Friday, July 21, 2006
SDCC
It's still fairly early in the morning, and already it's hot. I'm on the trolley and I'm beginning to see the sort of people I'm spending the day with. They come in khaki shorts and ill-fitting t-shirts with superhero logos. They come in spider-man button up shirts and cat ears. Around their necks are lanyards, orange, points of pride. The kid in front of me is sending a text message. "were packed in here so tight i feel like i'm going to aushwitz" I begin to wonder what I'm getting myself in to.
As we pile off the trolley the local commuters breathe a sigh of relief. The heat is still kicking up, and the slew of Darth Vaders, stormtroopers, Boba Fetts and Klingons don't seem to be amused. A voice behind me. "Man there's so many of us. We're like the zombies in Resident Evil. You know that part where the zombies are all bunched together? The zombies in Resident Evil are all bunched together." He's talking to a girl. How did he talk you in to coming? I wonder. Escape! Escape while you're still outside!
I register, get my lanyard. I try to keep it tucked away as well as possible. I then proceed to get terribly, terribly lost trying to find the mezzanine level. I begin to keep mental lists to distract myself.
Number of Klingons spotted (6)
Jedi Knights (20+)
Naruto headbands (about a dozen)
probable virgins (untold)
There are lightsabers, flags, cardboard signs and kitty ears. We are a mass a hundred thousand strong, packed into a convention center to the brimming. I glimpse a stratification of the nerds. There are the middle aged sort, who wander between the vintage comic booths that do some serious transactions. There are a few, like me, who are slightly dazed and overwhelmed, completely unsure of what we've staggered into, yet so hopelessly enamored that we have to keep staring. The teenagers, acne riddled, some desperately clutching to boyfriends and girlfriends, all out to prove something, anything. And then there are the hopeless. One stands behind me while I look at an art booth. He turns to the artist. "I never knew you were the artist of Force of Will. That's sooooo huge. That's really cool. That's really important."
The artist composes. She looks to find words. I look to find a retreat. I stumble into a news crew interviewing a man in full plate armor. "So, your company makes armor? What's your armor made of?"
"Well, this is beaten aluminum, which is pretty light and easy to wear."
"How much would a suit of armor like the one you're wearing sell for?"
"A suit of armor like this would start at around $10,000."
The anchorman composes. He looks to find words. "People BUY that?!"
Yes, people do. And that's the root of the matter, really. Some people want Red Sox season tickets, some people would prefer a semi-authentic 13th century functional suit of armor. I don't think I'm particularly qualified to judge which one is the wiser purchase, but I think I know which one is more fun to watch. ΒΆ 7:37 PM
As we pile off the trolley the local commuters breathe a sigh of relief. The heat is still kicking up, and the slew of Darth Vaders, stormtroopers, Boba Fetts and Klingons don't seem to be amused. A voice behind me. "Man there's so many of us. We're like the zombies in Resident Evil. You know that part where the zombies are all bunched together? The zombies in Resident Evil are all bunched together." He's talking to a girl. How did he talk you in to coming? I wonder. Escape! Escape while you're still outside!
I register, get my lanyard. I try to keep it tucked away as well as possible. I then proceed to get terribly, terribly lost trying to find the mezzanine level. I begin to keep mental lists to distract myself.
Number of Klingons spotted (6)
Jedi Knights (20+)
Naruto headbands (about a dozen)
probable virgins (untold)
There are lightsabers, flags, cardboard signs and kitty ears. We are a mass a hundred thousand strong, packed into a convention center to the brimming. I glimpse a stratification of the nerds. There are the middle aged sort, who wander between the vintage comic booths that do some serious transactions. There are a few, like me, who are slightly dazed and overwhelmed, completely unsure of what we've staggered into, yet so hopelessly enamored that we have to keep staring. The teenagers, acne riddled, some desperately clutching to boyfriends and girlfriends, all out to prove something, anything. And then there are the hopeless. One stands behind me while I look at an art booth. He turns to the artist. "I never knew you were the artist of Force of Will. That's sooooo huge. That's really cool. That's really important."
The artist composes. She looks to find words. I look to find a retreat. I stumble into a news crew interviewing a man in full plate armor. "So, your company makes armor? What's your armor made of?"
"Well, this is beaten aluminum, which is pretty light and easy to wear."
"How much would a suit of armor like the one you're wearing sell for?"
"A suit of armor like this would start at around $10,000."
The anchorman composes. He looks to find words. "People BUY that?!"
Yes, people do. And that's the root of the matter, really. Some people want Red Sox season tickets, some people would prefer a semi-authentic 13th century functional suit of armor. I don't think I'm particularly qualified to judge which one is the wiser purchase, but I think I know which one is more fun to watch. ΒΆ 7:37 PM
