"Wow, there are a lot of people here. And it smells."
This is the first impression that a newbie receives when arriving for the first time at the San Diego Comic-Con. It's not exactly what I expect. The bright lights, the sold-out-the-night-before conference rooms, the giant remote-controlled R2-D2's, and the anime section, which contains its own unique scent (something akin to urine).
And of course, there are those annoying kids running around with their plastic light sabers, stabbing me in the groin and pretending to be Anakin Skywalker, and all I can think about is yelling after them "Hayden Christensen is a terrible actor! When I was a little brat like you we had Mark Ha...well, he was still better!"
"Can you believe they allow crap like Glee at Comic-Con? I just don't understand youth culture, and I'm only nineteen," I ramble to myself. Why is no one ever around when I have something clever to say? Hey look, there's Peter Mayhew! Chewbacca himself. He even kinda looks like him. He doesn't look like he's getting a lot of people to buy his autograph, though. C'mon kids, he was Chewbacca! I mean, look at that gelatinous mob of sniveling brats lining up to see that guy from Yo, Gabba Gabba, whatever that is.
I decided to save my money for a personalized Simpsons portrait. Ya know, it really does look like me. Do these kids even know what the Simpsons is? Sad thought, but so is the thought of me becoming culturally irrelevant by age twenty.
