|Convention Center around 4:00am.|
I’ve seen two middle-aged women dressed as Merida from BRAVE this morning. One might have actually been old, not middle-aged. That amuses me.
It is now nearly six am. I’m not tired, and not cold, and am in high spirits. If you know me at all, I tend to be either really up or really down, and apparently, the roller coaster as gone up the ridge again. I just saw a legitimately-attractive girl go by, dressed as Silk Spectre. Miraculously, that did not push me into the realms of despair.
Now, it’s later, and amazingly, the people keep on lining up. I do not exaggerate when I say that the line now goes off into the horizon. The girl next to me joked that eventually, they’ll be wading, and only people with kayaks will be in line.
|The very small people are at the tail end of the queue.|
Right before eight o’clock, the people with sleeping bags were forced to line up (taking their bedding back to their cars, or motel rooms, or simply tossing it into the Pacific), and we moved forward for twenty minutes or so, filling the tents more than three blocks away. Now I am under the second tent, surprisingly close to the front of the line. It’s possible that people that showed up an hour or three after I did will actually get in. And good for them; it sucks that anybody today would get turned away like I did yesterday.
Unfortunately, the grass below me is wet and disgusting. I can’t figure out how the grass could get this mashed down and muddy unless people urinated on it day after day. I also smell tuna fish. At least that’s what I think it is.
Not having a blanket, I ended up tearing about twenty pages out of my program and sitting on them, eagerly awaiting the moment that the wetness soaked through and I felt it on my pants. But I lucked out, and it only soaked partway through by the time it was time to stand.
Last year, those manatee-fuckers from the Westboro Baptist Church were out picketing the show, telling us who was going to burn in eternal hellfire and who really pisses God off. This year, they have been replaced by a bunch of more non-descript Christians with signs and megaphones, apparently (at least from their words and tone of voice) trying to save our souls and let us know the Good News. You know, I don’t really appreciate them being here, but they’re so much less caustic and hate-dripping that I don’t wish them ill at all. I do wonder why they chose to come here: because they are seeking publicity (which the Westboro defecants also sought), because they think we’re doing something wrong, or because they know there will be crowds and they think some of us may listen to what they have to say? I’m not really complaining about them, mind you, and I guess it beats going door to door, I don’t know.
Oh, I was going to mention, though, that last year there were counter-protesters at the Westboro thing (people holding up signs that said “God Hates Vampires” and “Odin Hates Straights” and such), but that I did see a couple of similar signs this year, one of which read “GALACTUS IS COMING. Are you prepared?” There might have been a scripture too, like FF Vol 1:49.
|This Beta Ray Bill costume was one of the most-impressive of the con. Unfortunately, he wouldn't stop moving for anyone to take his picture, and this was the best I could get.|
Big sent me a message yesterday, wishing me a happy birthday, and declaring that I was at the place where I am happiest. I don’t know about that (I could be in Malibu right now, trying to help Anne Hathaway grow her hair back), but I do feel like there are more people who are like me in this crowd than anywhere else. You see some real psychos, don’t get me wrong, but I genuinely think that most of these are good people (or at least decent people, in the upper fiftieth percentile as opposed to the other half). They’re passionate about something (many somethings, in many cases), and willing to sweat and strain and spend their money to express it (or be around those that do).
I don’t have kids, but if I did, I’d try to bring them to stuff like this (though maybe not the SDCC, since it’s just too darn big and too darn difficult), to show them the sights and the passion, and let them know that if there’s something they enjoy, they can explore it as deeply as they like. I think it would be wise to help them express why they enjoy something, and be able to defend it to somebody who doesn’t. ‘Cause that’s the thing: any kid who had me as a parent would be bound to get picked on or mistreated in some way, and it might be good for him/her to know how to react to that.
Maybe he'd have to get some hand-to-hand combat lessons somewhere in there too.
There was a really impressive Beta Ray Bill costume walking around that I tried hard to get a photo of, but he wouldn’t stop for pictures. I’m not saying he was a jerk or anything, but if you put in a lot of work on a costume, you want people to notice you, right? It’s like a woman who gets breast impla--
Well, maybe not.
I did turn this off for a while and attempted to write something in my program, writing in the margins like a notebook. I hate many things about myself, but one of the big winners is that, when I am someplace I cannot write, my mind goes to a creative place, coming up with stuff I would write if I could. But once I’m in front of a computer or notebook, my brain empties like a waterballoon with holes in it. I wrote for ten or fifteen minutes, never with a goal, or even a good idea. I think I’ll have to throw away everything I wrote on those pages.
Of course, I might forget I wrote them, throw it away, and forever wonder what great stuff was in there, lost forever.
. . . To Be Continued . . .