EXTRA 2 // 8.01.02

EXTRA: HOW YOU CAN CHANGE THE WORLD
By Josh Buchin

[Editor's Note: Josh sent us this essay a few months back, detailing how he discovered SAVANT through a pdf drop at last year's San Diego Comic Convention and the effect it had on him. Since this issue is going up during this year's Comic Con, I thought it was a perfect time to share his experience, and remind you that if you're going to this year's convention, feel free to print out this issue, or the Activist's Cookbook, and distribute them to the more than 50,000 people expected to attend. You'll be joining some fine company if you do, and as Josh will remind us, you never know who might find a copy.]

There seems to be this new virus going around, spreading quickly from person to person, but not fast enough. It's an easy thing to catch, a contagious little feller, you don't need to cough on someone or even come in contact with their flesh. All you need to do is download a file, print it and hand it out. Hand it out too as many people as you can. It may be easy, but it's essential. This information needs to be spread. This will be the first time that a virus actually can save an industry, as opposed to wiping one out. It is vital and it is viral and it is easy. And it should be done because there are so many people out there who need that first exposure to the ideas, people who haven't been numbed to SAVANT'S slogans already. I'd know, I was one of those. SAVANT'S message, the first time I heard it, wasn't like a disease. It was like a cure to all that's wrong with the comics industry.

This was last summer but incredibly, probably thanks to the obsessive slob and excessive pack rat I am (I just can't bring myself to throw something out! I swear to god that as soon as I empty my quarters of all this litter, that's when I'm gong to need it… It's a fact of life.) I still have the little purple book in good condition, albeit slightly stained and creased. The cover has stayed the same, a dull purple with black printing on it. The nice, six letter logo is book ended by two monkeys, one a photo realistic picture and the other a little toy cartoon. It used to seem clear to me what it was, but looking at it now, I can't tell if it's a photo of a toy or a cartoon illustration. The copy wasn't all that good to begin with, it's only gotten worse with age. The black ink, instead of being thick and impenetrable like tar, now resembles dirty sand. It doesn't matter though. It's the message that counts. And this little book carries one hell of a message.

How did I come to posses this little purple book? I was working retail at the San Diego Comic-Con 2001. Two people, looking hassled, tired and frantic came up to us, each one of them having a mammoth stack of these little books in their paws. They wedged a handful of them behind the registers, tucking them into the plastic racks that normally are reserved for comic books, words and pictures, not just words. Then they ran off, disappearing into the crowded and busy convention hall, slipping back into the tide from which they'd come… without saying so much as a word.

To say the least, I was intrigued. Who were these people, mass producing some pamphlets, then sticking them into every crevice they could find? For free, no less. These people, why, they were weirder than any of the all too many costume bound fans I'd seen that week. This wasn't an everyday thing, (well, of course not, this is San Diego International Comic-Con we're talking about here, folks.) I quickly snatched one up and after fanning through the book, affirming my assumption that it was indeed all text, I read over the first two lines of the: SAVANT STATEMENT OF INTENT, REVISED UPDATED. Those first two lines were all I needed.

"We're here to help make things better.

Things are wrong with the comics industry."

I was amazed, blown away, hooked on it like it was my first try of heroin or something illegal (God SAVANT is so good, it should be illegal.) I wanted more. I wanted to curl up and read the whole damn thing right there and then, just sit down, blocking all the people. But of course I didn't do this because I couldn't let the boss catch me reading on the job. So instead, I discreetly stuck it in my bag, propping it in between the program book, some Vertigo comics I'd just bought and my wrinkled sweatshirt. I'd walked back from where my bag was hidden, concealed in the trenches, and was hoping that those mysterious angels would come back, return to let me thank them and compliment them for distributing such a fine piece of literature, or so I assumed, from the fourteen words I'd read and the two monkeys I'd glanced on the cover.

The guys, of course, never returned and I have no idea who they are or even what they looked like anymore. I never got a chance to thank them, which is kind of why I'm writing this; to let them know that their magazine works, damn it. PDF distribution works. Downloading it works. Printing it works. Handing them out works. It all works and it's something anyone can do, even a primate of some type, real or cartoon like the pair seen by the logo.

I didn't know just how incredible a thing it was then or anytime soon after because once I stuck it into the black hole that any bag of mine is forever doomed to be, I forgot about it. Even after I returned home from San Diego and dumped out my convention goodies, scattering my haul across my desk, my lone purple, white and black copy of SAVANT remained buried among full color comics, ads, posters and free promotions which are the real reason to attend any con.

But sometime later, my sister got sick with appendicitis and I had to shuttle her and others to and from the hospital. I don't remember much from that weekend, when my sister was incapacitated, moaning in agony at the tightening in her stomach. I vaguely remember waiting outside of her room at one point, I remember eating donuts for both lunch and dinner just because I passed a Happy Donuts on my way to the hospital. And I remember, most importantly, sitting in a huge soccer mom-esque van illegally stalled in the hospital parking lot, leaning over the rubber steering wheel engrossed in SAVANT'S SUMMER CONVENTION SPECIAL, 2001. At one point a security guard came over to me. After knocking on the driver side window repeatedly and finally succeeding in captivating my attention, he told me I'd have to move this car, because I couldn't take up a handicap spot or block an ambulance exit or some bullshit like that and I recall telling him with far too much malice, (I hate being interrupted when I'm reading. If you see me reading you'd do well to stay clear, keep the fuck away if I'm engrossed in a book) that yeah, sure, I'd move this car, just let me finish reading this essay…

What had happened was that I'd had some premonition, some vision of the future that depicted to me the ungodly number of hours I'd have to spend at the hospital that week. Thanks to this vision, this mad look into the hell that was to come, I was able to prepare for the time I'd spend in a hospital. For that entire weekend that little, purple book was glued to my hands. I read the articles, by Alec, Jason, Whitney, Matt, Jamie, David and all the others. I read them while I was waiting for the elevator to come, waiting outside a hospital door or down in the cafeteria. And once I'd read them all I began to re-read them.

I was getting excited, real effervescent. For the first time in a while, my engine was jump started about comics. There was hope, I thought! Everything might work out! The industry may not disappear like the saber tooth tiger! If only everyone would read SAVANT then things would be better. Things would be good.

As terrible as it sounds, while my sister was recuperating and her friends and family came to visit, I began to pimp SAVANT magazine. Pump it up to visitors or even complete strangers alike.

"How's you sister?" An interchangeable local relative would ask me.

"Oh, fine, great, whatever…that's not important. Check this out. It's called Savant, it's about comics. Check it out, just, take a look. Great articles! Great stuff! Real original. Smart. Smart. Smart…"

I practically memorized that little book. The stories told in there became intertwined with the epic yarn of my sister's appendicitis. I learned from SAVANT, not just about certain non-mainstream comics but about life as well. I learned lessons, from that book! Whole lessons.

Fuck, for a week I based my singular philosophy on that little, folded ten page miracle. All because of two people who where handing out this magazine which they'd downloaded, printed, copied, folded and stapled. It was a simple task for them, just get it out there, show it to people. I'm sure at the time, they didn't imagine that it would change anyone's life. But it did, which is just further testament to why more people should do it. You never know how great an affect it will have.

It got me through that tough time with a smile etched on my face.

PDF distribution works. Downloading it works. Printing it works. Handing them out works. Yes, I've said this before, yes I'm beating it into the ground here. But it needs to be hammered in, not everyone out there knows this. Not everyone knows just how contagious SAVANT'S messages are and how easy distribution of the thoughts can be. Most people don't even know just how effective SAVANT'S message can be. But it's about time that everyone did.

Who knows, with a little luck, and a lot of effort, and maybe, if everyone reads and distributes SAVANT, it could help the industry through this tough time.

And that would be something to make us all smile, now wouldn't it?