There is something about San Diego during Comic-Con that renders most modern computer technology useless. Yesterday morning I was able to get enough good bandwidth on the hotel Wi-Fi to make a video conference call to may dad to tell him I’d arrived and thus mollify him enough to not call me, say, when I’m drunk in the DC panel, asking Geoff Johns if Black Lantern would have an afro, a plan to stick it to The Man, or team up with Superfly. After all, it’s rude to have a cell phone ring when you’re mocking a man’s life’s work to his face.
That was yesterday morning. By yesterday evening, my cell phone had stopped receiving text messages or emails, causing me to miss a savage drinking session with the women from Popcorn Mafia (Upon whose podcast I should be a guest on Sunday, if any of us can stay sober enough to actually close the deal on taping), and rendering communicating by Twitter to the level of a chimp shrieking from a tire swing.
It took me ten minutes to negotiate the FTP bandwidth hell to upload the picture at the top of the page, and every time I press the button to add a link I have time to go outside for a smoke before the pop-up appears. By this time tomorrow, you will probably be able to notice the tech lag when the writing before a link includes words like “abominable”, and after includes phrases like, “sHJUT uOP mUTHEFUCKDER!”
Is San Diego technologically cursed? Is Mexico launching cyberattacks on California? No… it’s just that an eight of a million tech-savvy geeks have descended upon this three-mile radius in the past 20 hours and gummed up the works. And every single one of them apparently attended Preview Night last night.
At my first Comic-Con in 2006, it was always crowded, but it was only Saturday that was a stutter-walking, cripplingly crowded mess. Preview Night was for the hardcore, the people who weren’t in town to gawk at the freaks or rubberneck for celebrities, but to obtain the entire run of second series Star Wars action figures, and knew that Comic-Con was the only place to get them, since their personal hygiene was inappropriate for any other shopping venue, including eBay.
That was then. This is now.
This picture is indistinguishable from a picture I might have taken at midday Saturday four years ago. The floor was packed, and walking at a full, confident stride was impossible… double so for me and my girl since we were drunk, thanks to a dirty martini, a belt of single malt scotch, two Amstel Lights, four Arrogant Bastard Ales, two Guinesses, and no food. Respectively.
Last year we were able to roam around in this condition, taking inappropriate pictures of each other rubbing up on statuary and giggling at the rubes. This year, we stumbled around in a mean funk, mutteringthings like, “Unbelievable,” “Reprehensible”, and “Must… not… stab.” And every three steps, we were tripping over strollers packed with squalling infants, because as Dr. Spock said, there’s nothing a child wants more than a limited edition Master Chief bobblehead and constant jostling from 50,000 surly strangers.
And keep in mind that during Preview Night, there are no celebrities there. Even I was reduced to drunkenly accosting David Malki from Wondermark like he was Sam Jackson. At least I think I was; all I know is that the Wondermark book I apparently bought from him is inscribed: “Rob: Sober up already!”
On the positive side, by attending Preview Night we have already obtained our laminates, meaning that we can skip right past the line to obtain passes and walk right to the floor. On the negative side, apparently so has everyone fucking else.
In retrospect, I should have known that Preview night was going to be fucked. I should have known this because the picture of Rorschach at the top of the page? I took that in the line to pick up laminates.Three hours before the floor opened. Meaning this guy dressed up in costume… to stand in fucking line. That is unprecedented dedication… which is what he should tell the judge.
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I will try to put a few more pictures up on The American Jerk Photo Dump before we head out into the madness. More will follow this evening.
[tags]San Diego Comic-Con, Nerd Prom, Dark humor, satire[/tags]
Don’t be silly. Black Lantern would team up with Dolomite.
And yes, my progeny does require a numbered, limited edition, M41A pulse rifle. Cause you never know when those xenomorphs are gonna pop up