On Thursday morning I will be heading to Comic-Con. I look forward to three days filled with magical realms (Hall H), stone-faced gatekeepers (stressed-out publicists), costumed revelers (virginal cosplayers), and god-like figures (hotshot actors who have never touched a comic book).
It's my seventh trip to the fanboy Mecca, and I am taking all of the necessary physical and mental precautions before I subject myself to the sensory overload and chaos that is the San Diego Convention Center and neighboring hotels and venues.
I've been hitting the elliptical machine at the gym so that my legs can withstand the powerwalking I will have endure in between panels, press events, and parties. And I am reminding myself of the sacrifices I may be forced to make while I'm down there. Damn you, Black Orphan, for scheduling your roundtable interviews during The X-Files 20th Anniversary panel!
To all of my pop culture-loving brethren, send me a tweet or text, and maybe we'll meet up to compare oversized swag bags and swap free movie posters we'll never use (because we're not 10).