Occasional Superheroine

My San Diego Comic Con Rant,
Part One Of One Million

OK, my darlings, just in case you think I take you all for granted...

I turned down a night of wine, wimmens, mens, and song ("Bat Dance" by Prince) in order to take the time to blog to you here today. The usual Con schedule of the comic professional/aspiring so-and-so does not allow for the proper time for ranting, it starts at the crack of dawn so you can get a damned parking space or somehow defy traffic and it continues inexorably down past midnight, from hotel bar to hotel bar. In-between is a marathon, one that doesn't hit you until somewhere around 3:00 when you can feel the bones in your legs, two straight hard bones that wither under your burden of portfolios and swag. I said to myself today, "Self, you shouldn't be feeling your leg bones. They should be silent. Why are they talking? Hush, you."

No, it was clear to me that my ambitions of blogging continually throughout the Convention, dazzling you all with my pithy and insightful brilliance, just could not happen with the hotel bar things until 2 AM. So here I sit in the lobby of the Hotel Lafayette, listening to something that could almost be Elvis -- only it's not, it could be Hassselhoff for all I really know -- typing away, downing a huge latte from Starbucks, the modest hotel bar somewhere behind my shoulder and painted in neon. And while I would like to start my narrative deep in the thick of it, regarding x, y, and z, name-dropping, bitching, praising, spoiling -- I'm not.

I'm going to start my narrative in Long Beach.

In my Mr. G,'s parent's house, whom we stayed with for 2-and-a-half days, is a guest room filled with books on meditation, religion, positive energy, and healing. It is quite an impressive collection, surrounded by all means of peaceful decor and awesome feng shui.

Years ago, when I was in college, I used to be big into the whole spiritual thing. In fact, I owned or read many of the books on that shelf. And for the whole time I stayed at Long Beach, in Casa Del Parents Of Mr. G, my energy was hopelessly drawn to that bookshelf.

Fast-forward to Day 3 of the San Diego Comic Con.

Holy Christ, I am tired. When I came back to my hotel room, somewhere in the area of 8:30 PM, I actually danced. I danced, I talked aloud to myself. Then I broke out the Blogger because I am somewhat of a masochist.

I was looked at somewhat askance for my decision to cut the night early.

BUT WHAT ABOUT THE NETWORKING???????

THIS IS A VALUABLE DAY FOR TEH NETWORKING!!!!

"Did you get into the Marvel party?"

"I didn't ask."

"Can you get me into the Marvel party?"

"I didn't ask."

"You should stand there and hover over the Marvel booth all day until they invite you to the Marvel party."

"Yeah, not so much. I stayed out pretty late last night. I think I'm going to rest tonight."

"TEH MARVEL PARTY -- YOU GETS IT?"

So here is the first thing perhaps you civilians do not know or fully understand about the San Diego Con. There is, at least among aspiring comic creators and freelancers looking for work, an absolute obsession with getting into the DC & Marvel parties.

I don't knock this obsession. I suppose it's wicked cool to rub shoulders with the top editorial & creative talent. Can't hurt your chances for getting this work or that, either -- I guess.

But what about flow?

Flow -- riding and gently guiding your destiny?

See, I'm thinking about that bookshelf back in Long Beach again.

Playing now on the hotel soundset: "Thank you for letting me be myself again" by Sly Stone