As I mentioned in an earlier post, the boys and I had the opportunity to visit the San Diego Comic Con. Having just returned with oodles and oodles of pictures of cosplayers, figures, and convention halls, I’m a little behind with my post about the con itself. Luckily, while I organize myself and the details of the trip in my head, I wanted to post this little vignette from one of our afternoons at the con. Rodney, Shannon, Kevin and I had just spent six hours in the convention center and eager for sustenance (as Thor would say), we left to grab a sandwich and a beer. En route, Rodney relayed a brief story about a rather awkward party he had attended years ago. Considering myself a seasoned dabbler in the storytelling trade myself, I could not stop myself from criticizing . . . a little:
“And that’s the end of the story? You just left?” I asked, juggling my backpack from one shoulder to the other. “Lame.”
Three accounts. Three computers. If I thought it would improve my chances to heft some of the house’s scattered PCs — outdated, abandoned, or consumed by spiderwebs — down to my room, I might have risked electric shock and wolf spider bites to heave the towers into my room. But I had three accounts, thus only three computers.
The other members of my party were working across the street at Katie’s new house, knocking down trees and feeding the sap-soaked limbs into the chipper, giving Mother Nature the ol’ Fargo-special (as I call it). Thus, the task of procuring tickets to the Comicon fell to me.
Now, we’ve attended comic book conventions in the past here in Baltimore and DC. These are typically low-key affairs, occupying a single floor at the Baltimore convention center, which — to quote the Hulk — is puny in comparison to its counterparts in DC and Boston. Still it manages to stock the panels with some pretty awesome writers and artists: Scott Snyder, Greg Capullo, Don Rosa, and Neil Adams to name a few that I’ve seen (Batman and Uncle Scrooge fanatic that I am).