***“In Defense of the Medium” is a regular column published on Primary Ignition by Chris Kromphardt, staff writer and Justice Administrator. The views expressed here are his alone, and do not reflect those of the staff of Primary Ignition.***

Rod Blagojevich, shamed former Illinois governor (as if there were any other kind of former Illinois governor), fresh off a declared mistrial for 23 of 24 charges emanating from actions that prosecutor Fitzgerald claimed “would make Lincoln turn over in his grave” made the next most logical move after hitting the television circuit to sell, now that he doesn’t have an open Senate seat to bargain with, himself I guess: he went to Comic Con.

AP photo.

Blago was a guest at Wizard World Chicago this past weekend; his John Hancock commanded $50, while the opportunity to be immortalized in a photograph with him was a bargain for convention-goers at $80. 

Whether Blagojevich belongs at Comic Con raises some interesting existential questions about the current state of pop culture; people are considered to be celebrities after some television exec decides to turn them into one by giving them their own show on MTV or E! You could make the argument that a personality like Blago, as skewered nightly as he was (is) by The Daily Show, might warrant a small booth between various freaks of Youtube and retired wrestling superstar Virgil. 

I had a chance to meet pre-indicted Blago, at a party in Denver that he was hosting for a beloved Illinois political figure. He hadn’t been in attendance at any of the other big parties hosted for the Illinois delegation (I can’t confirm whether or not he was invited to them), but for an attention-whore of his magnitude, his scarce presence at the Democratic National Convention strongly implied that he was being kept under wraps and it was only by “honoring” a veteran of the War in Iraq that he was allowed to play a part in the celebration.

As he worked the room, I—and likely most everyone else there—performed a shifting act, keeping an eye on the mound of hair and strategically positioning myself with at least one available escape route at all times. Or at least I tried to. He ended up zeroing in on the group I was with—probably because we were the only ones under 30—and, seizing my hand and not letting go, preceded to tell me about how great it was that Dallas Cowboys quarterback Tony Romo had gone to Eastern Illinois University, my school at the time. And after running through a litany of everyone he knew affiliated with EIU, still holding my hand in his cold grip, he made the single most astonishing proposal I have ever received.

“If you and the college democrats ever come to Springfield, I’m sure we could put you up in the Governor’s Mansion.”

He seemed completely sincere, and as I accepted a personalized business card from one of his people and stood staring as he finally moved on, I thought: What the $%#@ just happened here?

I actually followed up on his offer to see to what degree he was pulling my leg, and communicated back and forth a few times with one of his people—I found out, months later and completely at random, that another person in another situation had received the exact same offer—but then he had to go and get indicted.

Blago with Adam West. Photo from C.M. Wiggins/WENN.com.

The point of this whole story is that you couldn’t pay people to mingle with pre-indicted Blago. (You could, however, bribe them into indifference with an open bar).

But comics fans are a curious breed. We’re inclined toward doing strange things, such as ritualistic weekly trips to the comic book store, and collecting busts and sundry other pieces of crap; we’re often quick with the wallet when something has piqued our interest. Maybe Comic Con is the perfect place for Blago—lots of people with open wallets looking for a spectacle, such as the latest Freak of the Week.

But maybe Comic Con really is the right place for Blagojevich for another reason. I’m sure he’d fit right in among the cosplayers, an Edward Scissorhands-sort with head-0f-hair of a Wookie.