COMIC-CON INTERNATIONAL 2010
SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
JULY 2010

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INTRODUCTION

A lot of you may not realize this unless you pick up on the subtle subtext of past entries, but one of the highpoints of my year is the annual trip to the San Diego Comic-Con that I make with my sons Ben and Sam. If indeed you're unaware of my need to migrate south every summer, you can reference my previous 2008 and 2009 Comic-Con journals, which are lousy with subtext.

My anticipation didn't wane this year, although controversy has been brewing around the Con in recent months.

Since its inception in 1970, Comic-Con International (familiarly know as CCI to those of us who don't want to repeatedly type out the whole name) has steadily grown in both scope and attendance, and occasionally it's had to change venues to accommodate that growth. Since 1991, it's been at the San Diego Convention Center, located bayside near the Gas Lamp District and downtown San Diego. By 2004, it was using every square inch of the Convention Center... before then, it would share the space with some other unsuspecting Convention Authority client. Since the Convention Center includes 615,000 square feet of exhibit space and two very large program rooms (Ballroom 20 and Hall H, which seat 4250 and 6500 respectively), it takes about 125,000 crazed attendees (and about 9000 exhibitors and industry professionals) to max out the facility. And that's been happening every year. For this year's convention, held in July, tickets were sold out by the previous October.

This presents serious space and deodorant issues, and you may have seen news coverage of the possibility of relocating CCI to Los Angeles or Anaheim, both of which offer more convention space. CCI's contract with the San Diego Convention Center expires in 2012.  Normally, by this time, a contract renewal has been announced. But as of this writing, CCI still hasn't yet decided where it wants to be after 2012.

There's a lot of money on the table... it's estimated that CCI brings about 163 million bucks into the San Diego economy, including 25 million in hotel revenues. And those figures only include the revenue generated by folks who stay in hotels while attending CCI, which is about half the total attendees. The City of San Diego is vying to keep CCI, but it's got to be a tough call. I'm sure there's some weary San Diego citizens' group that's funding local public service announcements showing the throngs of convention attendees along with a voice-over: "One annual comic convention: 163 million dollars. The prospect of a nerd-free summer: priceless."

Listening to the longtime CCI attendees weigh in on this controversy is very confusing. They used to complain that comics weren't appreciated by the mainstream media. That changed, of course... it was discovered that the CCI audience was representative of pop culture consumerism in general, and comic book publishers and properties were soon sharing the spotlight with movie and TV studios, toy manufacturers, video game publishers, and any other generator of a rabid fan base. This increased the CCI density to that of the sun's core, and the more common complaint now is that CCI needs to get back to its roots and generate some elbow room by getting rid of outsiders like those pasty-faced vampire enthusiasts.

My impression is that most of the hardcore longtime Con attendees don't want to see the convention move from San Diego. They just want less people to show up, and/or more room to be generated. They also want world peace and a machine that transforms water into Cheet-Os.

I don't know the solution, and for me, it's not a big issue. As I've said before, I enjoy sharing the experience with my sons; and part of that experience is encountering whatever challenges the Con throws our way.

We've repeatedly sidestepped two of those challenges:
1. No matter how early the tickets sell out, we always score ours by buying them a year in advance while at the current convention. This only works if you're prepared to etch the Con in stone in your datebook, pre-empting less important events like a triple-bypass or your wedding. Careful wedding planners can sometimes kill two birds with one stone by making Comic-Con the honeymoon destination, as long as they don't schedule the inevitable divorce hearing during the subsequent year's Con.
2. We book our hotel room months ahead of time, and at a location that's not too close. This year, we used the Hampton Inn about 8 miles north of the Convention Center and about a half-hour away by the time you navigate the hedge maze that San Diego calls its surface streets.

I gather from the news stories that room availability is one of the issues causing CCI to consider relocating. There's always a block of rooms set aside at numerous hotels near the convention center for Convention attendees, and at a special "Con rate". These rooms become become available on a certain day... for approximately the 2.5 seconds it takes to book them all. After that, it's every fan for himself. For the days of the convention, most of the hotels adjust their room rates to match demand and require Krugerrands instead of credit cards at check-in.

Like I said, though, we usually book a modest room well away from the convention center and months in advance, before the feeding frenzy commences. At the time I book a room, the hotel is still counting the money it's taken in from the previous convention and hasn't had time yet to assign exorbitant rates for the next one.

Careful advance planning might address the lodging challenge, but there wasn't much we could ever do about parking. There are parking lots and structures throughout the greater Convention Center area, but again, demand outweighs supply. A parking space isn't like a Port-A-Potty... you can't bring extras in for a week, then fold them up and haul them off after the event is over. So San Diego has to make do with what it's got, which means lots of folks parking in the nosebleed sections. From there, they can hike in, try and find a seat on one of the Convention-supplied shuttle buses, or pay to be transported by bicycle rickshaws manned by entrepreneurs with calves the size of sequoias. One can sense the frustration of many of the parking lot owners, who continue to search in vain for the price that no one will pay.

This year, though, there was an unbelievable alternative offered. Through the CCI website, I could book and pay for my parking in advance, within easy walking distance of the Convention Center. In fact, for the first day, I was able to book parking at the Convention Center's underground lot, normally available only to friends and relatives of Morty, the guy at the front gate. Because the rates were set in advance, I actually paid less than the variable-rate-plus-balloon-payment that I fell victim to in previous years. I was very thankful that this system was instituted, but it seemed too good to be true... I kept checking to see if my parking fees were being charged to a Nigerian prince.

As great as everything seemed to be working out, there was one setback: against all odds in the current economy, Ben is working full-time at a great place, and could only attend Saturday and Sunday of the Thursday-through-Sunday convention. I suppose he could have asked for the extra days off, but Ben's theory is that you start a job with a certain amount of implied credibility, and you don't shove all those chips to the center of the table by asking for Comic-Con leave.

So Sam and I drove to San Diego on Wednesday afternoon, and we arranged for Ben to take the Amtrack Pacific Flier down on Friday night.

As most of you probably know, although CCI technically runs for four days, from Thursday through Sunday, they have a preview night on Wednesday where a select group of four-day registrants can pick up their badges and spend a couple of hours in the vast exhibit hall. In previous years, preview night was available to all four-day registrants, but this year they limited attendance to the first million ticket purchasers,  a group we're always a part of. So although technically CCI is a four-day event, we always consider Wednesday "Day Zero", where we traditionally check into our hotel, carefully examine the hotel's TV channel line-up, go to a local market to stock up on Diet Dr. Pepper and an assortment of chips, then head to preview night.

So things were all set: we had our tickets, our room, our parking spaces, and Ben's train. Sue finished sewing our names and addresses into our clothes, and Sam and I hopped into the Thorntonmobile, brought batteries to power and turbines to speed, and rolled south to Comic-Con 2010.  

DAY ZERO

Sam and I left a little before noon. The straightest route to San Diego from the Santa Clarita area is due south on I-5 through downtown LA. We always leave a little early so we won't encounter heavy LA traffic that might cause us to be late for San Diego's afternoon traffic. Even without traffic, the trip takes a little while, because by the time we hit the Orange County line, Sam's ready for lunch, and I'm feeling the effects of the 2 or 3 cans of Diet Dr. Pepper that I've killed so far.

As we approached Fullerton, we couldn't see any obvious food joints off the freeway, but that's no problem, thanks to the miracle of GPS. Sam punched "fast food" into the onboard navigator, and it immediately pinpointed 70 places all located directly behind us... and one Jack-In-The-Box about 3 miles ahead. We're big fans of JIB's international cuisine, so we locked onto that signal.

It's understood in California that when we say "close" we mean "freeway-close". But my GPS unit apparently wasn't built by Californians, because after traveling only about a quarter of a mile, it told us to take the next exit. We didn't have an onboard calculator, but in our best estimate that meant that the JIB was 2.75 miles off the freeway. Sure enough, we traveled several blocks out of our way on Orangethorpe Avenue before hitting our target intersection. We didn't encounter any other restaurants along the way... our theory is that Orange County has wide "no food service" zones paralleling either side of the freeways, possibly to free up space for more car dealerships.

We finally spotted the JIB on the right, but across the street was a Shakey's Pizza Parlor, which transforms into a magical place every weekday between 11:30 and 2:00. That's when they serve their Bunch O' Lunch buffet. Sam and I looked at the Shakey's; looked at each other; looked at our watches (12:00!) and I quickly cut across 3 lanes of traffic and skidded into the Shakey's parking lot. (It's this kind of flexibility and quick thinking that allows us to survive the Comic-Con every year).

There's not a Shakey's near my home, so I rarely get a chance to enjoy Bunch O' Lunch. It's basically a buffet where they serve pizza, salad, pasta, fried chicken, and some other stuff that, frankly, I don't notice because I'm shoveling  about a bushel of mojo potatoes onto my plate. I'm not exactly sure what mojo potatoes are... I think they're sliced potatoes coated in some sort of seasoned crust and then fried. It's as if someone saw what Colonel Sanders did to a chicken and decided to try it on a potato. At any rate, I'm a big fan, and the lunch was worth the unexpected detour and the couple of months it took away from my life span. 

Somewhere between Shakey's and San Diego, I realized that I had forgotten to bring something for Ben to sleep on.

As I've mentioned in past journals, my sons, who have over 20 years of life-lessons that I've apparently missed, have informed me that young men their age do NOT share a bed... no matter how big that bed may be. Even conjoined twins are obligated to figure out a way to attach one brother to the underside of an upper bunk rather than allow simultaneous contact with the same mattress. Since I'm not going to spring for an extra room, or a suite (going to CCI doesn't completely rob me of my senses), we usually bring a cot or floor pad or extra straw to spread on the floor for Sam or Ben to sleep on. Somehow, this year, I had totally forgotten... probably because the third guy wasn't there with us to watch out for his best interests.

We weren't about to turn back. And it was risky to have Ben bring along sleeping gear with him on Amtrak, where he might decide to use it and be thrown off the train by the railroad bulls. So we decided we'd pick up an air mattress somewhere before Ben arrived on Friday night.

We had some time to kill before the exhibit hall opened for Preview Night, so we checked into the Hampton Inn first. This Hampton Inn was pretty nice, like most of the Hampton Inns we've stayed at, and I'm not just saying that because the Hampton Inn pays me every time I mention the Hampton Inn by name. Hampton Inn.

After learning that we were here for the Con, the desk clerk remarked that we must have booked awfully early to get the rate we were paying. I told her that advance arrangements were easy when you drive to Comic-Con in a 1.21 jiggowatt DeLorean. She reminded me that I wasn't at the Con yet, so I should save my best material.

Our room was on the 5th floor. We didn't have much luggage to haul, but I had brought along a big box containing all the comic book collections that were in my "to-read" pile, and it weighed about as much as Sam, so I asked him to carry it up. Fortunately, we found one of those brass luggage carts on the ground floor near the elevator, so we loaded all of our stuff, and Sam, onto that and got settled into the room.

We still had some time to kill, so we decided to procure Ben's pallet and locate a local supermarket to get in-room snacks and drinks.

There was a Big 5 Sporting Goods nearby, so we browsed their bedding section. It's bigger than you'd think. There are sleeping bags and cots and air mattresses and ground pads and something ingeniously labeled a "self-inflating mattress" that's really just a big sponge that you squeeze the air out of when you stash it. Amazingly enough, the cheapest thing there was an air mattress equipped with a battery-operated pump, so it was an easy decision to make, and we were out of there before we had the chance to feel uncomfortable around all the athletic equipment.

We continued down the main drag, figuring we'd run into a supermarket soon, but by the time we reached Tijuana we realized that, similar to our experience in Fullerton, we'd apparently picked the only street in San Diego singled out under a "no groceries" statute. Finally resorting to the GPS, we found a Vons and loaded up on Diet Dr. Pepper, cookies, and chips. Sam decided to experiment with Doritos' "Tacos At Midnight", part of their line of "Late Night" tortilla chips. We spent a good deal of time in the chip aisle discussing what these chips were all about--- do tacos taste different at midnight? What qualifies a chip as "late night"? Are they less crunchy to avoid waking up roommates?--- until we noticed it was time to make our way to the Convention Center.

As I mentioned, I had pre-booked parking for preview night at the subterranean lot right under the Convention Center, and our pass worked like a charm. There's an elevator that opens up onto the sidewalk right in front of the building, but we decided to take the stairs. It was there we encountered an example of the kind of people that make CCI (or any densely-packed event) so interesting.

We were ascending the right-hand side of the stairwell; Sam was a few steps ahead of me. Coming down the stairwell were two gentlemen that were obviously exhibitors (because their arms were full of uniform merchandise boxes) and obviously together (they were both wearing the same kind of shirts and carrying the same kind of boxes). One of these gentlemen was a few steps ahead of the other and descending the same side of the stairwell that we were ascending (our right, his left). The other, trailing, gentleman was on the other side of the stairwell. Sam, exhibiting courtesy he undoubtedly learned from his mother, sidestepped to the left to allow the first guy to continue straight down the stairs. About a half second after Sam made this lateral move, the second guy exclaimed in an exasperated tone, "Keep to the right on the stairs, please!"  Sam graciously said, "Oh, sorry," and moved back to the right. I managed to avoid any altercation because the first guy had moved over to the same side of the stairwell as his buddy after noticing that Sam had shifted for him.

I didn't think much about this incident, but I'm a middle-aged guy who's had years of experience with people telling me I'm where I don't belong and I don't know what I'm doing. But I sensed that it bothered Sam a little bit, especially when we reached the top of the stairs and he asked me, "What is it about the Con that makes some people such jerks?" I was about to ask him who had been masquerading as my son at previous conventions where we had encountered similar behavior, but it dawned on me that, although he may have witnessed this kind of thing before, I was always the one at whom it was directed (I seem to be a magnet for this sort of thing). It was probably hard for Sam to believe that I hadn't cornered the market on cluelessly irritating folks. So I told him to shake it off and remember that, if he was going to hang around with me for the next four days, he better get used to it.

The first thing you have to do upon arriving at Comic-Con is check in and get your badge and your bag that contains the program book and the souvenir book. The program book has a listing of all the events and exhibitors, as well as maps, shuttle schedules, and other tips for navigating inside the can of condensed fandom.

We were more interested in the souvenir book, which is a collection of articles and art commemorating that year's Con. Each year, the souvenir book focuses on multiple comics-related themes and anniversaries, and the Con asks for celebratory articles and art to be submitted. This year, one of the themes was the 75th anniversary of DC Comics (the publishers of Superman, Batman, et. al.). Ben had submitted three pieces of art, all of which I've shamelessly plugged previously in the Gallery (specifically pinups of Superman, Plastic Man, and a DC 75th Anniversary poster). A few weeks back, someone from the Con emailed Ben to advise him that each souvenir book contributor was limited to only one published piece, and asked which of the three Ben wanted considered. Rather than subject himself to Sophie's Choice, Ben said they could pick.

He never received word if any of his stuff had been used, so of course the first thing Sam and I did after registering was rifle through the souvenir book. We found Ben's picture of Superman stopping a train and immortalized the moment with a picture...

We were also delighted to discover that they also used his DC 75th anniversary piece, but decided that immortalizing two moments that included Sam in the picture might be overdoing it, and a bit risky, since I resembled a kidnapper taking a picture of my hostage as he holds that morning's paper to prove he's still breathing.

As I mentioned, when you register, you're given a bag that contains souvenir and programming books, along with some other promotional materials from various publishers. In the past, that bag has been something similar in size and design to a supermarket plastic bag, but made out of sturdier plastic. Once you hit the exhibition hall, many vendors offered bigger tote bags as promotional giveaways. In the past couple of years, the most popular of these Con bags was the one issued by Warner Brothers: a giant pouch made of some sort of woven plastic fibers that simulated canvas:

As you can see, this bag is large enough to stash lots of merchandise and a couple of toddlers, if you want to leave the stroller at home. The distribution of these bags were at the start of each day from the huge, double-decker Warner Brothers booth in the exhibition hall, and always resulted in a mob scene reminiscent of a run on the bank during the Depression, with Warner Brothers staffers literally throwing bags into a sea of outstretched arms.

This year, presumably to cut down on the number of staffer casualties, Warners went the extra mile and provided these bags as the official Comic-Con bag issued to all attendees at the time of registration. Although the above picture shows the side of the bag promoting the Con, the opposite side features one of eleven Warner Brothers TV or film properties. With thousands of these things being distributed to folks who were also strolling the streets of downtown San Diego, the city looked like it had abandoned all billboard ordinances and elected Sam Warner as mayor. It was a pleasant surprise to get this bag upon entry, and also a bit of a relief, since we wouldn't have to go through the effort of trying to score one once we got into the exhibition hall...

...which opened not too long after we finished registering. As I've mentioned in previous journals, there's really no advantage to visiting the exhibition hall on preview night. It's not any less crowded than any other day. Even though the full population of the Con hasn't yet arrived, the ones who are there have no place else to go except the exhibition room, which quickly transforms into something resembling a kicked-over anthill. Sam and I use the occasion the get a feel for what the bigger exhibitors are doing, and to grab whatever giveaways they might be distributing. Frequently, we'd discover that the crowd we were stuck in was actually a line of people waiting to get something, so we'd inadvertently kill two birds with one stone (or, as it's expressed at the Con, roll a Kryptonite boulder over Lois and Clark).

Giveaways are in the nature of free promotional posters (we got ones for the upcoming movies The Expendables and Red) and buttons... we got one for the TV show The Human Target that was the show's logo on a clip-on plastic disk...

with red LED lights that blinked incessantly. It was a great item to have if you didn't think your skin-tight Spider-Man costume was attracting enough attention, or if, like us, you blindly accepted whatever a stranger in the aisles was handing to you. Attendees who have been successfully dodging process servers all year meet their downfall at the Con.

Ironically, most of the giveaways were more bags. The Warner Brothers people, not content with the millions of square feet of advertising generated by the giant bags handed out at registration, were also giving away smaller, more tasteful, bags promoting the Smallville television series. Sam and I bagged a couple of those (so to speak) and also picked up a pretty good-sized bag for The Green Hornet, coming next year to a theater near you (the movie, not the bag).

Every year, the Charles M. Schulz booth sells a couple of Peanuts t-shirts that are exclusive to CCI, and I'll pick them up for Sue. So I swung by that booth, figuring I'd pick them up early, but the small booth was uncharacteristically swamped with people, so I decided to come back one of the other days. There's normally a respectable Peanuts contingent at CCI, but nothing massive along the lines of, say, the Pok-E-Mon or Harry Potter crowd... comic strips in general are the neglected stepchild of comic book fans, and I believe the genius of Peanuts (celebrating its 60th anniversary this year) is generally taken for granted because of its longevity and ubiquitousness. So I was surprised to see the crowd at the Peanuts booth. But later I learned that they were selling the t-shirts for $2.00 less on preview night. So although the size of the crowd was indicative of groundswell support, the support wasn't so much for Peanuts as much as it was for cheaper t-shirts.

We strolled around for a bit longer, getting a general idea of the exhibition room layout. It wasn't much different than last year. All the big exhibitors representing the major players in comic books, movies, TV, video games and toys) were set up in the center. On either side, roughly grouped together in little neighborhoods (not to say "ghettos"), were toy vendors, comic book retailers and book publishers, manga and anime merchandisers, gaming merchants, and Artists Alley (a set of tables where artists feature their work and do commissioned sketches). These narrower side aisles sort of resemble Hollywood's idea of a middle eastern bazaar, with merchandise hanging down and vendors doing everything short of self-immolation to get your attention. It seemed to us that the number of comic book and book sellers had dwindled a bit, both in size and number, but like I said, when you're a comic-book fan discussing the amount of space CCI devotes to comics, your default setting is "curmudgeon."

After our preview night survey, we decided it was time to grab some dinner and head back to the hotel. If given a choice, Sam prefers to eat in the hotel room the first night so as not to delay the vital "discovery" phase of utilizing the hotel's cable TV channel line-up. So we stopped at Carls Jr. and picked up so much food that we felt we had to justify the order by telling the counterperson that we had two other guys waiting out in the car. (We didn't want to risk being busted for violating any local anti-obesity ordinance.) Once dinner was completed, I passed out and Sam tucked me in, which is the traditional closing ceremony of Day Zero.

DAY ONE

The Con officially opens its doors at 9:30 am every day, and programming usually starts a half hour later. We've long outgrown the thrill of arriving before 9:30 and pressing our noses against the Convention Center windows, but I still like to get there within that first half-hour so I feel like I'm getting our money's worth.

Sam has some preferences also. They're pretty simple:
1. Breakfast is a must.
2. Whatever time I decide to wake him up in the morning, I'm to take a deep breath and wait an extra hour.

Delorean jokes aside, I haven't yet acquired the knack of bending time and space, so if Sam wants to get breakfast, and I want to arrive at the Con in a timely fashion, then Sam's preferred rising time will take the bullet. Being the reasonable guy I am, I have no problem with this, but Sam's not a morning person. Folks observing our breakfast conversation usually think I'm brushing up on my ventriloquist act. since Sam is usually focusing all his mental resources on remembering who he is and where he's at, and resisting the urge to strangle me.

Most hotels offer a continental breakfast.  I still haven't figured out which continent defines breakfast as a roll and a cup of coffee or juice, but it's not any place I'd like to visit. Maybe that's how breakfast was served on Atlantis, which might explain why it's the only continent that's been conveniently misplaced. At any rate, the Hampton Inn offers something a bit more respectable than guests like us deserve... along with the croissants, coffee and juice, there's bagels, cereal, yogurt, and a waffle-iron set-up for fresh waffles. There's also hot scrambled eggs and a breakfast-meat-of-the-day. While we were there, they served bacon; sausage links; sausage patties; and ham. I was hoping we'd be there for Spam day, but they probably save that for Monday to start out the week with something special.

Since I'm an early riser, I left Sam sleeping in the room and took a Diet Dr. Pepper down to the lobby and enjoyed breakfast while I read my complimentary issue of USA Today. USA Today is an ingenious idea: it takes all the news that you normally read on the Internet, and actually prints it on paper that you can fold up and read at the table. At the proper time, I went back up to the room, slapped Sam awake, and led him down to the lobby to get his breakfast and regain his senses.

(By the way, for those of you wondering, Diet Dr. Pepper is not yet an official sponsor of cwthornton.com, but we're taking any offers. The same goes for Spam.)

We decided to leave our giant Warner Brothers bags in the room. They're impressive and hold a lot, but to get to the stuff at the bottom, you have to put on a miner's helmet and tie a rope to your waist. We opted instead for the smaller but more manageable Smallville bags we had scored the previous evening.

We left at about 9:00 to allow some time to get to the pre-arranged parking area (I had entered the coordinates in my GPS unit the day before). I wasn't able to book the same ground-zero parking lot that we used the day before, but for the remainder of the Con, I had reserved parking at a structure just one block south of the Convention Center, which was still the Admiral's Club as far as I was concerned.  So I wasn't worried about getting lost, but 9:00 seemed a reasonable time to leave to allow for traffic.

Just a couple of minutes after we got on the road, I got a call from my friend Alan. He  usually makes a one-day visit to the Con every year, so we regularly meet up with him once we know he's there. He let us know that he had arrived, parked his car in an outlying lot, set up base camp, and had made the hike to the Convention Center (shedding his backpack about halfway there). We told him we'd give him a call and connect once we were actually on the premises, which promised to be soon. We told him to say hi to the rest of the little people without reserved parking.

After a little while, it was clear that the GPS unit was doing its job and setting in the most direct course to the parking structure. Unfortunately, that route would take us through the downtown area and eventually to the stretch of Harbor Drive that runs directly in front of the Convention Center. During CCI, the traffic movement on these streets has to be detected via time-lapse photography... the area directly in front of the Convention Center resembles the street scenes in Independence Day just before (and, come to think of it, just after) the alien ships start saying hello. I didn't want to get involved with that, so I decided to circle around the area and approach it from the south, so as to encounter the parking structure before hitting the problem areas. It was a bit of a challenge... San Diego is riddled with one-way streets that never seem to be going your way, and the GPS unit started shouting "RECALCULATING" every ten seconds. It eventually switched to "RE-EVALUATING OPERATOR SANITY", but by that time we were close enough to the parking structure to eyeball it. It still took us some time to actually gain entrance, since we had to make a u-turn through an intersection where right-of-way was a matter of ongoing negotiation.

But once there, the pre-arranged parking arrangement again worked like a charm; I had apprehensions that it might be overbooked, but even with our delayed arrival, we were able to find a parking space somewhere in the upper levels of the structure where the air was thin, but still breathable. Before taking the elevator down, I took a picture of the south end of the convention center:

The building to the left of those tents contains the massive Hall H, the 6700-seat venue where most of the big Hollywood panels are held. The line for Hall H starts forming very early because once you make it in there, you can camp out for the rest of the day... if you try to get in later in the afternoon, there's no guarantee there'll be a seat. You have to hand it to CCI; each year they try new methods to deal with the ever-increasing flow of humanity. In previous years, the line to Hall H simply snaked out and down the south side of the building (between the building and those pointy concrete things), then around the entire outside perimeter of the Convention Center and eventually out to sea. Eventually, they tightened things up by zig-zagging the line, Disneyland-style, throughout the grassy area that you see under the tents...before continuing it around the building and out to sea. This year it was much the same, but it was the first year they added the tents. It's a nice touch, providing shade for the folks in line, and adding a festive atmosphere to a highly-compressed gathering of sweaty comic-book fans. Maybe next year they'll add a carousel and Ferris wheel.

After crossing the street, we entered the above picture from the left-hand side, using the walkway between the building and those concrete pointy things (what ARE those things, anyway?). As we got closer to the front corner of the building, our path was being crossed by the Hall H line, which was now being allowed to enter, and we spent some time watching the unfortunate individual who had the job of playing traffic cop for the opposing perpendicular forces. He had a cap, white gloves, and a whistle, an outfit I personally find intimidating, but didn't seem to swing much weight with most of the crowd. He was faring only slightly better than a crossing guard in Pamplona during the running of the bulls.

And finally we were in, and we used the cell phone to home in on Alan in the Exhibition Hall. Alan and I keep in touch with each other and get together periodically throughout the year, keeping up with each other's lives and talking about stuff that we've pretty much been talking about since high school. Once a year, though, we get the opportunity to get together at the Con, let our hair down, and... do exactly the same thing, except in the midst of thousands of strangers. We talk while we stroll up and down the Exhibit Hall aisles until programming takes one or both of us away, or our legs start cramping up. I can't speak for him, but I have a great time, so I guess it's true that good company is good company no matter where you're at.

While we were walking around the booths, I noticed that a new collection of the comic Love And Capes was displayed prominently at a booth. I asked Alan if he had read it--- he hadn't--- so while I was buying it, I recommended it to him, letting him know that I already had the first volume of collected strips and would lend it to him sometime. I described the premise of Love And Capes to him: it's the comic book equivalent of a situation comedy about a girl engaged to a super-hero, focusing on their relationship and virtually ignoring what the hero does "on the job." The guy I was buying the book from piped in: "Yeah, you know, like in Friends, where Ross is a paleontologist, but you never actually see him do any paleontology stuff? That's what I was trying to do with this book."  After peering at his name badge and getting his confirmation in writing by autographing my book, I quickly deduced that this guy at the booth was no other than Thom Zahler, the writer/artist of Love And Capes I also said a little prayer of thanks that I had said good things about Love And Capes before the author introduced himself. Tom may write a "relationship" book, but he still looked like he could wipe the floor with me. 

During our stroll, we stopped by the Peanuts booth, which wasn't clogged with the cheapskates from the night before, and I picked up the shirts. The theme of the 60th anniversary of the strip is "Peanuts Then And Now" and the shirts have images of the 50's Charlie Brown and Snoopy next to their 90's counterparts. There's quite a change in appearance over the decades... that goes for both the Peanuts gang and for me. I guess change is inevitable; but the years seem to have been kinder to Charlie Brown.

Also celebrating 5 or 6 decades of existence was a woman in a Wonder Woman costume that she had no business occupying. I tried to take a picture, but my hands couldn't stop shaking.

As many of you know, I have a friend named Ken who a) is like a brother to me; and b) who has done more for me both spiritually and materially than I could ever reciprocate. So every year I try to salve my conscience by obtaining an original sketch from one of the artists at the Con that I can give to Ken as a gift.  It can't just be any sketch. It has to be a sketch of Superman. (There is no bigger fan of Superman that Ken... not even Lois Lane. Ken collects all things Superman, including figures and art). And it has to be done by an artist that Ken would know. I'm glad that it's the thought that counts, because every year I fail to get the sketch. But I vowed that this year was going to be the year, and things looked promising when we spotted Bruce Timm at an exhibitors table.

Bruce Timm is the animator/artist best known as the creator behind Batman: The Animated Series; Superman: The Animated Series; and Justice League, three great television shows, and he continues to produce animated features for Warner Brothers and DC comics. Here's a sample of his work:

He seemed like a perfect choice to do a commissioned sketch for Ken because a) Ken liked Superman: The Animated Series; b) Timm's style would result in something a bit different for Ken's collection; and c) Timm was conveniently sitting a few feet away.

I've never really asked for a sketch before, and I didn't know the protocol, although I assumed that at some point I would extend my wallet in the universal gesture of commerce. But there was no one presently engaging Mr. Timm, so I figured this was a good time to learn. I walked up to opposite where he was sitting, but he was staring intently at something to his left, so I decided to wait till he noticed me before I made my request.

After a couple of minutes, it was clear that I was relying too heavily on Timm's peripheral vision, so I finally did the Chuck Thornton equivalent of clearing my throat: I said, "Hi!"

This got his attention; he looked at me and said, "Yes?" which is as good as a "hello" in my book, so I dove right in. "I've got a friend who's a huge Superman fan and I know he'd love a sketch by you. Do you think..."

I didn't finish the sentence because Timm was already shaking his head as soon as "sketch" had left my mouth. "There's no way," he said. "I book 20 sketches per day, and today's already filled up." He produced a clipboard on which was attached a very official-looking form with "Sketch Policy" in the heading, a few paragraphs underneath and 20 signatures at the bottom. I briefly wondered what constituted the sketch "contract" and tried to see if the letters APR appeared anywhere on the document. But then I realized that he had only mentioned that day's workload.

"Oh, I'm here for the whole convention," I said. "I can pick it up later, or even have it sent to me."

"In that case," he said, "you need to show up here first thing in the morning tomorrow or the next day. The sign-ups are first-come-first-serve every day."

Sounded reasonable to me. "Thanks," I said, "I'll try tomorrow."

"Be here early," he said. "When the doors open, the list fills up quick."

I thanked him for his time, and told Sam we had to arrive earlier tomorrow. To his credit, Sam didn't object, although I could tell that he was worried he might have to experience a sunrise for the first time in his life.

We looked around a little more. I thought the Nickelodeon booth was pretty cool...

... mostly because I caught it at a time when it was one of the few areas on the Convention floor where you could see the Convention floor. It had that neat "curled-up" carpeting motif, and the carpeting was actually the best quality of any booth there. The carpet padding must have been three feet thick, and it felt wonderful to feet that had spent the last few hours tramping up and down concrete floors. I started to take my shoes off and run barefoot through the booth, but Sam cold-cocked me and dragged me out of there.

Just in time, too, because I wanted to attend the panels for the USA Network's White Collar and Psych TV shows. Sam and Alan weren't interested, so I said goodbye to Alan and "see you later" to Sam, and headed up to Ballroom 20 to get in line. As you'll recall, Ballroom 20 is the second largest venue (after Hall H), so the entrance queue can be rather intimidating. It snakes down the outside of the entire south wing of the Convention Center before making a U-turn into the building and coming back again to the entrance doors, and when you first step in line, what you see are a bunch of folks in front of you extending beyond the horizon. I wasn't discouraged because a seasoned Con veteran like me knew that I was still likely to get in. As Madison Avenue knows, if you stack any moderate size group of objects end-to-end, they'll stretch to the moon and back, and CCI attendees are no exception.

Although in recent years, I've shied away from the more celebrity-oriented events in Hall H and Ballroom 20, I still try to take in at least one USA Network program. It's not just because I like the USA shows... it's that the producers are great about handing out free t-shirts, and I like to bring one or two back for Sue.

I got in line while another USA program was in progress in the Ballroom: the panel for Burn Notice. That's one of my favorite shows, but I had attended that panel last year  (got a great t-shirt) and missed the Psych panel. So this time I was hoping to pick up swag for White Collar and Psych.  I stood in line for about 40 minutes, and made it into the ballroom while the Burn Notice panel was still in progress. When I sat down, they were still passing out the tickets that could be redeemed later for the swag, so I ultimately ended up scoring a t-shirt trifecta.

Besides the latter part of the Burn Notice panel, I sat through the White Collar and Psych panels. All three were great fun. These are shows that have nothing to do with comics or science-fiction or teenage sorcerers or undead bloodsuckers, yet there's still an intense fan base for them at CCI. I'm guessing that, for the shows' cast and creators, this is the only time in the year where they encounter such a large and enthusiastic crowd of fans. Most of the panel participants seem to be pleasantly surprised that their shows can gather such a large audience at a "comics" convention, and they look like they're having a lot of fun answering questions and telling stories. They definitely seemed to be having more fun than Bruce Timm.

I met up with Sam afterwards, and we attended a panel on the 75th anniversary of DC Comics, but I was pretty tired by then, and I can't remember too much about it, other than the fact that they didn't hold up any of Ben's pictures.

All through the day, folks kept asking Sam and me where we had obtained the nifty Smallville bags we were carrying. We would direct them to the Warner Brothers exhibit, but most of them said they had already tried there and couldn't get them. It seemed ironic... last year, it was the giant Warner Brothers bags (periodically distributed only at the Warners booth) that everyone was after. This year, those giant bags were given to every attendee, so apparently a vote was taken and it was decided that the Smallville bag should step up as the coveted bag.

After the DC panel, it was about 5:30 and we decided to call it quits for the day. My free t-shirt tickets, tucked safely away in one of the 22 pockets of my ScotteVest, were redeemable at the Con's "fulfillment room", but I could pick them up on any day of the Con, and I didn't feel like hunting down my freebies at the end of the day.

We decided to get dinner at the drive-through at Jack-In-The-Box. We weren't lucky enough to stumble across another Bunch O' Lunch en route, and they forgot to put sweet-and-sour sauce for my eggrolls in the bag, but neither of these setbacks could ruin a great day. I was already nostalgic before my head hit the pillow.

DAY TWO

Because I wanted to try to catch Bruce Timm in time to book a sketch, we started a bit earlier this morning. I went down to the lobby by myself to enjoy the complimentary breakfast and USA Today. The paper had some Comic-Con coverage, but nothing about me, so I skipped it, figuring I could read my own journal later and catch any news of personal interest. Then I went back up to the room to wake up Sam (I had packed a vial of adrenalin and a cardiac needle for just such an occasion).

After scoping out the approach yesterday, it didn't take us quite as long this morning to arrive at the Convention Center, and we made it well before the doors opened. We stood in a line on the front sidewalk, and although there were quite a few folks in front of us, I was confident that the odds were pretty slim that there were 20 folks ahead of us looking for a Bruce Timm sketch. Still, I thought about doing a quick survey of all the folks in front of us, just to set my mind at ease, but Sam said that if I became an embarrassment to him, he wouldn't save my place in line or resist any urge to strangle me.

While we were standing there, some guy was strolling along the length of the line, asking loudly, "Any Lost fans here?"

When he got to me, I said, "You bet!" and he handed me a postcard-style flyer promoting a book he had written about how the folks behind Lost had totally betrayed the audience's trust with the series finale.

Sam and I felt gratified: This was the kind of classic Comic-Con style stuff that keeps us coming back. There were many levels to reflect on:

1. This man was not alone in his dissatisfaction with the way Lost was concluded. There's quite a few folks who followed the show through its six seasons of twists, turns, and mysteries and felt let down by its conclusion. Those folks griped about it to reporters and on blogs and to co-workers and family members. But this guy... he wrote a book! And he wants me, a perfect stranger, to buy it. It elevates disgruntlement to a whole new level.

2. This was a good example of the kind of investment that many Con attendees have in their particular passion. It's why we suspect that some of the folks in costume may have a closet full of spares at home, and why a lot of the audience questions at panels involve why Spock had his belt buckle fastened wrong in episode #53. Our feelings were mixed. We felt a bit sorry for this man, whose emotions are still at the mercy of a TV show, even after it's over. But we had to admit a kind of back-handed admiration for a guy who could develop and sustain that kind of outrage (I mean, the man wrote a book!). And we felt some sympathy for the people behind Lost who have to shoulder the responsibility that, no matter how they chose to end the show, they were turning someone's life upside-down.

3. We couldn't help but feel that, if you're trying to market your poison-pen letter to the makers of Lost, you don't find your target audience by yelling, "Any Lost fans here?"

I threw the guy's postcard away... any time I spent reading his book would be time away from my manifesto on the absurdity of the Harlem Globetrotters finding Gilligan's Island.

While we were standing in line, a couple of people asked us where we had picked up our Smallville bags. We directed them to the Warner Brothers booth. That gave me the idea to loudly announce that Bruce Timm would be taking sketch signups in the Marriott lobby next door, but Sam told me I would be on shaky ground ethically, so I didn't say anything.

The doors actually opened a little before 9:30, and we entered the Convention Center lobby near a set of Exhibition Hall entrance doors that were pretty close to the booth Bruce Timm was occupying. We made a bee-line (or, in Comic-Con lingo, we "juggernauted") straight to our destination...

... and could see Mr. Timm turning people away as he pointed at a clipboard full of names. I walked up to him, but he was already shaking his head. I figured I'd at least make some polite conversation with him so he wouldn't think I viewed him as some sort of sketch vending machine with an "out of order" sign on it.

"You're a busy guy," I said.

He nodded.

"Twenty sketches a day... that's got to be some work. Do you get the chance to have any fun while you're here?"

He shrugged. "A little bit. Mostly work."

I nodded. It was pretty clear this conversation fell into the "work" category, so I wished him well and shuffled off in what I hoped was a pathetic manner. Apparently not pathetic enough... Bruce didn't yell out, "Hey kid!" and throw me a jersey.

Although I was disappointed, there were no hard feelings, and it wasn't like he was rude or obnoxious to me. At the convention, guys like Bruce Timm must have to deal with guys like me all the time, and I don't blame them for being cautious or a bit guarded. Who knows how many times he's been friendly to a stranger at CCI, only to have the guy show up at his house for dinner after the Con was over?

Sam asked if we were going to try again tomorrow, and much to his relief, I told him no, explaining that you can't let an obsession dictate your time at the Con. He looked around him, and charitably decided I was trying to be ironic.

We strolled around in the Exhibition Hall till about 10:30, then decided that we should line up early for the program scheduled at noon in room 6BCF. It was a panel on a TV series that's been getting a lot of buzz: The Walking Dead.

The Walking Dead is a critically-acclaimed comic book (yes, there is a such a thing) about a group of folks trying to survive in a world overrun by zombies. I know, I know, it sounds like the premise of about 20 different movies and a couple of my past journals, but execution makes the difference and it's a pretty good story. So good, in fact that the shuffling, flesh-eating corpses will be coming to your TV in October, brought to you by the producers of Blue's Clues.

Just kidding... the show's being produced by the American Movie Classics cable channel. Nowadays, the network refers to itself as AMC, as its programming model has transitioned from old movies to a steady stream of commercials with occasional breaks for movies and original programming. They've already had success with Mad Men and Breaking Bad, but I think it's safe to say that The Walking Dead is their first show to become a major blip on the CCI radar, because the comic book is already a fan favorite. AMC wasn't being bashful about promoting the show; their booth in the Exhibition Hall was pretty elaborate, not to mention crowded and gruesome. It was basically a life-size diorama of a scene from the show; a living room complete with dummy corpses. Here's a couple of pictures I took off a website:

Don't worry... this wasn't near the "Curious George" booth.

I had a feeling that  the panel would draw a bigger audience than room 6BCF could accommodate, so we decided to get in line an hour before the scheduled time. We should have gotten there earlier, though, like maybe the day before. When we arrived, the line for the panel was already down the hall, out onto the Convention Center's bayside veranda area, and around into a narrow balcony walkway at the north end of the building that would normally be frequented only by maintenance personnel and hunchbacks. We finally found the end of the line near some gigantic exhaust vents that made us extremely nervous... when you get thousands of people together under one roof, the bad air's got to go somewhere, and we were afraid we might have found the escape valve.

After discovering the length of the line, we considered writing this panel off, but we've experienced worse lines at Comic-Con and still managed to find a seat, so we decided to stick around for a while. While standing there, I noticed some strange foamy objects floating up from somewhere below us:

I thought this was pretty interesting, but the rest of the folks in line didn't seem very impressed. Sam suggested that I have a tourist mentality that celebrates novelty without exercising any discernment regarding aesthetic value... well, he didn't use those words exactly. I think what he actually said was, "You're such a rube." He could be right. On the first day of our trip, I had snapped this picture of a truck that was parked near us at Shakey's:

It wasn't relevant to our trip, but I thought skewering antenna figures was an artistic vision worth recording, even though I find it as spooky as the Walking Dead exhibit. I sure didn't wait around to say "hi" to the driver. But the mere fact that this kind of thing attracts my interest is strong evidence that Sam is right about how low I set the bar when it comes to "points of interest."

While we were waiting, some folks asked us where we had picked up our cool Smallville bags. We directed them to the Warner Brothers booth, which, at the moment, seemed many miles away.

The line started moving... barely... at about 11:25 (5 minutes before when the Walking Dead panel was supposed to start). After about 20 more minutes, it seemed pretty obvious that we weren't going to get into the panel, but by that time I had been seized by an irrational stubbornness to see this thing through to its conclusion. I made noises about staying in line in order to get into the room for the following scheduled program, which was a panel on Marvel Comics animation projects, but I wasn't fooling anybody, including myself... I just wanted to see if any CCI personnel was going to muster up the courage to let the line know that all hope should be abandoned, and thanks for making the Marvel animation people think that this was going to be a banner year.

About 45 minutes after the official start of the Walking Dead panel, our spot in line had just made it back inside the building from the balcony when a burly CCI handler announced, "Sorry, folks, the Walking Dead panel is full. If you're staying in line, it's for the next program, which starts in about 15 minutes." I tried to imagine a scenario where it took 45 minutes to either get all the chairs filled, or to come to the realization that folks were bumping into walls instead of sitting down, but nothing seemed credible. I figured it was much more likely that it took the staff 45 minutes to find a guy with the appropriate qualifications to break the news to the crowd; namely, a guy with biceps that could twist your head off like it was a chicken's.

Once the official announcement was made, we dropped all pretense and decided to proceed to the next order of business: picking up my t-shirt swag that I had scored from the day before at the USA Network panels.

We started tracking down the "fulfillment room", the place where you redeem your tickets for the actual objects. Because the Con has outgrown the Convention Center facilities, some of the functions that in the past had been located in the Convention Center had this year spilled over into neighboring venues, and the Fulfillment Room was part of that program. In previous years, it was on the second floor at the southern end of the Convention Center, and we could stop by there on our way out to our car. This year, it was located in the adjacent Marriott Hotel, the neighbor to the north of the Convention Center. We soon discovered that this was no hike to take after spending a couple of hours standing in a line. Consider the map below:

The red asterisk near the lower left was our starting point outside of the northern-most entrance to the Convention Center. (The green dot above and to the left of that is the second-story walkway where we got in line for the Walking Dead panel earlier that day). If you follow the yellow arrows from the asterisk to the red star on the right, you see the route we had to take to get to the fulfillment room. There's no legend to give the map scale, but I can tell you that each yellow arrow represents about 12 miles.

Or at least it seemed that way to our feet. On the way there, we discovered the source of the foamy figures we had spotted from the Walking Dead line earlier. There was a guy in an open asphalt area between the Convention Center and the Marriott, operating a tank of soap suds that was somehow generating foam human figures that would float up from the tank...

...creating a "Look... up in the sky...it's Soaperman!" type moment:

The name of this outfit is Flogos, and you can check out the type of stuff they do at www.flogos.net. Basically, they can float all sorts of customized shapes in the skies over an event to promote their clients' name and logo. It's good clean fun as long as it doesn't cause pedestrians to step out into traffic. If someone was paying the Flogos people for this day's shapes, I think it was a waste of money, because I have no idea what company or movie or TV show I'd associate with a generic human body shape (CSI, maybe?). More likely, Flogos was engaged in some self-promotion, hoping to pick up clients from some of Con exhibitors. If so, they should have been doing this in the Exhibition Hall, where a little extra soap could never hurt.

After watching the Flogos for a while, we resumed our march toward fulfillment. We snaked our way through quite a bit of the Marriott until we found the sign (next to an old cow skull) pointing toward the Fulfillment Room.

I know, I know, you're anticipating a punch line where the Fulfillment Room volunteers tell us that they're all out of the shirts (what we now call "being Timmed"). But that didn't happen. The nice folks there gave me all 3 shirts in the size I requested and asked me where I had picked up the cool Smallville bag. I said their best bet was to grab a cab to the Warner Brothers booth.

Then we walked all the way back to the Convention Center. We may have missed the panel on The Walking Dead, but by this time we were members of the organization, so we decided to get an early start to the next panel we were interested in so could sit down. It was billed as the "Peanuts 60th anniversary panel", and I'm always willing to reminisce about the genius of Peanuts, so we headed over to that room. We arrived in the middle of the preceding "Catch Up With Yen Press" panel. Since we had never heard of Yen Press, we had a lot of catching up to do. Apparently Yen Press is an American publisher that licenses and reprints Japanese manga properties, so while we waited for Peanuts, we were treated to a lot of news about characters with incredibly big eyes wearing parochial school uniforms.

The Peanuts panel consisted of the widow of Charles M. Schulz, the creative director of Schulz's studio in Santa Rosa (there's a museum there), and some animation folks. The big news was the production of a new Peanuts cartoon special for television. The creators promised that they were going back to the Charlie Brown Christmas roots of Peanuts animation history, and the couple of rough clips seemed to back them up... you would have thought they were produced 40 years ago. I think that's a good thing-- I always thought the earlier Peanuts cartoons more closely captured the tone of the strip for the younger audience that would be watching it, and maybe encourage them to read the real thing-- but I've talked to people who think Peanuts should be left on paper. Thankfully, the panel audience wasn't filled with the latter, since 3 out of 5 of the panel members were associated with the new animation product. Comic-Con attendees usually aren't bashful about expressing their opinions, so if the audience members hadn't liked the clip, we would have watched the equivalent of someone telling an expectant mother that her baby's sonogram was ugly.

After that panel, we went back to the Exhibition Hall and looked around for a while. I took a few random pictures. Here's a full-size bust of Thor at the Sideshow Collectibles booth:

Sort of the Venus de Milo for non-sissies. It can be yours for about 650 bucks. At least 200 bucks of that is for the styrofoam peanuts required to pack it up.

There's a Thor movie being released next year, and on display was Odin's throne from the set of that movie:

Odin parks his rear end down toward the front of this monstrosity. To give you an example of the throne in action, I got a picture of some guy dressed as Loki sitting in it:

Loki's supposed to be the Norse god of mischief, but I never thought he looked that mischievous, unless your idea of mischief is being able to put an eye out just by mingling with a crowd. As you can see, the Norse deities' taste in furniture ran toward the ostentatious. They probably needed a crane for one of their coffee-table books.

There's always some neat Lego sculptures at the Con. Here's one of Woody and Buzz from Toy Story:

Although we've seen these types of sculptures for the many years we've been attending CCI, for the first time Sam suggested that maybe these weren't actually built with Legos, but were instead just manufactured molded plastic figures with a Lego-like surface texture. I wouldn't tolerate this kind of cynicism exercised so close to a Pixar property, and I gave Sam a 15-minute time-out.

You can always count on a few giant armored figures hanging around the Exhibition Hall. Here's a Transformer:

And here's that big suit of armor from Avatar:

I didn't take a picture of the group of guys arguing over which of these would win in a fight.

It was getting close to 5:00, and my legs were telling me that I should either find a chair or hijack a Rascal Scooter. I wanted to see a panel featuring B-movie producer Roger Corman as 5:30, so we went to that room a bit early and again crashed the preceding panel. It featured a company called Archaia, which I think is a comic book publisher, and a new book called Lucid that they're producing in partnership with another company called Before The Door, which I think is a development company for media products. As you've probably gathered, I wasn't paying close attention; I was just glad that there were plenty of empty seats available...

...which sort of surprised me when I noticed that one of the panelists was actor Zachary Quinto, who is one of the founders of Before The Door. Even if there wasn't much interest in Lucid, I would have thought that Quinto, who was a major player in the TV series Heroes, and played Spock, for goodness' sake, in the most recent Star Trek movie, would have attracted a bigger crowd. I expected a Q & A session characterized by, "Hi, Zach, Lucid looks cool, now what's up with you and Uhura?" But either this panel slipped under the Trekker radar, or people with Federation uniforms were turned away at the door, because the panel proceeded as if Quinto were just another producer promoting his project.

We stuck around for the Roger Corman panel, but Roger mostly deferred to the other folks on the panel who were promoting the DVD release of his old exploitation movies, so I didn't get to hear a whole lot of stories about how he made movies with whatever change he found in his sofa cushions.

After that, it was early evening, and we headed for the car. We were stopped by a couple more admirers of our Smallville bags, and we dutifully directed them to the Warner Brothers booth, or as we started calling it, "Snipe Central."

We were starving, so we asked the GPS to take us to the nearest Hometown Buffet, and it turned out to be the same Hometown Buffet that we had used almost every night of our stay the year before. When we walked in, we recognized the lady at the front counter as the same lady that had greeted us and taken our money every night the year before. Eerily, she also said "Welcome back!" when we walked in. We hoped that was her standard greeting to all patrons... the possibility that we had somehow made a year-long impression was discomforting.

We killed some time, then headed over to the train station to pick up Ben, who was supposed to arrive via the Amtrak Pacific Surfliner at around 10:00.

The main San Diego train station isn't located too far from the Convention Center. It wasn't very busy at that time of night, and there was plenty of parking nearby... in a lot that also served as Convention Center parking and still had a sign indicating a flat fee of $20.00. Since I was only there for what I hoped would be less than a half hour, I decided to find parking somewhere else. I circled the train station, but there wasn't anything around except a loading zone populated by buses. I considered dropping Sam off inside the station, then cruising around till he called me to come back for the pick-up. But I wasn't crazy about cruising the San Diego downtown area, which is a latticework of one-way streets that could very easily lead me to Temecula before I could turn around. Another scenario was doing the Sam drop-off, then riding around in circles at the 20-dollar lot pretending to look for a parking place. But that would be a tough sell, seeing as how there were only 3 other cars in the lot.

Finally, I capitulated, parked the car, and we went over to the kiosk-type box where you're supposed to pay your money. It used to be these were just wooden mail-slot type units where you slipped your money into the box corresponding to your parking space number. But most have upgraded to an ATM-like arrangement, where you punch in your space number, then either swipe your credit card or feed in your currency and it dispenses a ticket while playing a recording of Snidely Whiplash laughing maniacally.

I would have been lost with either arrangement, because, between the limited lighting and the faded paint on the pavement, neither Sam nor I could determine the parking space numbers... on any parking space, not just ours. It was as if someone had decided to sandblast the pavement for a game of parking roulette.

So I'm ashamed to admit it, but I applied some situational ethics and just walked on into the train station without paying. This made Sam very uncomfortable... he kept looking around guiltily, and if we'd been in an airport, we'd probably still be in a Homeland Security interrogation room.

The train station was sort of old-timey:

... and as you can see, not really bustling at this time of night. Sam and I sat down, but after a couple of minutes, I decided to look around outside. I got up and walked out without saying anything to Sam. When he saw me walk out the door, he followed me to let me know that the proper protocol would have been to at least excuse myself or tell him where I was going. I don't know where he developed these abandonment issues; I don't recall ever absent-mindedly setting him down as an infant and then having to pick him up later from the lost-and-found, but, then again, if I was that absent-minded, I probably went the extra mile and erased the whole episode from my brain.

From there, everything went like clockwork. Ben arrived, we high-tailed it back to the car and made our getaway from the parking lot, keeping our heads covered in case of any satellite surveillance. We stopped by a MacDonald's drive-through so Ben could have the second of his customary two evening meals. Then it was back to the hotel room to prepare the air mattress. After inflating Ben's belly and bed, we filled him in on our adventures so far. He hid his excitement very well by closing his eyes and regulating his breathing, and that gave us the idea to retire for the night, so we'd be fresh for Saturday.

DAY THREE

Because of Ben's late arrival the day before, we got up a little later than normal this Saturday morning, and there were extra things to do before we could get on our way. There was one extra body I had to rouse, and we had to deflate Ben's air mattress (or, as we called it whenever we wanted to be reduced to juvenile snickering, "voiding Ben's bladder"), so we opted to bypass the Hampton's breakfast and stop by McDonald's, where breakfasts are fist-sized and can be thrown into your car as you drive by.

Ben had to go through the registration process, and CCI insists that only non-registered folks be allowed in the registration area. So as much as we wanted to give Ben familial support and vouch for his character, we instead had to wait for him on the other side of the induction center, in the giant Sails Pavilion common area on the second level of the Convention Center:

While there, we took the opportunity to nonchalantly stroll over to the souvenir book distribution area and lift a couple of more copies of the souvenir book with Ben's pictures in it. There were also a lot of costumed folks hanging around, so I took some pictures. I thought these folks did a pretty good job on the costumes...

... particularly Batman and Robin. I'm sure Captain Marvel had to resist the impulse to wrap his cape around Robin's waist.

Below is a group of DC Comics characters...

Left to right, that's the more contemporary Robin, the easily-recognizable Wonder Woman, the Green Lantern, the latest incarnation of Supergirl, and Black Lightning, a character that's never really captured the imagination of the general public, probably because Naugahyde's never caught on as a fashion statement.

Robin's costume is okay, but in this picture, he looks like he'd just as soon knife me as take me in. Green Lantern and Black Lightning don't exactly have the sculpted physiques of their comic-book counterparts, but they picked characters with costumes that cover them neck-to-toe, so they're allowed a little leeway. More leeway than I received the year I wore my Baby Huey costume.

Here's something you don't see every day: Wonder Woman posing with some Storm Troopers and R2D2...

It looks like this lady put a lot of work into her Wonder Woman costume, as did some other ladies floating around CCI. Unfortunately, about a month prior to the Comic-Con, DC had announced a new costume for Wonder Woman:

I would have hoped that, in deference to all the ladies at the Con who had worked so hard on their "classic" Wonder Woman costumes, DC could have held off on announcing the new look until after the convention was over. Instead, there were some surly Wonder Women walking around with the realization that they could have gotten by with some black capris, a red blouse, a jacket, and a few accessories from a renaissance fair. Granted, not all the Amazonian princesses I saw at the Con seemed dejected, but I'm thinking that those were the ladies who had been busy down in their sewing room for the past few weeks and didn't get the memo about the new costume.

We reunited with Ben as he emerged from the registration area and formed a huddle to figure out a game plan. Before security intervened (we were chalking X's and O's on the concrete floor), we'd roughly figured out our schedules and where our paths would cross during the day. It was clear we weren't going to see much of Ben today, as he tried to check out things we'd already seen, and attend panels that were aimed at folks whose artistic ability isn't limited to the aforementioned X's and O's.

Still, we had some time to cruise the Exhibition Hall before we went our separate ways, and saw a couple of more interesting exhibits. I thought this was pretty cool...

Kenner/Hasbro set up this giant package that you could step into and pretend to be a fully-articulated action-figure. I really wanted to get my picture taken inside this thing but the line was pretty long and Ben and Sam were bothered by the hypocrisy of me posing as an action figure.

We also saw this:

It was a sandy-looking sculpture in the WETA booth. WETA are the folks that produced the props for the Lord Of The Rings and other movies and also make a living producing and selling figures and weapons inspired by movies like District 9, King Kong (the newest one), Doctor Who, the Chronicles of Narnia series, etc. I'm still not sure what this particular piece was promoting --- maybe a line of depression-era ray guns?--- but it was distinctive enough to attract my attention.

After a while, I split off to go to the panel on The Event, a much-hyped television show debuting this fall on NBC. As I write this, a couple of episodes have already aired, but back in July, no one knew many details about its premise, so I thought I'd check it out.

It turns out nearly all of the program was an airing of the first episode. If I had known that, I wouldn't have come. This is a show I was going to watch anyway, from my La-Z-Boy and within easy reach of my refrigerator. For me, there's no appeal to watching it in a crowded room on a hard chair, surrounded by a mob of other CCI attendees, just so I can say I've seen it early.

But I was there, and they promised to bring out the cast and crew later, so I tried to pretend I was at home, during one of those rare times when I don't watch TV in my underwear. The cast and crew did eventually put in an appearance, but by the time the episode had been shown, there wasn't much time left for more than introducing them and having them tell us what a great show it's going to be. I don't recall the "L" word ever being mentioned, but the implication was that for those of us that love scratching our heads, looking puzzled, and drawing charts on our bedroom walls, this show would fill the void left by Lost.

After this panel, I went next door and met Sam for the Quick Draw Panel. This is a recurring program at the Con, and one of Sam's favorites, but I'd never attended one, being under the mistaken impression that it was an annual tribute to the old Hanna-Barbara Quickdraw McGraw cartoons. I've always been offended by the Baba Looey stereotype presented in those cartoons, which I believe set back the cause of burro civil rights for years.

So I was pleasantly surprised to find out that the Quick Draw Panel consists of three cartoonists who quickly come up with cartoons prompted by an emcee and the audience. Sort of Whose Line Is It Anyway? with cartoonists instead of comedians. The three artists were Sergio Aragones; Scott Shaw!; and Bill Stout. That's not a typo by Scott's name... he spells it with the exclamation point. I don't know the story behind that; it looks like he's trying to make his name sound like a sneeze. But it's an interesting concept, and I'm thinking about having my name legally changed to a parenthetical phrase.

Sergio Aragones is probably the artist most folks would be familiar with. If you open up your latest issue of Mad magazine (it's in your magazine rack, tucked between Newsweek and The Atlantic Monthly), you'll see all of his little wordless cartoons in the margins throughout the magazine. Here's a sample of his work:

Every month, just for Mad alone, he produces about ten of these. He's very fast. Somewhere I have an autographed paperback collection of his cartoons, where he drew a little picture of Alfred E. Neuman (the Mad mascot) in the time it takes me to sign my name. During Quick Draw, he would produce 3 or 4 cartoons while the other guys (who were no slouches) would produce one.

So Quick Draw was a very entertaining, and I'm putting on my list of panels to see every year (right next to "Some old guy reminisces about the old days").

After that, Sam and I went back to the Exhibition Hall where we were stopped by a couple of ladies who wanted to know where we obtained our Smallville bags. We made our usual Warner Brothers booth recommendation, which was disappointing news for them, because they had already tried the Warners booth to no avail. Once again, we were both impressed and puzzled by the appeal of these bags, since we're not hard-core Smallville fans. It took a couple of days, but it finally dawned on us that, if we could take or leave our Smallville bags, why in the world were he holding on to them? So we offered to trade bags with the two crestfallen ladies. They were embarrassingly thankful for our generosity, and we felt pretty good about ourselves as long as we ignored the facts that a) the bags cost us nothing; and b) they held no value to us as a collectible. In the interest of keeping our egos inflated as long as possible, we've avoided checking out the bags on E-Bay.

While in the Exhibition Hall, we kept a lookout for Sam's current Holy Grail:

Those of you familiar with comics know exactly what this is, so bear with me while I explain to all the folks who only read books with no pictures. This is Green Lantern's Power Battery, which, cleverly enough, looks like a green lantern.

Green Lantern is a super-hero who wields a power ring which, fueled by the wearer's strength of will, can manifest green energy-constructs of its wielder's choosing. In other words, Green Lantern can fight bad guys by beaning them with a giant green hammer emanating from his ring. His ring also allows him to fly, travel through space, and perform long division effortlessly.

As powerful as the ring is, though, it needs to be recharged every 24 hours, and that's where the Power Battery comes in. Green Lantern sticks his ring-hand up against the Battery and recites the Green Lantern Oath:

"In brightest day, in blackest night,
No evil shall escape my sight.
Let those who worship evil's might,
Beware my power... Green Lantern's light!"

Of course, the picture above isn't the real Power Battery which, as far as I know, has never been available on the open market... it's a full-size metallic limited-edition collectible that was on display at a booth. There'll be a big Green Lantern movie coming out next year, after which everyone will know about the Power Battery and there'll probably be thousands of plastic versions of this being cranked out in China. But this metal baby came out in 2009. What makes it so appealing to Sam is that it comes with an actual power ring that, when pressed against the Power Battery, causes the battery to light up. Sam dreams of the day he can step into a closet or darkened room and illuminate it with his own authentic Power Battery. Initially I told Sam that the battery light wouldn't activate unless he also recited the oath; I later realized it was a totally unnecessary lie, since if he ever owns one of these, and puts his power-ringed hand up against it, he won't be able to stop himself from reciting the oath anyway. So now I'm trying to convince him that it will only work if he wears a skin-tight Green Lantern costume.

He might have to settle for a future Toys-R-Us version, though... we couldn't find these things for sale anywhere on the Convention floor. Apparently, the manufacturer was serious about the "limited-edition" and I've only seen a couple on E-Bay going for a minimum of 500 bucks. That's too steep for me unless it came with an iron-clad guarantee that I could get Sam into the costume.

As I mentioned some time back, DC comics was celebrating 75 years of putting out funnybooks, so we stopped by for a retrospective panel on the history of the company. When a company's that old, it's tough to find someone who is both breathing and able to remember when DC opened their doors, so the panelists mostly consisted of folks who were major players from the mid-60's forward. One of these was an artist (we'll call him Adam) who was very influential in moving comic book art to a more "realistic" look. Until Adam arrived on the scene (from a commercial art background) the comic book industry didn't realize there was more than one way to draw a comic, and it took guys like Adam (or, more specifically, Adam) to show them how it should be done. We learned all this from Adam himself, who was the most outspoken of the panel members and had a pretty firm grasp on his significance in the history of comics.

From there, we went to another DC-themed panel, this one promoting upcoming DC-Warner Brothers direct-to-video animated releases. The panel was actually focusing on short subjects that would accompany each feature-length offering, and would spotlight different DC characters such as Green Arrow, Captain Marvel, The Spectre, and Jonah Hex. Actor Thomas Jane, the voice of Jonah Hex (and one-time portrayer of The Punisher back in 2004), was there, and seemed to be having a pretty good time. Maybe too good a time for what the occasion warranted, but perhaps he's just naturally gregarious. Actor Jerry O'Connell (the voice of Captain Marvel in an upcoming video release) stuck his head in the door on his way to hyping Piranha 3D, and actor Neil McDonough (the voice of Green Arrow) phoned in from his cell phone to say hi, because he got stuck in traffic. It must be weird being an actor in a venue where people recognize you and then want you to autograph a headshot of a Jonah Hex or Captain Marvel.

Also on the panel was the producer of these animated films: Bruce Timm. He seemed a lot more relaxed and outgoing up there with Thomas Jane than he had when I had approached him on the Exhibition Room floor. Because there was no pencil and paper in front of him, it was clear that he was able to attend this panel because of the time he had gained by not doing my sketch. I wasn't bummed... I can always say that I allowed Bruce Timm to pal around with The Punisher.  A thank-you card would have been nice, though.

A brief comics history lesson: since his creation and up to the early sixties, Batman was, for the most part, drawn in a cartoony manner. His character evolved into a not-quite-so-campy version of the Batman portrayed by Adam West in the 60s TV show. He was a hero of Gotham City, waving from parade floats, granting interviews, and probably attending weekly Kiwanis meetings. It wasn't till the seventies that Batman really adopted his more spooky "Dark Knight" persona and started scaring both criminals and citizens alike.

We decided to attend a panel discussing this change in the way the character was handled, entitled "Taking Back The Knight: Batman in the 70s and Beyond." The panel consisted of the DC editor-in-chief at the time, the chief Batman writer of that era, and one of artists most associated with the Batman "creature-of-the-night" transition. The artist was Adam, whom we had previously seen at the "75 Years of DC Comics" panel. This Batman panel sort of became Part 2 of the previous DC panel... we learned from Adam that, after he came along and saved DC Comics (artistically), he rolled up his sleeves and re-defined the Batman character into the successful money-printing machine it is today. By the end of this panel, Adam had convince me to write him a residual check every time I read a DC comic, and double it if it features Batman.

We met back up with Ben and decided it was time to eat. I'm a big fan of the Chicago-style pizza "pie"... the lethal kind where they stuff everything under a crust that covers the top of the pizza. So far I haven't found one near our home, but I asked my good friend Google if he could recommend a place in San Diego, and I was directed to Lefty's. While at last year's Con, we had tried to drop by Lefty's, but it was so crowded that we were told to give them an hour and a half for our pizza, and since Sam and Ben were already gnawing on their own limbs, we went somewhere else. This year, I had the foresight to have Lefty's number in the car, so our plan was to phone our order in ahead of time.

On our way back to the parking structure, while walking along the sidewalk that runs in front of the Convention Center, we saw a couple of interesting things.

First, I passed actor Matthew Gray Gubler, who was walking the other direction. Mr. Gubler plays a prominent role in the Criminal Minds TV series, and has also been the voice of Simon in the two recent Chipmunks movies. I could be wrong, but he seemed to be at CCI on strictly an attendee basis... he was certainly the only actor I rubbed shoulders with. I didn't actually talk to him; if I had stopped him there on the sidewalk, we would have both been pummeled to death by the other sidewalk traffic... or I might have received a pummeling from Mr. Gubler. But as I passed,  I could tell he sensed my admiration for his portrayal of the most intellectual of the three singing rodents.

The other notable sight was a guy sitting in front of Hall H in handcuffs, surrounded by cops. We found out later that apparently there was a disagreement between this guy and another guy inside Hall H over seating arrangements; and this guy felt his point was best made by stabbing the other guy near the eye with a ballpoint pen. The victim was taken to the hospital at his own request to be checked out, but there was no serious injury, although he probably had to endure endless "dotting the eye" jokes from the EMTs and ER staff. More seriously, the programming in Hall H was delayed by 40 minutes. On the bright side, it did free up a couple of seats, which were quickly snatched up and listed on E-Bay.

The story quickly made the papers and local newscasts, but all were quick to point out that CCI has been surprisingly free of these kind of incidents, considering the high concentration of people. I'm thinking there are probably more altercations than actually get noticed or reported and many are probably nipped in the bud. Tempers might flare at Comic-Con, but if things elevate to a something potentially physical, by the time the aggrieved parties take off their capes and find someone they trust to hold their mint copy of Sea Devils #21, they've cooled off. When assaults actually do happen, I imagine not many people want to add to their self-esteem issues by being treated in the ER dressed up as a superhero, or enduring questioning by snickering police officers.

We made it to the car and called in our order to Lefty's. They told us to allow about an hour, and it took us less than 30 minutes to get there, so I decided to cruise the surrounding area. When I'm traveling, I like to look around, even in non-scenic areas. I inherited this from my dad, who would often take the "runaway truck" freeway ramps just to see where they led.

Lefty's was in a part of San Diego called "Normal Heights".

We didn't see a lot of folks with Comic-Con badges on; I assumed the name of the area kept them away. It didn't seem any more or less "normal" than any other town, but then again, maybe that's what makes it normal.

After looking around for a while, we headed back toward Lefty's. There's really no parking to speak of... we had to circle around the block and park in front of someone's house. Thankfully, they weren't charging the going rate for CCI attendees. Then we walked around the block to the corner that Lefty's occupied.

Only the corner of this building is occupied by Lefty's. As you can see, it's a pretty small place; due to a rare optical illusion phenomenon, it's even smaller on the inside than it looks from the outside. It's called Lefty's because you have to hang one arm out the window to fit into the place.

But the pizza was good, if you like that kind of pizza. When I opened up the boxes back at the hotel room, at first I thought they had mistakenly given us the more conventional deep-dish Chicago pizza without the top crust, but I quickly realized that the crust was there... it was just concealed with a slathering of pizza sauce. Ben and Sam weren't as impressed as I was. Of course, they had to listen to me express my enthusiasm after every bite, then listen to me groan in contentment until I passed out that night. They told me they had to use CPR on me twice during the night, but I don't remember that, and even if it's true, it won't stop me from going back next year. I'll just make sure I don't eat alone.

DAY FOUR

Sunday, the last day of CCI, is always kind of anticlimactic, much like my other adventures, jokes, and home-improvement projects. It's always designated by CCI as Kid's Day, with most of the activities geared toward a younger audience. Programs have titles like "Secret Origins of Good Readers" and "Lego Universe Building Creativity" and "Superman's Hints for Good Hygiene."  Scooby-Doo and Spongebob were featured panel topics that I recognized, but other names popped up as well...  like Yo Gabba Gabba! and Phineas and Ferb. In other words, properties I'm not familiar with because my kids haven't had kids. 

Although much of the programming tries to cater to the pint-sizers, I didn't notice that much difference in the Exhibition Hall. Vendors there still have to deal with the same inventory they've been selling the previous three days, and unless they normally sell kid stuff, they're hard-pressed to contribute to the day's theme. You'd think that the booths selling broadswords and battleaxes, or full-sized posters of scantily-clad barbarian ladies, would be concerned about a lack of clientele on Kid's Day, but it soon becomes clear that there are still a lot of Con attendees who don't have kids, and will never have kids. Still, the video-gaming section of the Exhibition Hall tries to clean up its act by promoting such family fare as Grand Theft Hot-Wheels, Pandora's Juice-Box, and Sesame Street Fighter.

Usually, Sam and Ben and I are pretty burned out by Sunday, and unless we want to take one more spin around the Exhibition Hall, there's been some years where we've slept in, packed up and headed home without even swinging by the Convention Center. But since Ben hadn't arrived till Friday night, we decided to go back to the Con and give him some more time looking around. We packed up all our stuff in the car, and checked out of the room after leaving the maid a note to recycle all the soda cans and send us the proceeds.

Once we arrived at the Convention Center, I separated from Ben and Sam and went to the CW's Smallville/Supernatural panel. I wasn't that interested... I watch Smallville because it's about Superman (to claim the right to call yourself a comic book fan, you have to put your right hand on a copy of Action Comics #1 and swear to follow all media incarnations of the Man of Steel), but I'm not crazy about it. Smallville's Clark carries around a bit too much angst for my tastes. I'm sure there's a lot of pressure watching out for the world, but leaping tall buildings and humiliating speeding bullets would tend to keep my mood from getting too dark.

Still, the show deserves some credit for lasting ten years, and  so I killed some time while the show's cast and creators did their best to tell everyone how awesome the tenth and final season will be without actually spilling the beans about what's going to happen. Then I stuck around for the Supernatural panel, which, like Smallville, is another CW network show. Many of you reading this may not be familiar with the CW. Don't worry... it only means that you're old and out of the loop. Most of the CW's audience communicates only through texting and sullen looks.

After that, I went back down to the Exhibition Hall, connected with Ben and Sam, and followed them around while Ben continued browsing. At this time of day, it did seem like there were more little kids walking around than we'd seen the other days. While we were looking at glass-cased merchandise, I noticed a little guy standing next to me dressed up like Captain Marvel, so I asked if I could take his picture:

Pretty impressive costume, if you ask me, and well worth a picture, but Sam was squirming behind me. Apparently, he wasn't comfortable with his 57-year father taking a picture of a little kid and posting it on the internet. I'm still not sure why.

We wandered around a little longer, but it was getting close to mid-day, and we were looking forward to the lunch we had planned. So we said good-bye to CCI for another year. It could just be my imagination, but I think everyone there was sorry to see us go.

We headed out of San Diego to nearby Oceanside. Our destination: the Oceanside KFC.

As many of you know, my friend Ken used to be part of our Comic-Con entourage. He is also a Kentucky Fried Chicken aficionado, and he introduced us to the Oceanside location. It became something of a tradition for us to stop there each year on the way back from the Con. Alas, traditions don't always endure... Ken eventually had to bow out of the annual Comic-Con excursion, and although we stopped by the Oceanside KFC a couple of times in the following years without him, it seemed like a betrayal to enjoy it in his absence. So we switched to having a big breakfast on the final Sunday morning of the Con, so we wouldn't be hungry when we drove through Oceanside. Loyalty is more easily exercised with a full belly.

This trip, though, we decided that enough time had passed to transform betrayal into nostalgia. We'd revisit the KFC, raise our drumsticks in a toast to our absent friend, and maybe rekindle a hitherto faded tradition.

You're probably wondering what was so special about this particular KFC outlet, compared to the flock of other KFC along our route home. It sure wasn't the ambience... although the town's called Oceanside, about all you can see from the local KFC is the local McDonalds and Jack-In-The-Box. There's no mealtime entertainment (at least, not until we get there). There's not even a 12th herb and/or spice.

The reason the Oceanside KFC was our shining bucket on the horizon was that it was one of the rare KFC restaurants that offered an all-you-can-eat buffet.

I don't know how the environmentally-conscious folks, who are all over global warming and other dangers to the public health, managed to miss the fact that KFC had established these insurgent cholesterol distribution centers. There had to be enough deep-frying taking place to cut into our oil reserves and set off alarms somewhere.  The obesity rate in this country has steadily been climbing... didn't somebody notice that the stats were being affected by a handful of locations showing up as dimples on the topographical  surveys?

For whatever reason, for years we had taken advantage of the Oceanside KFC, where for one low price, you could eat ALL THE KENTUCKY FRIED CHICKEN YOU COULD HOLD. (There were other offerings, of course... mashed potatoes, corn, coleslaw... but the turnover on that stuff wasn't rapid and I suspect it stayed there for days). There still isn't a name for the number of calories we would consume during those annual feasts.

So when Sam, Ben, and I pulled into the Oceanside KFC this year and discovered the buffet was no longer being offered, our jaws would have dropped in dismay if our tongues hadn't already been hanging out in anticipation.

Even though we hadn't been there in years, it still felt like the end of an era. We didn't bother going inside to ask them why the buffet was no longer in place. We were a little afraid we'd find out that our annual visits there were making the whole operation fiscally unfeasible. But really, the reason didn't matter. It was gone and nothing could take its place except for maybe the Fullerton Shakey's weekday Bunch-A-Lunch and the Lefty's Chicago pizza that we immediately instituted as new dining traditions.

We shuffled over to the nearby Jack-In-The-Box and drowned our sorrows in a few dozen of those deep-fried things they call tacos. And that marked, rather ignominiously, the end of the 2010 Comic-Con trip. But a bad ending can't spoil an entire trip... well, maybe it can... the Titanic comes to mind... Yeah, scratch that. Let's just say a bad ending didn't spoil this trip. We had a good time, and the subsequent time I spent devoting copious amounts of cyber-ink to this journal spared many innocent folks from having to deal with me personally. All that's left is to make a few random closing observations.

A FEW RANDOM CLOSING OBSERVATIONS

1. Since I started writing this, it's been announced that CCI will be staying in San Diego for the next few years, which is the equivalent of Contadina trying to jam 80 great tomatoes in that same little bitty can. So in future trips, we can probably count on more lines like the kind we experienced with The Walking Dead. But that won't stop us from going.

2. As is our custom, we purchased tickets for next year while we were there. Sam and Ben also purchased tickets for some friends of theirs. I told my sons that I'm as hospitable as the next guy, but that doesn't mean I'll let their friends crash in our hotel room. Practically speaking, there wouldn't be the floor space for all the air mattresses. I'm not sure if I'm off the hook, though... I saw them looking online at the rental rates for one of those bouncy castle things you see at kids' birthday parties.

3. Maybe next year, I'll try revisiting Hall H. It'll involve spending most of the day in there, so I'll have to stuff my ScotteVest full of Slim Jims and Diet Dr. Pepper, but it's been a couple of years since I've taken in the Hollywood side of the Con, and it might be worth revisiting, as long as I don't tick off anybody who might pull a ballpoint pen.

4. Regarding item #1: please tell me that some of you get the Contadina reference.

5. I wish my wife Sue were still going with us. She's missing out on a lot of fun. But it's our fun, not hers. When she attended, she hated the crowds, she didn't like being dragged around the Exhibition Hall, and, like Alice, she felt as if she had fallen through The Looking Glass into a world populated by folks who wouldn't get that reference unless they had read Classics Illustrated #49 or were Tim Burton fans.

My reasons for wishing she'd come with us are, typically, entirely selfish. Of course, after over 34 years of marriage, I'm starting to get attached to her and it feels a little funny to go somewhere for four days without her. But there's a more specific reason: there's something about my wife that causes perfect strangers to spontaneously initiate conversations with her.

I can't tell you how many times I've been with Sue in some public place, minding our our own business, when someone in the same line, or sitting at a nearby table, or having a root canal in the other dentist's chair, will suddenly start talking to her. We've had many interesting conversations with folks we've just met, simply because there's some mysterious wavelength Sue transmits that makes people want to share observations and experiences with her. Just today, totally unprompted, the check-out lady at Target let her know about her Thanksgiving dinner plans and how much she planned to drink.

Since, for me, a good deal of the fun of the Comic-Con is observing the people, I always enjoyed the interesting interactions we'd have whenever Sue was along. It was rather disconcerting to discover that, without Sue at my side, no one except Ben and Sam really wanted to talk with me. On occasion, I tried to initiate some conversations with nearby strangers, but it was clear from their polite nods and the weapons they produced that they weren't interested. I'm betting that if Sue had been with me, I not only would have gotten that sketch from Bruce Timm; we would have learned his favorite brand of breakfast cereal and if he likes camping.

6. Just for the record, I know that my enjoyment of the Comic-Con makes me seem rather odd and a bit immature (or downright weird, if you're not inclined toward understatement). I have no illusions about my eccentricities: I'm a 57 year old man that still reads comics, watches cartoons, and knows Jim Rockford's license plate number. I'm not clear on the demographics of my readers (the Nielsons get a little bit spotty when the audience dips below 2 or 3), but I'm sure most of you are pretty normal. You wouldn't think of spending four days hob-nobbing with the Comic-Con crowd,  and probably think that a man my age should have more traditional recreational pursuits like watching professional sports, going fishing, and playing golf.

But that ship has sailed... at this stage in my life, there's no way I'm going to craft a new image that will help me relate more closely to my peers. So I might as well keep going to the Con as long as I'm able and as long as it remains fun. And it will keep being fun for at least as long as one or both of my sons can go with me.

Being a dad has been a great privilege for me; so great a privilege that I find it amazing that the role comes with an added bonus: it's just so darn fun. Looking back on my job performance, I know I haven't been a great dad--- I sure won't win any Ward Cleaver awards--- but still, like most dads, I love my sons. More to the point, I like my sons. I enjoy hanging around with them, watching TV with them, joking with them, even arguing with them. Just like I love being Sue's husband, I love being their dad.

My dad died in his mid-fifties... I was in my early twenties. For a couple of decades, I knew him as my dad, but I was just getting to know him as a guy when God took him away. In the years that followed, God gave me the gift of my two sons... and now has given me the time to spend with them as fellow adults and friends. I'm sure my sons have a pretty good idea of how much I love them, and I'm sure they've already decided what kind of dad I am. I hope, by the time I join my dad, they'll know who I am.

These Comic-Con trips have been a part of that, and they're a gift I don't take for granted.

Of course, it's at the expense of my sons, who have to indulge their father every year. But it's a price I'm willing to have them pay.

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