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My roommate hooked me up with a free pass to Comic Con on Wednesday. I was shocked at how well the crowd fit the stereotypes. There were skinny, sickly looking nerds, and overweight nerds. There was no shortage of pony tails and bad facial hair. 1/3 of the crowd seemed to now how to behave at a large crowded event, another third would just stop walking in the middle of the convention floor to look around in amazement, another third would awkwardly try and shove by to get to whatever it is they are trying to get to.
And I’m not sure what they’d be so desperate to see. There were a few corporate booths previewing movies and video games that I could see the nerds of the world being excited about, but it was mostly dudes selling ‘clever’ t-shirts, comic books, or original art, usually of scantily clad comic book chics or sci-fi heroinnes.
I will give the nerds some credit for embracing what they love despite the scorn it brings from larger society. At what point I was drawn into an argument over who would win a light saber duel between Superman and a jedi (motivated by a drawing of Batman and Darth Vader locked in combat, which I could not find on Google Images). I had to end that quickly before my pony tail started growing out.
It made parking for work a pain in the ass (I walked ten blocks to the office yesterday, and yes, I should have taken public transit). One co-worker, having paid $17.50 to park told me he wouldn’t be upset if the Convention Center exploded. He told me of his attempt to pass a costumed, overweight convention goer who was walking erratically on the side walk. As he passed he said “Out of my way Frodo” and got a reply of “Actually, I’m Samwise.”
Perfect.
Girl: So do you want to just sit on the grass.
Guy: No, people are…walking on it.
I don’t really know him, he just knows I need a kidney transplant, so he gave me an A. As long as he doesn’t expect sexaul favors I’m cool with it.
I guess needing a kidney transplant is kind of like your roommate commiting suicide.
A Conversation I heard from across the street a little after 10:00 at night.
Girl 1 (yelling): Hey! Julie is puking!
Girl 2: Already?
I might have misinterpreted, but ‘already’ didn’t seem to mean it was too early to be puking, but that the vomit was inevitable, but wouldn’t usually happen until later.
Editors note: I didn’t catch the actual name of the girl, it probably wasn’t Julie
Waiting for a very pointless meeting yesterday, my co-workers and I had an interesting talk about Top Ramen (?). Slick Rick says they have an interesting history, I don’t know about that, but I do know that I’ve seen instant noodles high on lists of food you should never eat. When I mentioned this New Guy (aka Captain Inane Question) says “You mean the noodles Bonnie has for lunch everyday?” Yes, those noodles.
Now Bonnie is an amazing story, despite being borderline retarded and very unlikable, she has managed to work her way into a supervisory position in a bustling cubicle farm. Because of the formerly mentioned handicaps, I would guess she is completely oblivious to the fact that her daily lunch is basically a bowl of sodium and fat.
So my question is, is it immoral of me not to tell her? Keep in mind that she would probably not process this information well and would continue eating her noodles. But if I want to be a Good Person, should I feel compelled to at least make her aware?
Looking over my last few posts made me feel a little tipsy. I like cold beverages, but I think I need to find some sober fun. Since I still have electronic space to fill, and nobody would want to read about what I do sober (yes, I am enjoying that Cormac McCarthy book, thanks for asking) I’ll post about someone else’s drunkenness. Here is some proper Fat Tuesday tomfoolery:
To set the stage, my friend Sharky (not his given name) had shown up late to find his friend Chazzworth drunk as an frat boy. Sharky was kind enough to stay sober and give Chazzworth a ride home. The following ensued at the McDonald’s drive through window, cause they aren’t fortunate enough to live in the kind of place were you can buy cheap rolled taco’s at any time of day.
Sharky: Ok Chase, what do you want?
Chazzworth: (passing out in my back seat) WINGS!!!
Sharky: McDonald’s buddy, we’re at McDonalds, what do you want?
Chazzworth: Sweet and sour sauce.
Sharky: Dude, we’re at McDonalds, what do you want?
Chazzworth: Sausage biscuit.
Sharky: It’s not breakfast man, it’s dinner time.
Chazzworth: Number 2.
Sharky: Do you really want a meal this late? Do you even know what a
number 2
is?
Cliff: He wants a number 5. Number 5s are good.
Me: Is that right Chase. Do you want a number 5?
Chazzworth: (eyes getting real big, you could tell he was really tryin hard
to
think) Chicken, I want chicken.
Sharky: Number 2 it is, quarter pounder with cheese meal.
