From July 21 through July 25, Rosserford, Announcer Mike, Rick and I were in San Diego for Comic-Con 2010, the largest gathering of geeks, nerds, gamers, comic-book
lovers, superhero-costume junkies and Joss Whedon fans in the world! Now, I have never seen an episode of Buffy; I
do not own a Wonder Woman outfit; I'm not really into comic books; I
don't know when to roll the die nor can I do any combo but Scorpion's;
I'm too dumb to be a nerd; and I'm too self-aware to be a geek. But the neat thing about this, my very first Comic-Con (Rick's too!), is that I felt like I belonged. I'm still not entirely sure why, but I do know that the people who attended the convention made an otherwise stressful event fun for me. They're just the nicest, strangest, most accepting group of folks you could ever hope to meet. (Having The Boys and Rick with me certainly didn't hurt!)
I'm sure you all saw Mr. Rosserford's delightful and relevant posts from the event -- as cool stuff happened. They really captured the surreal and enormously fun essence of Comic-Con. I tasked myself with something a little different: I've spent the last week or so digesting the experience. Funny: As the days passed, all the not-so-great stuff (lines, crowds,
security, traveling, etc.) faded. (I actually had to reach to
remember what it was like on the plane.) And I was left with that
warm-fuzzy feeling made of spectacular memories and camaraderie. I got
to watch my husband and our two best friends geek out (adorably, I
might add), and I genuinely loved the people-watching, the excitement and the joy of my companions. The melodrama of air
travel and overwhelmed spazziness/grumpiness is simply side comedy when compared with the awesomeness we
experienced. This is how I'll remember it.
I think the best way to do this is to split it up into a couple of parts, not only to ensure I'll finish it, but also so it doesn't become The Travelogue of Confused Messiness. Enjoy!
It's the day of Comic-Con, y'all!
I have never flown across the country before. I realize pretty much everyone has, and I must sound like a whiny, little kid, but man: It sucks. A refresher for those who have forgotten: You reach a point during the flight when you can't read anymore. Even listening to your iPod becomes too much work. All you can do is just sit, close your eyes and hope it's over soon. You get unreasonably excited when the flight attendants come around to offer you water and soda and coffee and unusual snacks. You jump out of your seat as soon as the fasten-seatbelt light goes out so you can stand in line to visit the sad, tiny room at the rear of the plane. You try the iPod again. No luck. Finally, you consider going on a killing spree, not because you've become a homicidal maniac or anything, but it's something to do, and it might give you a chance to stretch your legs. In fact, I've just considered stabbing Mr. Rosserford in the eye for no reason but that he happens to be seated next to me. Look at him. Just sitting there, nodding off, clearly as uncomfortable as I. God, I hate him. I hope he doesn't catch me glaring.
The landing is spectacular -- mountains, water, palm trees and tarmac: all welcome sights. What time is it? Really? 10:30 a.m.? Sure. That makes complete sense. We're in Tokyo, right? Oh, San Diego? Wow. We've stepped outside for a cigarette (on my insistence), and it's paradise up in this joint: no sunshine, no humidity, and I have to open up my suitcase and grab my jacket. It's a sweet reunion with Mike & Rick and then a short bus ride/train ride/walk to the biggest hotel I've ever seen.
We check into our adjoining rooms, shower off the airplane ick, and then it's off to lunch at Cafe Diem, a restaurant attached to the Hard Rock Hotel that's been transformed into something out of a show called Eureka. I have never seen this show, but they make a damn fine biscuit and they keep bringing me Pepsi, which is just about the most wonderful thing ever. And Mike & Ross are happy like it's Christmas Eve.
Close. It's Preview Night at Comic-Con.
We head over to the Convention Center
and walk excitedly through the maze of escalators and ropes and shiny anticipation to check in. We are quickly handed a badge, a Dexter laniard, an event guide, a souvenir book and a laughably ginormous Warner Bros. bag. Oh my god! Free stuff! Back through the maze we go and smack into the first of many lines. But it doesn't matter. We're all waiting to snake down to the exhibit hall, and we're all in the same boat: We are jumpy, tired and giddy -- and we are all trying desperately to be cool about it. (I especially like the kid in front of us who looks and acts like a slightly more socially awkward version of The Gay Kid from Glee.) Mike & Ross are making a game plan: Convention Nerd at the Entertainment Earth booth for Mike; Berkeley Breathed T-shirt, book and autograph for Ross. Rick's going with Mike. I have no plan (other than try not to freak out in the mass of people), so I'm with Ross. The crowd swells forward, and away we go!
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