The Con

Ahh, Comic Con. How I've missed you. It's been two years since I last sampled your excess. Free stuff everywhere, the best flair I've ever known decorating legions of costumed geeks, all squeezing in through cramped isles in the hopeless effort to see it all.

Hall H. That hallowed ground where only the super rich and famous grace the stage. Your 6,000 strong seating filled to capacity with a line of thousands more desperately awaiting their turn to see the next biggest best thing to come. I peek through the door as it briefly opens to admit one more lucky soul, take pictures of the thousands waiting for their moment to cross the threshold, then go on my way to explore the corners that are ignored by so many.

The independent artist's gallery. The indie press graphic novels. The secluded corner that allows me 3 inches of personal space and an unobstructed view of the craziness. These surround stages and productions not often seen outside of Hollywood. Crowds gather at the whisper of "free stuff", and turn into frenzied yet organized madness, all clamoring to be the lucky recipient of a tee shirt for a movie they've never heard of, a poster of someone they'll never hang, or a first edition signed collectors edition of their favorite artist/writer newest release.

A year of anticipation, 4 days of chaos, then no more. It's back to bottling up the alter ego that only comes out for the Con. No more zombie takeovers of Horton Plaza. No more Star Troopers battling next to knights in full armor while a legion of belly dancers and Leias cheer them on. No more glitter. No more flair.

Good-bye until next year...