Unique environment is right. During the three-day event, the MegaCon (that's comics lingo for mega-convention -- "The Con" for short, if you're really into it) attracts thousands of avid fans who come to buy and sell their mountains of comic books, meet the artists and writers of their favorite titles and buy collectible artwork.
Some go as far as Holmes and don the apparel of their favorite characters. Some go further.
One Con-goer, dressed head to toe in blue suit, tie and fedora, insisted his birth name was The Shadow.
The name on his driver license? "The Shadow."
Where does he live? "Only The Shadow knows."
Sigh.
"The people at the Cons can sometimes be a little strange, but they're really nice and polite, and they have a great time." said Karl Story, an Atlanta-based artist who helps draw the Nightwing series based on Batman's sidekick, Robin.
"For a lot of these people, it's their one chance out of the year other than Halloween to dress up and be the people they want to be. I've seen people wearing barbarian chain mail and bikinis."
Conventions like the one in Orlando -- which is among more than a dozen huge gatherings around the country each year -- draw people from hundreds of miles away. Distance is not a factor when you're crazy about Captain America.
But all of this is changing. The Internet is quickly becoming the new home for traders, with thousands of titles being bought and sold each day. The comics business is coming out of a five-year recession, the demographics are shifting away from kids to an older, more affluent customer who can afford comics that are $3 each off the shelf, and the Internet has pumped new life into the collectibles segment.
Which leaves comics fans who enjoy the mingling as much as the haggling wondering whether these kinds of shows will be around in a few years.
"I love the energy here," said Kim Floyd, a 52-year-old salesman from Thomasville, Ga., who collects "golden age comics" from the '40s and '50s. "Everyone is extremely focused on their books and charged up. That doesn't happen online. The Internet is clinical and cold and commercial.
"It might be overstating it, but this kind of convention is like a living, breathing beast with its own momentum. I'd hate to see that lost because of the almighty dollar."
If the money is getting in the way of comic collectors' enjoyment, you couldn't tell by looking online. At eBay, the largest online auctioneer, thousands of comic books -- including over 27,000 rare titles -- are for sale.
The site built its business on the collectibles market: Beanie Babies, Barbies, coins, sports memorabilia, antiques and comics.
The company brought a huge contingent to the MegaCon, opening a flashy booth complete with laptops and sales reps who offered convention-goers immediate access to their site.
If anyone should be worried by Internet encroachment, you'd think it would be James Breitbeil, MegaCon's organizer and publisher of Frank Frazetta Fantasy Illustrated. He's seen attendance increase about 20 percent each year, reaching 14,000 during the three days this year. The convention has diversified to include science fiction, fantasy game tournaments and animation exhibits, along with the occasional Playboy Playmate and one-time TV stars from such shows as "The Munsters" and "Lost in Space."
He realizes that by signing eBay as the Con's major sponsor this year, he's inviting the enemy into his camp. But Breitbeil said he isn't concerned.
"It definitely crosses the line a little bit, but the Internet is here to stay. And regardless, we're likely to keep growing. A convention is an interactive thing, and you can't
really replace being with your peers. EBay can do some of what we do, but they can't really capitalize on the atmosphere."
PATIENCE HAS a human face. His name is Trent Swift.
The 14-year-old from Palm Beach is sitting on the floor, back against the Orlando Expo Centre's walls, waiting in line to see his favorite comic-book artist, J. Scott Campbell.
Swift -- normal teenage boy that he is -- is crazy about Campbell's Danger Girl. Along with a flashy drawing style and a shiny cover, the book's main draw is the weapon-wielding title character, who makes Pamela Lee look downright sylphlike.
"We've been waiting here about an hour," he says. His mom, Lisa, who drove Trent to Orlando to see Campbell, is sitting on the floor with him. He's 20th in line at the moment. Another 100 people are behind them.
But this trip was about more than Danger Girl or meeting Campbell or getting a good price for the 1942 Human Torch comic he owns that probably is worth $400. Trent's father, Joe, died in September.
"It was Trent's desire to come here," Lisa said. "Going to shows was something he and his father used to do together. I wanted to carry that tradition on. My kids are my life right now."
Dozens of people file past the line on their way to other booths. The topic drifts to the guy in the orange sponge suit.
"Anyone who would dress up in 6 feet of sponge has got to have something wrong with him," Trent jokes. His mother laughs with him.
It's the kind of laugh you get when you've been sitting for an hour on a hard floor. It's the kind of moment you just can't buy on a Web site.