Monkey See contributor/longtime nerd Glen Weldon is headed to San Diego Comic-Con. He's filing periodic updates from one of the largest media events in the world.
Special note: If you're at SDCC, there will be an unofficial Pop Culture Happy Hour meetup in the Marina Bar at the Marriott Marquis and Marina Friday at 5:30 p.m. Pacific Time. (Don't get excited, It'll just be Glen handing out PCHH pins.)
9:02 a.m. (all times PT): I am sitting in a boat between Goth Wonder Woman and an entertainment lawyer.
In my head, Christopher Cross sings "Stuck Between The Moon and New York City (Arthur's Theme)," but he's altered the lyrics cleverly.
My pal JC, with his one-day pass, is already at the Convention Center; he was worried about the line to get in, and resolved that if his East Coast circadian rhythms were determined to wake him up at an ungodly hour, he'd get an early jump on the day.
JC's wife L, and my partner F, non-nerds both, are still puttering around our hotel suite, planning which breakfast place to hit. F has a one-day pass, and will meet up with me and JC around noon while L takes a trolley tour of San Diego like a chump.
9:35 a.m.: Before meeting up with JC, I swing by some back-issue bins looking for old issues of Superman Family and Batman Family, the comics that were to my childhood what Yertle the Turtle was to yours. The floor's just opened, so the crowd's as thin as it's gonna get.
As it were.
Waiting outside the hall to meet JC, I see a con security professional delivering his brief, well-rehearsed spiel to new arrivals about the rules of con conduct. When he's done, he steps aside and lets a passel of newly lanyarded attendees into the hall. A fellow security dude steps up to him. "You forgot the part about 'No running,'" he says.
The first security dude, a stout sort himself, turns to regard the small throng of humanity he's just let in. They are, it must be noted, less than gainly.
He takes a beat. A perfect beat. A Jack Benny beat.
"With this crowd," he says, "not an issue."
Ungenerous? Perhaps. But come on. Pretty good.
10:00 a.m.: JC and I walk the floor. Before I came, I'd joked about Comic-Con looking like a sea of me: lots of bald beardy chubbsy-wubbsy dudes in glasses. We are represented here, clearly. And, yes, many members of the long gray ponytail/Hawaiian shirt contingent stare out at the aisles from behind registers.