Mr. Cellophane

In a location adjacent to a place in a city of some significance, what comes out of my head is plastered on the walls of this blog.

Friday, July 29, 2011

Pulling a long Con.

No, this isn't a continuation of last weekend's imaginary trip to Comic-Con...and it's certainly not about how I stalked Suzie Blowjob back to her hometown of Denver and begged her to marry me, only to get the paste squeezed out of me by her two construction worker brothers and their bloodthirsty Akita, Elway.

Now, as I've mentioned quite a bit, I am lazy. It takes me a while to get things done, like clearing out the crap in the inbox of my e-mail account. Part of the job (there are about 390 unread messages, down from this morning's 500+) was completed this morning, but there were a number of messages I wanted to hang on to.

Some of the messages I kept were from Mile High Comics. As I read their e-mails about Comic-Con, certain passages leapt out at me:

4-day passes to this year's show were priced at $105, and were available beginning at last year's preview night. The price has risen to $175 for this 2012, with only 2400 tickets per day being made available at a specially constructed stand in the huge Hyatt hotel next door to the convention center.

A fan who arrived at the Hyatt at 5 AM on Thursday reported to me that he was able to purchase his limit of two passes, but that the hundreds of fans who arrived shortly after 6 AM was sent home empty-handed.

One can't help but think that the people behind the Con want to push people away. I was really looking forward to going to this year's Con (and paying $500 on the secondary market for tickets, another excerpt from the e-mails, was so out of the question as to be laughable). Now, it seems that, unless I'm writing/directing a movie that gets a Hall H spotlight panel (knock on wood), I'll never attend SDCC again, certainly not if this ignorance prevails. Focusing on smaller conventions, such as Wonder Con and New York Comic-Con, seems the way to go for now.

I'd like to close by quoting a man (wise in this context, but not so much in his own): "And I'm Ron Burgundy. Go fuck yourself, San Diego."

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