Letters From The Loft

Stuff From The Desk Of Chuck Thornton

Comic-Con 2009 - Introduction

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DAY ZERO... cont'd

When we arrived at the Loews Coronado Bay Resort, it was obvious that a four-star rating was about one and a half stars more than the likes of us deserved. It also became quickly apparent that fancy resorts, like fancy restaurants, operate under an “a la carte” approach to amenities that we weren’t used to.

We knew enough to avoid opening or brushing against the mini-bar, but there were other charges we hadn’t anticipated. While checking in, I asked the hotel clerk if I could have a room with two beds. He advised that no rooms with two beds were available, but I could have a roll-away bed brought to my room for an additional charge of $25 per night. I told him my sons would accept a bribe of $10 a night to sleep on the floor, so as long as I was willing to be inconsiderate, I could save $5 a night.

I may have avoided the extra-bedding charge, but there was no way around the $22 daily parking fee. The last I looked, Coronado Island was still within Southern California borders, where everyone’s required to operate a motor vehicle daily, even if it’s just to get you to the bus stop. And the Loews Coronado Bay Resort is miles from anything other than sand and salt water, so it’s safe to say that, unless this charge was only levied on guys too cheap to get a roll-away bed, the $22 charge might as well have been tacked onto the room rate. Instead, I had to carry around both a room key-card and a parking key-card to raise the gate at the parking lot exit. The two cards weren’t interchangeable, which resulted in an additional charge for damage incurred to the exit gate.

And, of course, there was a daily charge for internet access, but the alternative of a day without spam was unthinkable. Bottom line: Priceline would have been a good deal if I just hadn’t shown up at the hotel. Travel tip: check the hotel’s fine print if your room’s toilet has a meter attached.

Once we settled into the room and unfolded all the extra bedding, we made our way to the Convention Center. Although the Con doesn’t officially start until Thursday, there’s a “preview night” that allows you to register and introduce yourself to the 125,000 other folks that you’ll be spending the next four days with.

Because of the sheer number of people and the geography of downtown San Diego, parking for the Con requires some advance tactical thinking. Parking is pretty much limited to lots scattered randomly throughout the downtown area, and serviced by shuttle buses set up specifically for the Con and manned by individuals who have all been decorated (some posthumously) by the California DMV. For the past few years, we frequented a particular parking lot located near where the cruise ships dock. But this year we decided to try something different. We located a parking lot sort of near the Petco Stadium, which is sort of within walking distance of the Convention Center if you’re not a 55-year-old overweight comic book fan, and it was $10 to park there. That might seem steep, but the larger lot right across the street was charging $20. On the other side of that lot was a shuttle bus stop, but by the time we got there, we figured we were halfway to our destination and everyone around us had the same giant underarm stains, so we decided there was no harm in walking the rest of the way.

Registering went without a hitch; we got our nifty lanyard to hold the badge that allows you through the Convention Center doors, all of which are required to have “Contents Under Pressure” signs. There aren’t any programs on Preview Night, but you’re allowed into the massive Exhibition Hall, which can easily hold half of the people that are in it at any given time.

I made my annual stop at the Peanuts Booth (run by the Charles M. Schulz Museum). Every year they offer one or two T-shirts that are exclusive to the Convention, and my wife loves them, because she loves Peanuts. This year, like last year, I picked up two shirts; one with a Snoopy image, one with a Charlie Brown image. The last two Charlie Brown shirts have surprised me. One has an image from the early days of the strip, with a Charlie Brown that looks about 3 or 4, dressed up in a cowboy outfit, with a look that can only be described as utter resignation to his status as a loser. The other one looks more like the Charlie Brown we know from the majority of the strip’s run, sitting hunched over with a pained expression and exclaiming (all together now), “Good Grief!” Both are great images that perfectly capture the poignancy that was a big part of Peanuts, and every time I see Sue wearing one of those shirts, it makes me feel a little sad. That I should feel bad for a fictional character may be an indication of great art, but I’m not sure it’s good for my marriage.

For a while, we rubbed elbows (euphemistically speaking) with other Preview Night attendees, then decided to get out of there, grab some dinner, stock up on some oxygen, and prepare for the first real day of Comic-Con… as real as it gets, anyway.

We decided on a quick meal at Burger King, where we elevated the level of dinner conversation in the dining area by discussing such matters as how cool a Plastic Man movie would be; and why a company would call their signature hamburger The Whopper, then immediately offer a Junior Whopper.

ON TO DAY ONE

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