Neil Gaiman came across Japanese Filmmaker Hayao Miyazaki outside of the the restaurant he was having dinner at. When I read things like that, I wonder what else happens at Comic Con? You see, I have never attended. Oh I’m sure it will happen one day. In the meantime, I dream about what the experience might be like. I sit here now and I picture what that itinerary might be like for a single day, from the moment I wake up until I’m laying in my bed back at the hotel.
Are the walls lined with the pages of every issue of my favorite comic books, pasted in proper sequential order so I can follow the story to my bed as I head to my room?
Do you get your own personal storm trooper who walks you to meet all of your favorite artists and writers, carrying your box full of signed memorabilia with his Standard Imperial Issue High Power Blaster Rifle, Quickshot model, hanging from his shoulder and whistling “Rain drops keep falling on my head?”
And when you’re tired and you want to unwind at the end of the day, before you go to sleep, is there a pub where a giant green man as tall as the ceiling and wearing a vest and a bow tie pours your drink and serves it to you at that perfect temperature that brings out the full flavor? “Two’s the limit here, friend,” he says to you, “the perfect amount you may have without the risk of losing your temper. This place wouldn’t be magical if you saw it when you’re angry.” Does he laugh and then direct you to look at the stage, and behold, Hugh Jackman is standing there dressed as Wolverine, with his claws sticking out as everyone claps while he kicks his legs from side to side and presents to the audience his work in progress, “Bell Kicks for Raging Cannucks!”
Does your storm trooper fluff your pillow before you go to bed at night, and set an extra mint by your pillow so you won’t have to worry that your breath smells like bantha fodder for too long after you wake up?
Maybe I’ll find out one day. You’re welcome to tell me, but I won’t believe you until I see it for myself.
the hotel rooms are doubled in price, the personal storm trooper is actually someone covered in so much stench his skin is turning white while his eyes continue to turn even more black. you may hear that song being whistled but its more than likely drool that is falling on your head because someone has been staring at a fan girl for to long. once you get tired the crowd decides what will happen to you. sometimes you go left, right or just in a circle for hours, i imagine this is similar to the roundabouts in england. the giant green man pouring you liquid is more than likely a figment of your imagination do to the heat while waiting to get in. its a good time for sure.