You can’t stop after just 300. Just some random linkage and so on; by reading a few of these, you begin to see the elephant:
§ Caleb Monroe attempts the greatest experiment of all with a pedometer:
So, since my feet sure feel the mileage every year, this year I thought I’d find out just what that mileage was. So I bought a pedometer to count the number of steps I took during the con, and therefore approximately what distance I traveled. I forgot to get one before leaving for my train, but after walking the few blocks from the train station to my hotel and dropping off my bag, the first thing I did was walk another couple blocks to Long’s Drugs to buy a pedometer. A Gaiam Beginner Pedometer, to be precise.
I was one of those persons who took a stroller and 8 month old to the Con, and I’d just like to say — that stroller and child is no bigger than half the fans on the show floor. Most of the people I ran into were rude people trying to jump over the stroller and grab a sticker or postcard. And I protect my child, thank you very much. I mostly stayed to the lesser traveled areas unless there was a specific reason to go to the more crowded areas. And I paid more than enough to go wherever the hell I pleased however the hell I pleased with whomever the hell I pleased. My daughter’s safety and happiness was paramount, and I missed most of the signings and panels I wanted to see because I was catering to her and my wife. And I had absolutely no problem with that. Anyone complaining about the kids at the Con either have no children or have forgotten what it is like to be one. In other words, shut up. BTW, I didn’t get run over by one single stroller, even my own when the wife was driving. Maybe paying attention to my surroundings and not being rude helped a bit. I’ve been going to this event for 9 years, and I’ve rarely been run over by anything but a rabid fan looking for freebies. Maybe we should ban THEM.
A BOLD PREDICTION: The SDCC Hollywood money-train will soon drift to a slow crawl. Comic properties will continue to sell, but the marketing people will wise up a bit. Oh, you’ll still see cool presentations and the occasional Owlship at the Con every year, but the Keanus and Jolies will dry up, and with them all the casual fans who swell the yearly body count past 125,000. Things will drift back to a more sustainable size and no one (sweet jeezus here’s hoping) will have to go to Vegas. So don’t fret none, San Diego… You’ll be hating our guts and collecting all our money for many, many years to come.
(This one businessman-looking guy on the sidewalk actually shouted at me to “get my ass out the way” on Friday. He waved his arm all angry-like and everything. We reacted the only way you can react: hysterical laughter.)
I had a fake homosexual encounter on the con floor. I vandalized a baby and I nearly got a spanking from Stan Lee.
Saturday: more of a blur. At 7 AM we looked out the window of our hotel room and saw that there was an enormous WAVE of people waiting to get in (not a line/queue, a WAVE).
§Nikki Cook’s photos and LJ, above with Ted McKeever.