No, no, friends, the truth of the matter was that I was waiting to hear from my alter-ego, who abandoned me months ago to try his hand at the Gaming Room of the Sky with the King of Curiosities, and got shanghaied by conspiring members of his Royal Court, and recently escaped, knocking on the door of my apartment at 4:47 yesterday morning with strange, horrible tales that left me catatonic with their perversity...
|Old School Doctor Who Cyberman|
|Star Wars represented!|
Walking the floor, pockets filled with cash (yeah, I know I didn't give the miscreant a buck on the subway train, but I was snarling, remember?), and eager for everything. And then: disaster. Every vendor was selling things that I didn't want to buy— I then spun my head around, and saw cosplayers in even more bizarre and puzzling outfits, and realized that this was a convention that will need a bit of a push to get going: I needed to find a bar.
|Beware the Three-Mile Island sauce|
From my notebook:
* Hooters: Chatted with two guys who had it in for Erik Estrada, because years ago he allegedly snubbed the then-unknown comic George Lopez. I heard some of Lopez's material- I would've snubbed him, too.
* Still at Hooters: according to my pal Kim the bartender, the creepy guy sitting at the booth near the exit comes every weekend, alternately drinks hot and iced coffee, and always plunks down around 80 bucks in the jukebox. Is the girl he has a crush on working right now?, I asked her. How did you know he has a crush on a girl here? she asked me. I know all sorts of things, like what a Greyhound is, which I'll have another of, thanks.
After some chicken wings (and a beer), I weaved back to the Expo.
More scribblings from my notebook:
* 2:00PM: "Hughes the Force" I'm looking around, and, well, who in the fuck are these people?
* This is a cool idea, but I wonder how many here actually saw a John Hughes movie in a movie theatre. Oh, the humanity.
* 3:00PM: Lunch time, at a Mexican food stand, having an over-priced chicken bowl and a Coke. A lil tipsy. I shouldn't have had that second Greyhound. Recognize some Trekkies here, but I'm too despondent to be 'friendly guy.' Next panel should be fun.
* 3:45PM: Fuck it. Back at Hooters, where I had to remind Kimmy what a Greyhound was again. Drank it and ran. Didn't want to miss BSG panel.
* 4:10PM: Hatchriffs.
* 4:30PM: Jesus Christ, this guy. Is he on the drugs? Leaving soon...
And leave I did, going to the standing room-only room where the Star Trek Q and A was to be, and after the affable Garret Wang ("Ensign Kim," VOY) came out to say hello, he told us that Robert Picardo ("The Doctor," VOY) and my ex-wife Marina Sirtis ("Counselor Troi," TNG) left early, I decided that it was too much to take, and I did the same. Cue up the sad piano music as I slowly walked out the exit, head hung low, kicking at non-existent rocks on the mocking pavement, hoping against hope that the trains will be running quickly for a change. Because I wanted to go home.
Inside the subway train, and in borderline crisis mode, I seriously doubted my geek credentials: I don't go out to see all of the latest comic book movies, I'm not familiar with names of the recent major scribes and artists, don't recognize anime characters, and, if I were pressed, I couldn't spout out credible Treknobabble if universes were in jeopardy. The only thing that gave me comfort was that I had the latest entry of G.R.R. Martin's "A Song of Fire and Ice" series -- A Dance with Dragons -- downloaded on my phone, and I began reading it while being jostled on the packed train-- it was filled with a few middle-aged Occupy LA protesters, as well as the usual degenerates and, for lack of a better label, civilians. Body odor, bad breath, stale shoes: this is the perfume of a subway train. But then I shook it off, and immersed myself in the story, and on how much it thrilled me, and that I was impassioned about it, and I found it to be good.
While walking home, now not so much thinking on how lost I felt at the Expo as on how much reading I can get done, I then realized that being a geek is really only about passion — mind-fuckable passion — on the thing. Like how I felt about reading this fantasy book on my phone. Or, to a certain extent, those protesters who are still fighting the fight after all of these years. Passion. Who cares about the minutia? If I were to be exiled from the geek community because I couldn't recognize that guy with up swept ya-ya-yellow hair, or the gal with the airbrushed eyes, I couldn't care less. The Geek Closet is still open, fellow miscreants, and I ain't throwing in the towel quite yet (because you never know when you'll need one).