Hey, I’m back from Comic-con. It had to happen eventually – after seven cons, I finally had a bad one. We flew out of New York way, WAY late on Wednesday night; after sitting 4 hours on the tarmac… in the middle seat. Eventually got to San Diego around… 5am? was it 5:30? I can’t even remember. Bolted out to take meetings at 9am after a restless few hours of sort-of sleep… and that’s where it started. I dove into the energy drinks to get me through the all day affair, which ended at 3am. I wa actually so pinned on Redbull and coffee that I couldn’t really sleep, and was back at it a few hours later for more meetings, handshakes, card trades, parties, and blah blah blah. By the end of day two, I had gone back to the well one too many times.
See, here’s thing. Now and again, I get myself a little zipped up with the caffeine; I have, at my most “enthusiastic” point, drunk an average of 12-15 cups a day. My doctor let me know that I should probably dial that back a bit, so nowadays I’m in the more respectable 8-10 cups a day range. Or “mugs”. Is a mug more than a cup? I dunno.
Now, the Gambler, see, he’s like an engine. A finely tuned race engine (albeit, I admit, the engine case itself is a little portly in places – we’re slowly working on leaning that out). The Gambler, when racing, likes to keep the RPM’s near the “redline zone”, see, because that’s where the top of the Gambler’s powerband is. AM? No good in the AM. The revs are too low. Gambler’s sluggy. Loose in the corners. But the caffeine, see, she fills the cylinders with the good stuff; it’s like a wet-shot of nitrous. That helps to keep the Gambler near the head of the pack. Now, the the Gambler, when he’s been racin’ for a while, he knows that eventually he’s gotta take his foot off the gas or the engine might overheat a little and get a bit cranky.
The Gambler sometimes refers to these temporary, less-than-peak output times as “Sunday Afternoons”.
But the Gambler, see, for Comic-con? He didn’t take his foot off the gas. The engine was sputtering, and smoking a bit. Instead of bringing his foot off the gas and letting the engine catch its breath, the Gambler just fired in more nitrous.
And friends, let me tell you the story of the Gambler. In turn two, he crashed.
So Friday when I was limping back to my hotel, bleary, delusional, I started to sweat. And my teeth started to chatter. Which was weird, being summer and all. And by the time I got back to the hotel I was absolutely 100% struck with the freakin’ FLU.
It was one of those can’t sleep, toss around, acid trip insane super duper sweat soaked nights. And guess what? I had to wander back down to the con on Saturday and do it all over again. I did as many meetings as I needed to, blew off the ones that I could pass, and toughed it out. Then I went to bed, right? Early, on the Saturday night of Comic-con?
No, I did not. Because not only am I the Gambler, I’m god damned Johnny Johnny. And Johnny Johnny doesn’t sleep when he’s been invited to a party with a VIP area being hosted by the god damned SUICIDE GIRLS girls, bitches. No, my friends, he most certainly DOES NOT!
I’d also like to point out to my father, who may be reading this, that I have NOT ONCE used the F-word in this post, as per your request.
See, this guy, he’s to blame. Or thank, actually:
Turns out we’re both members of this… erm… bulletin… board… thing. This fellow was wondering if I ever got to Comic-con and told me he threw this big party every year and he’d like to hook me up with some crazy cool VIP passes for Comic-con’s wildest party, which points out on the website that “Medical themed, hazmat, fetish, gas mask, bio-holocost costumes are encouraged”.
A BIO-MILITARY THEMED PARTY WITH A BUNCH OF SUICIDE GIRLS HANGING OUT IN THE VIP ROOM?!?!
Yeah, I can get out of bed for THAT, I think.
Good thing I did, too, because it absolutely ROCKED. The party was off the CHAINS! I mean, come on!
We’re talking EVERYONE in costume, which was awesome, except for the fact that myself any my co-worker (and the lovable Jeff who showed up at the last minute with equally lovable roommate Mike) were NOT dressed up. WE ended up being the “freaks”, which was an awesome turning of the tables. Like, seriously. Girls in lingerie on stilts dressed up as Doctors administering “shots” via giant goofy syringes? At a PARTY? HELLZ YEAH.
So a huge thank you to our gracious host who gave us these tickets – I’m not missing this party at the Con ever again. It was absolutely AWESOME, and I had a great time even though I was sicker than a dog. It’s funny, the theme was militaristic bio-futuristic, and everyone was given a pass labeling them as an evacuee from this imaginary world-destroying virus, and here I am, patient zero, wandering around coughing and wheezing. Good thing people were wearing gas masks!
For those of you who hit Comic-Con, bookmark this page – we’ll see you there next year!