This was my first year attending Comic-Con International in the heart of downtown San Diego, a beautiful location, I must add. It has perfect weather, great restaurants, lots of fancy, expensive hotels to stay in, and great night life.
Having partied a bit too hard the night before, I wasn’t able to wake up in time to finish some work in the morning so that I could get to the convention center at a reasonable hour. I arrived to the Con rather late in the day on Thursday. It seemed as though some of the Comic Con’ers had started to leave for the day. I had heard that some people waited in line for hours, and some even waited in line overnight just to get in or even worse, just to make an attempt to get in. I asked myself, “What the fuck are they waiting for? Are they waiting to see a preview for a movie that has not been released yet? Are they waiting to see the artwork for some comic that has not come out yet? Are they here to buy toys that will either be a) cheaper to buy on eBay or b) not out yet?” I never really quite understood the purpose of conventions.
Why do people sit and wait for something that will eventually be out and available everywhere? I’m not going to say that I didn’t wait in line for 3 hours to watch Star Wars Episode One, but looking back at it, I wish I would have just gone to a bar instead and got drunk, especially being that Episode One sucked ass and I ended up buying a bootleg copy for 5 bucks from some guy who couldn’t speak English the next day. I’m not even going to mention how stupid I felt when the DVD finally came out and it was literally at every gas station, residence, warehouse, farmhouse, henhouse, outhouse and doghouse in my area, and I couldn’t get away from them shoving it down my throat.
After spending 20 bucks for a parking spot, we began our descent towards the convention center. At first glance, I felt as if I had been thrown onto the set of Michael Jacko’s Thriller video. There were zombies, zombies, zombies everywhere! I had the funny feeling that Left 4 Dead had a bigger impact on people than I cared to realize. I could not believe how in-character some of these people stayed. And I loved it. Comic-Con is a place where the most insecure of all folks can let go of all their inhabitions and transform themselves into their deepest and dorkiest desires. And for some people, that was a zombie.
I saw a full-blown Captain Jack Sparrow, Mace Windu, lots of Piccachu-looking freaks, a Spiderman with a huge sock in his pants, the Punisher (which was not hard for the dude to become considering he was probably wearing his everyday clothes) and more than enough Jedi. I even saw a fake-ass Robert Downey Jr. (as Tony Stark, of course) with funky shaved goatee beard. I was overwelmed by the sights and sounds, and most of all the dedication to nerd culture from fanboys (and girls). The more I looked around, the longer I wanted to stay. I began to get sucked in, as if I too was able to not think about my real life back home. THE GEEKS WERE RIGHT!
So I did what I love to do – I took pictures. It was amazing how eager they were to have their photos taken. I had become a full blown paparazzi. This is why they dress up. They become gods to anyone in the convention center. I could imagine someone spending an entire year preparing their costume for Comic-Con just so strangers could take their pictures, and so they’d have bragging rights about having the best stormtrooper outfit. I couldn’t help but respect them.
There was so much to report on that I would get lost and would lose focus. Finally I reached a point where I just said fuck it. At that point I became the fan. I put my camera away and just walked around, soaking in the atmosphere. I too began to get excited to see a panel or to be in the same room as a famous person who I would only see thru my boob tube (or YouTube). I felt lucky to be a part of this phenomenon, and I began to feel bad for the people left outside that were still waiting in line to get in. Then I realized I lost my keys. This is when I lost my shit. I had to find my fellow Con’rs that I had come with and tell them about the horrible predicament I was in. We mustard all our powers and used as much of the Force as we could to find my keys. From the moment on, I was no longer Peter Pan. Reality set in and I accepted the fact that no special powers would get me into the borrowed Dodge Neon I was driving, except some cold cash. $310 later, we were on our way back home; but for some strange reason I had a huge smile on my face. I had no regrets. This trip was worth every penny and heartache it caused. I’ll be seeing you at next year’s Comic-Con.
