Phoenix Comicon: Part 6 -- Photos or it DIDN'T HAPPEN!

So, as is customary with Awesome Things That Happen That Are Unbelievable, I present to you pictures that my friend Tanya posted from Phoenix Comicon 2010, as well as some of my crappy phone pics!

"HOMFG WE'RE AT PHOENIX COMICON!" is our reaction here.

There were many strange costumes.... but these guys were by far the strangest things I saw... pretty unbelievable...

I met the Green Power Ranger! (He needs to lay off the corn chips and mojitos)

Me, after I got offstage after dancing Bad Romance. Sad I can't find any pics/video of the actual happenings.... oh well.

LOOK AT THAT SPREAD AT GEEK PROM!! I mean, come on! Normal proms don't even cater flavor of this magnitude! #RobotChickenStarWarsQuote #AckbarIsATrap #TwitterHashtagsInBloggerLAWL!

Me and Spock dancing it up at Geek Prom! Oh yeah, look at our geeky threads!

A drink at the Hard Rock Cafe!!! 8D

Water at the Hard Rock Cafe!!! 8D (Oh man, was I dehydrated by that point....)

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(Crappy phone pics time!)


My favorite part of the WiL's SouR CReAm -- KePp You HaNz oF iT o ElS!


Are you READY to RAID?! ROCK?! (Cuz I was ^_~)


After Rock Band -- the label on my badge that says I played drums in the second band, and you can see my brand spankin' new Wil-Wheaton-gave-it-to-me-himself Rock Band t-shirt! :D


This is the picture I ended up giving to - and signing for - Wil.

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And.... of course.... the pieces de resistance.

I MET FELICIA DAY! (and did not smell her hair)


AND I MET WIL FUCKING WHEATON!!! 8D And just look how happy he is with one of his most awesome fans EVER!! He knows I'm awesome.

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Oh, and you know how "If there aren't any photos, then it didn't happen." Well, "If there are any videos, then HOLY SHIT IT TOTALLY HAPPENED!!!" Cuz seriously, pshawr, anyone could photoshop a photo. XP




That's. Right. That is me on the drums. And I was the one who had to make Wil sing this song. I'm such a BAMF. xP

Phoenix Comicon: Part 5 -- Season Finale

Waking up and preparing for the last day of Phoenix Comicon was accompanied by a very strange, very heavy sense of doom. After two days spent on the top of a tower of awesome, where it seemed like everything was going good for me, where I was happy and at peace with myself as a geek, I just suddenly had this feeling that it was only inevitable that the tower of awesome would fall down on top of me, crushing me and undoing all the progress and achievements I had unlocked during the whole trip. We checked out of the Super 8 motel we’d stayed at that night, and I was so tired and so distracted by the sense of doom, that I nearly ran a red light or two on our way back downtown, and Tanya undoubtedly questioned my sanity and my driving capabilities as a result. We parked in the same garage we had been, and made our way to the convention center, where I had one final mission.

I wanted to talk to Wil again. I wanted to walk up to him and let him know just how much I appreciated everything he’d done, thank him for being so awesome, for making this weekend so terrific. I hoped it wasn’t against the rules, the invisible ones I always convince myself that exist, that I take up his time without purchasing anything. Tanya reassured me it would be, that he would enjoy being thanked, but the voice of self-doubt, which had been largely silenced during the length of the convention, was starting to talk again.

I decided first to go to a morning panel on lolita costuming (there are geeky things I like other than Wil Wheaton, I’ll have you know), but the moment that was over, I made a beeline for the exhibit hall.

But when I got to the line of tables that contained his, I found that his chair was missing one vital thing - him. I was crestfallen. Was this the terrible thing my instincts had warned me of? That I wouldn’t get to thank Wil Wheaton, personally?

There was a small line waiting for him, but despite what those comprising it assured me, I was skeptical that he would show up at all. On twitter, he’d announced that he’d sold out of all of his books on Saturday... would he even bother to show up today if he had nothing to sell? (I forgot that he had photos, too). I passed the time by talking to this geek boy who TOTALLY could have been Hank Green’s illegitimate child, I kid you not. (That is, if Hank Green impregnated a girl as a teenager). Impatience and worry clutched me as more minutes swept by, so I went to ask the line patrol people myself if he was coming. They said yes, that he had simply slept in after being up late with his other convention buddies, and should be there shortly. When I walked back to my spot, the nerd boy (who I found out by eavesdropping was named Ashley) grabbed my attention and pointed it towards the booth.

Wil had shown up!!

I couldn’t believe it! My luck hadn’t decided to betray me after all! I clumsily pulled my sketchbook out of my bag and read over the little notes I had made, to be sure I didn’t forget any important points or details. I watched as Ashley had Wil sign a whole bunch of Wesley Crusher stuff, and then as he walked off, I approached.

And because this is a moment I want to remember forever, I feel it’s acceptable to switch the tense of the upcoming section to “present tense,” to create a more active sense of this happening right now, because god I wish it were. I’d been doing this during the whole recollection of the convention, not really consciously. Sorry to the grammar nerds out there, but it felt appropriate.

“Hi again,” I say sheepishly as I reach the table.

“Oh hey!” says Wil’s assistant brightly. She was a heavy-set woman, like me, with long graying hair and an interesting face. “You were so awesome at Rock Band the other night!”

“Yeah you were!” Wil agrees with a girn. My cheeks burn as I accept the compliment, although secretly doubtful he had paid any attention to the drummer while assuming the role of Singing Rock God.

“Sorry for making you sing Bon Jovi... But to be fair you put the idea in my head.”

“I don’t really mind playing Bon Jovi, actually,” he admits. “I’ve done it so many times and everyone always seems to really like it, so I just always end up playing it. I’ve just learned to embrace it and enjoy it.”

I’m relieved by this. My attention turns to my mission, and I shift in place, gripping my sketchbook tightly, glancing down at it. “Um, I just wanted to say a few things...” I murmur with a twinge of shakiness to my voice. I look up from my sketchbook with an apologetic face. “I, uh, had to write them down, so I wouldn’t forget. I’m pretty forgetful.”

I can’t remember exactly what Wil’s reaction was to this, I was too busy staring at my sketchbook. I assume he said “Okay,” and settled back to listen to my words, maybe half-expecting a poem or something stupidly fangirly like that, I dunno.

I take a deep breath, well up my courage, but found myself unable to say the first thing written on the paper. I glance around at the exhibition hall, as though looking for something to help me.

“You know, this is only my second convention,” I say, glancing over at Felicia at the next table, and the gaggle of geeks surrounding her, holding their various convention purchases and taking pictures.

“Really?”

“Yeah, the first was San Diego last year - so you can totally imagine how much of a contrast I’m experiencing here. But I, um...” I swallow back the nervousness in my throat. “I just really wanted to tell you, well.... Thank you. So much. For everything you’ve done for us here at this con. You know, for--” I glance at my list, my mind going blank. What did we do again? Oh, that’s right. “--for playing Rock Band with us, even though we could tell you were really tired. For dancing in with us during geek prom, despite the whole paparazzi stupidness that happened. I mean, I know Felicia didn’t like it...”

“Oh my god tell me about it,” he says, shifting in his chair. “Cameras flashing is one thing, but there were video cameras literally in our faces.”

“I know. That was so dumb. I just wanted to dance with you guys. I can’t believe not everyone else felt that way. After you guys left, I ended up going on twitter and apologized to both of you for what happened...”

“Oh, dude, I totally saw that! I actually was going to respond, but I really couldn’t say what I wanted to in a tweet...

“Oh man I wish you had...” I say in honesty. “That would’ve been so cool. Felicia responded to me. That was insane.” (I realize now, in hindsight, that they were probably in the same place when I sent those., and I kinda wonder what they said to each other about it.)

I turned back to my list, and kinda jump with a grin as my memory is jogged by the next item on the list - good thing I’d written these things down. “Oh my god, and thank you for grabbing that last Rockband t-shirt for me!”

“That was you?? Oh man, I mean, I saw what that chick did! She totally cockblocked you! And I’m pretty sure she had just walked in, whereas you’d been up front enjoying the concert that whole time. I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing.”

“It was really awesome of you, seriously. You are so awesome, so totally not a dick! Just, yeah, thank you.” I glance back down at my list, and realize that I am out of things to say. That’s really it? That was all I had to say? It didn’t feel like enough, so I say thank you once more.

But we keep on talking. The order in which things were said is kind of a haze for me, but at some point, I suddenly decide to do something crazy.

“So, you might have noticed me sitting on the floor in front of the stage, drawing, during Rock Band... and I did this really awesome picture of you... I mean, I really like it anyway....” I flip through my sketchbook, following the trail of drawings I’d been following since that night. I find what I’m seeking, and turn the sketchbook around and show him.

Now, his reaction.... I honestly don’t remember. I can’t remember if it was along the level of “Oh, hey, it’s art! I’ve seen that before!” or around the level of “Wow, this is really good art!” or perhaps the level of “This is awesome art! I want it can haz it?!” I do get the sinking suspicion that he, at least the very least, went “Wow, that really looks like me!” and something along the lines of “Nice!”

Whatever the exact reaction, I just know it was positive, and I know as a result, I blushed. “I even got your checkered shoes,” I add sheepishly

“I like the shoes,” he agrees with a nod and a bright grin. He observes it a little closer. “You know, my son’s an artist.”

“Oh yeah?? What does he do? I mean, like pencil or paint or...”

“Nah, he does ink drawings.”

I repress the urge to be really creepy and ask which son it was (he talks about them enough that I was curious). Instead, I ask “Is he going to school for it?” It’s common knowledge, at least, that both of Wil Wheaton’s sons are in college now.

“Nope, he’s mechanical engineering.”

I laugh loudly. “Wow, that’s exactly what my brother is doing! It’s funny, cuz he’s older than me, right? But I kinda just graduated, and I was like ‘Haha, first!’, but then he was like “Let’s see who’s the first to have a career.’”

A wince passes through the faces of Wil and his assistant, like the crowd at a sporting events doing the wave and having it go horrible wrong. “Ouch! Headshot!” Wil proclaims. “That sucks!”

“Yeah, I know... and I don’t even actually have the degree yet. My school wasn’t very good and I didn’t learn very much, so I’m holding out for financial aid reasons and trying to go somewhere else. I’d like to get into Calarts or someplace, for animation.”

“Oh man, Calarts is tough to get into," he comments while looking at my picture a little more closely, "but that is THE school if you want to do animation.”

He would know. He’s in the biz, at least the voice acting side of it.

“Well, this is really good, and good luck getting in,” he tells me, handing the sketchbook back. I take it from him and look at the picture. It really is awesome.

And this is where my memory gets really foggy. I don’t know if he said something to prompt me to do this, or if it was all me, but I glance up from the picture and blurt out, “I could give it to you!”

I do remember his eyes genuinely lighting up in happiness for a moment. But then, his performance side of him jumped into action, concealing his excitement with a veneer of offhanded apathy.

“Oh, you know,” he begins. “It’s no big deal. I mean, it would be awesome if you did. You know, I wouldn’t mind or anything, but you don’t have to. I don’t care.”

As he says this, he sits back in his chair, turning his head away from me, his arms crossed and his nose elevated in a very clear “I’m speaking complete and total bullshit here and if you don’t give that to me I might just walk out and never come back. I’m so serious. Don’t think I’m kidding.”

“Okay, I’ll totally give it to you!” I stammer quickly, my fangirly brain recognizing the possibility of disappointing my geeky idol and taking control in order to prevent his unhappiness. I set the sketchbook down, get ready to rip it out, when suddenly, I pause.

You don't have a good picture of it, that voice in my head, the not-so-nice one, tells me. You only have a cell phone picture. God, you're so dumb....

Look, I tell it silently with a sigh. It's too late now. It'd be a dick move to take back my offer just because I'm selfish and want this all to myself. It’s just a drawing, and Wil Fucking Wheaton wants it. Bite me, and let me do this.

I fumble in my pocket clumsily “Just, uh, give me a sec....” I tell Wil, and I pull out my pencil and erase “Stage left” from the top, and hope the already-erased “Just a Geek? No, so much more!” caption isn’t too obvious. I sheathe my pencil and prepare to tear the page out, and realize that my sketchbook isn’t perforated. I shakily apologize the fact that I can’t rip a clean line or anything.

“Don’t worry about it. I have ways to cut off the fringe when I get home,” Wil says, and I proceed to rip the sketch from its binding, and I quietly and sheepishly hold it out for him, suddenly forgetting how to speak.

“Nuh, uh,” his assistant says with a shake of her head. “You gotta sign it!”

“Yeah, artist has to sign it!” Wil chirps with sparkling eyes.

I freeze, eyes wide, mouth probably agape.

Really? They want me to sign something for him??

So that’s what I do. I pick my pencil back up, and sign something for Wil Wheaton. I'm shaking a little by this point, as I lean over my drawing, struggling to remember what my name even is, let alone how to do my awesome signature.

“I can’t believe this. I’m signing something for you,” I can't help but stammer, my voice squeaking.

“Yeah, it is kind of a bizarre case of role reversal, isn’t it?” he laughs, and leans back in his seat, making himself comfortable. “It’s kinda nice.”

As I finish my signature, he adds that I should write “Phoenix Comicon 2010” on it, so I do. My hand is shaking so badly now that I almost accidentally write Phoeniz. It was my own fault for deciding to use cursive -- worst cursive of my life. I find myself apologizing more than once for being such a clumsy fool, and by now my face is probably full on beet red. Finally, feeling stupid and clumsy, I hand the signed drawing to him, and he looks it over again with a proud, beaming smile.

“Thank you so, so much. This is so awesome,” he says with every bit of sincerity.

“No, thank you,” I tell him.

He passes the drawing to his assistant, telling her to be sure it goes with his stuff he doesn’t want to lose.

“Like the sour cream?” I ask.

“Like the sour cream," he agrees with an even wider grin.

I can tell that our time together is getting close to ending. There are many people behind me now, waiting, and it wouldn't be long before he would have to go to his last panel.

“Thanks again, Wil,” I say.

“No, thank you. You keep going to cons, got it?”

“Don't worry. I wil. And, well, you keep going to cons, too...” I pause a moment, both of us a
little bewildered by my words. I scratch my head and quickly evaluate my reasoning for saying that. “I mean, it’s so awesome that you’ve gone back to having so many acting jobs. You totally deserve it. But I just... I honestly really hope that it doesn’t get to a point where this,” I gesture between us, at the fact that the only thing separating us is a plastic table, “and things like rock band and geek prom just can’t happen anymore.”

Wil looks a little saddened by this. “I hope so, too,” he says, and I know he means it.

I thank him one last time, he thanks me one last time. I wave goodbye, and walk away, feeling on top of the world.

The first thing I remember thinking (besides “Holy crap did that really happen?!”) was that it seemed the feeling of doom I had experienced that morning had nothing to do with this specific thing! My tower of awesome was still awesome, and in fact had a couple more floors added to its height. I called Cory to tell him holy fricken crap I signed something for Wil Fucking Wheaton, and then I met up with Tanya. We took a walk, searching for a specific ATM for her to use (silly credit unions), and we ended up going to the Hard Rock Cafe for drinks and an appetizer, mainly because I’ve never been to one and always have wanted to. While eating an incredibly expensive order of potato skins, I looked at the one clear phone picture I had of my drawing, and realized just how lousy of quality it is, and that nagging self-doubt began tugging on my brain like a hand on a sleeve. I tried my best to ignore it.

The two of us compared notes on the convention over a wallet-busting order of potato skins, Tanya showing me what she'd had Felicia Day sign for her earlier - a print that one of her friends had drawn depicting geek prom. I looked at the print. It’s pretty awesome - stylized, full of energy of the evening, with caricatures of Wil, Felicia, John, and various other geeks in costumes, all dancing to music. It was intricate, it was complete, it was compositionally sound and artfully crafted.... it.... it was really, really good.

Suddenly, my picture didn’t feel so great. Suddenly, I wondered how many drawings and things he gets from people at conventions, especially from people who are actually accomplished artists in their fields, like Tanya’s friend, who had a booth in the exhibit hall.

Voice of Self-Doubt saw its golden opportunity - it lept from under the table and latched onto me like a terrible leech, well-rested from days of relative inactivity and thirsty for my self-esteem.

He’s going to throw it out, you know, it said. He didn’t REALLY like it, he was just being nice. It’s either going to get thrown out, or end up in a box in his garage. An original concept like Radio Free Burrito sour cream is one thing, but he must get a ton of artwork at every convention. And he goes to a LOT of conventions. You’re not special. And now you’re out of a really awesome drawing, all because you were thinking about someone other than yourself. That’s your loss. Dude, you could’ve put that in your Calarts portfolio, for fuck’s sake, if you even have the balls to apply. Not like you’ll get in there! God, you’re such a loser!

Look, brain, I bit back while drinking back a long sip of my Hurricane. Would you shut up before I stab you with my car key?

An idea struck me, and I suggested to Tanya that maybe we should both go back and see Wil. Then, she would be able to get her print signed by him, too, and then I could see if I could get a photo of that picture. That way, if he were to throw it out, I would at least have a good record of its existence. Tanya agreed. After paying and receiving our complimentary (and by complimentary, I mean we paid extra for it) Hard Rock Cafe glasses, she ran off to find the elusive ATM-that-doesn’t-charge-fees and I hurried back to the convention center, a little buzzed from my drink, but excited and hopeful.

This was where my luck finally gave out. Wil’s line had not only made its way out the door, but it’d been capped, since he still had photobooth pictures to do and a panel coming up. I was crestfallen. Here had been a chance to get a photo of that picture, and now it was gone... I turned to leave, trying not to think about it too much, and after calling Tanya to tell her what happened, I headed out to grab a seat for his last panel, Super Happy Funtime with John (Scalzi) and Wil.

The panel before them was Stan Fricken Lee. And here is what’s awesome -- at SDCC, you would’ve had to wait 3 hours - no, probably longer - to go see Stan Lee, and even then, you’d probably be in a terrible seat halfway down a ballroom bigger than the Phoenix Comicon exhibit hall. Yet here, I arrived late, and was still able to stand off to the side and watch. It was really awesome - he was so much cooler than I ever would have expected. (Confession: I’m a DC girl). When he left, I was able to grab a seat in the very front row again. I was astonished, and decided at that moment that PhxCC trumps SDCC in this respect.

I waited an hour or more for the show to start, kinda getting the cold-shoulder by the photographers beside me, who believed I was not a REAL Wil Wheaton fan since I don’t watch Star Trek, whereas they’d been crushing on him since the late 80's. (Their malice was all in good humor, though, if that makes any sense).

The last panel was amazing, and hilarious. I laughed so hard I cried. Both of them were so funny, and what they introduced to the world? Oh my god... I don’t even want to go into it, but let’s just say, it’s a contest, and I’m going to try to win it.

As the panel ended, and the curtains close on Wil and John, my heart is struck by a terrible, horrible realization. It hit like a gong, reverberating cold through my whole body.

This... I think, will be the last time I will see Wil Wheaton for a least a year, if not longer. That means.... the con's ending. ...it's over. It's actually over....

My walk from the ballroon to the sidewalk in front of the convention center was long, my head bowed and my feet dragging the whole way. I stood in the shadow of the building, looking around. I knew I had awhile to wait before we could leave, since Tanya had entered some raffles and I was her ride back home. I grab a seat at an empty table, and just sat there, numb, just thinking about it all. I wanted to feel happy about all the amazing experiences I’d had... I wanted to feel happy about the fact that not only did I get to meet one of my idols, but got to spend so much time near and around him. I wanted to feel happy about how I had finally been able to go to a real small-time convention, had made a couple of friends, and had purchased myself some pretty awesome things. I wanted to be happy about the memories I would have forever.

But any joy I tried to summon was crushed by a rising tide of intense, overpowering sorrow. It grew in waves, rising until one final surge capsized and sunk my heart, bringing a terrible burning feeling to my eyes.

I realized that, for possibly the first time in my life, or at least for the first time in a number of years, I had been truly and completely happy. I’d felt free, I’d felt like myself. The self-consciousness, the self-doubt, the regret and sorrow I’d been dealing with for so long had been perfectly silenced. I didn’t have to actually prove anything to anyone here, not even to Wil. I didn’t have to strive to be normal, didn’t have to check my nerdish impulses for fear of rejection - in fact, quite the opposite, I was encouraged to let them free, and they were accepted. I had laughed so much that I had risked damaging my diaphragm, and had done so many things that I ordinarily would never have done, because for once I had found confidence and courage. Here, I felt like I mattered, that what I enjoy mattered. I felt at home.

I suddenly knew what it meant for me for the con to be over... it meant losing that feeling of peace and liberation. It meant going back to Tucson, to a family who refuses to understand or accept my geeky tendencies, to the crushing reality of unemployment. Back to the depression and the anxiety, the crushing feelings of constant self-doubt and worthlessness that has kept me prisoner for at least 4 years. Back to the bad luck, to never being noticed, to never being appreciated or understood. Back to agonizing over my future and my lack of progress during my time in college. Back to life as I knew it, and life as I hated it.

The whole realization was heartbreaking. I felt like a lost child that had finally found her family, only to lose them again. I sat at that table outside the convention center, watching people walk by, a burbling river speckled with the colors of costumes, everyone heading back to their cars, to their homes, to their real worlds.

I didn’t want to go back. I didn’t want to leave this place behind. I didn’t want to deal with the pain and depression I knew would be waiting for me when I got home.

And so, I cried. I rested my arms on the table, dropped my head into them, and let the tears fall- silently, so as not to draw attention to them.

I knew I'd had an amazing time. I knew these were all memories I would cherish forever. But all I could think about at that time was what was waiting for me at the end of the freeway, and beyond.

And I didn’t even have my favorite drawing to remember the best part of my weekend by, because Wil had it...

After the long drive back to Tucson, after dropping Tanya off at her house, I parked in front of my house, tears still threatening. I stepped into my house and set down my bags of loot. My little brother greeted me with excitement, wanting to know how it was. My older brother barely nodded at me, absorbed in his food and television. I walked into the kitchen, where my mom immediately asked me how much money I’d thrown away on the stupid Totoro plushy.

Back to the real world....

====

Tuesday.

My mom screamed at us when my little brother Donald and I arrived late to his first day of summer school. She had left work to meet us at his new school, and when we pulled up three minutes after nine, the fury in her face as she ripped the door open would have had Medusa frozen in terror. She screamed at me for letting Donald ride shotgun when he’s not 12 yet, and further lost it when discovering that Donald had forgotten his backpack. She tore him from the car and threw the door closed with such force I was afraid the window would shatter. Tears formed in my eyes as I drove away, my professional clothing making me feel uncomfortable and self-conscious as I drove towards a nearby hotel, where open interviews for a new location of In-N-Out were going on.

Practically a college graduate, and I’m living with my mother and striving to work fast food... and expecting not to get hired... wonderful....

The line of patty-flipping hopefuls snaked out the door, around the corner and halfway down the long-half of the Marriott building. I gaped at the line. There had to have been 250 people there, probably more. Without barely a second thought, I turned around and drove away. I decided it wasn’t worth it at this point -- I was not in the best mindset to face an interview, and I didn’t want to wait in the already bristling Arizona heat for two hours. The opportunity to pull the whole “I got here early can’t you see I’m perfect for your job?” routine had been missed, anyway, and they were holding interviews all day on both Tuesday and Wednesday... I just couldn’t handle it then... and why would they pick me out of the other thousands of people who were applying...?

The drive home was intensely empty. I listened to terrible radio. I kept tearing up thinking about how angry my mother had gotten. I heard my phone make its email notification sound, but I ignored it. I just felt terrible, like I always do.

I pulled into the driveway of my mother’s house and stopped the car, grabbing my phone from its place in the door and stepping out. I fumbled with my keys as I approached my front door, locking my car from a distance with its remote and then fought to identify and isolate the key to the front door. As I did, I absentmindedly checked my phone. Oh yeah, new mail notification, I thought to myself. I unlocked the screen, and asked my phone with a wave and poke of my finger to open up my Google mail inbox.

And saw something I never expected to see.

“Wil, me (2) -- PhxCC Rockband Sketch.”

The number two in parentheses... did that mean...?

He responded??

Famous people like Felicia Day might respond to one really good tweet.... but famous people never answered emails, did they??

I threw the door open and ran into the house, opening up the email on my phone.

“Wil Wheaton dot me, to me

Hi Megan!

I’ll scan your picture for you, and email you a copy.

Thanks again for everything, and thanks for listening to RFB!

Wil

-----

‘Don’t Be a Dick!’”

After the initial and paralyzing flood of disbelief, the first thing I did was go onto Twitter, and tell the world (well, okay, a small section of the world, which now included 15 new followers thanks to Felicia Day) about how awesome @wilw was.

I dunno when he’ll get around to scanning it, but the reassurance that I would be getting a copy of that picture completed Comicon for me. It was a very well-timed reminder of how amazing the last weekend had been.

Oh, the video of us playing Living on a Prayer together that he embedded on his blog later that day wasn’t bad either... there were even some comments that I, specifically, was pretty awesome, which of course isn't a bad ego boost...

And there’s still the fact that he has to thank me on his next Radio Free Burrito episode for the sour cream.

All-in-all, I have to say Phoenix Comicon was probably one of the best weekends in my life -- ever.

I can't wait for next year.

Phoenix Comicon: Part 4 -- Saturday Evening - or how I went to Prom with Spock!

The wait for Geek Prom was similar to that of Rock Band -- though the basic line situation was much more figured out, the convention staff still didn’t quite know what was going on, still didn’t communicate with one another, shifting the line here and there. They assured us that those of us who had tickets would definitely be going inside, and that being first in line wasn’t all that much of an advantage, but we were hard to persuade. The line for those-with-tickets ended up outside the doors to the lobby of the ballrooms, and I took a moment to run to the bathroom and to the car to drop off my purse and get a 5 hour energy. On my way out, I noticed a guy being led down the escalator from the Atrium, in handcuffs, forced ahead on either side by some security guards. I didn’t think much of it, just curious what had happened, and continued on my quest for caffeine and load-lightening.

When I came back, there was a weird terseness to the air. I approached Tanya, who looked at me in a wide-eyed expression I couldn’t exactly recognize.

“You’ll never believe what just happened.”

“What??” I asked, smiling expectedly. I half-thought she would say something like “William Shatner just walked in, unannounced, and accompanied by a choir singing a bebop version of Hallelujah, true story!”

She frowned angrily. “You better not be smiling! It was terrifying!”

My smile vanished, and I looked at the other people around her. What? I didn’t know. I’d only gotten there. Why shouldn’t I automatically assume good news, not bad? I felt a little embarrassed and awkward.

“So, what happened?” I questioned.

“This guy came in and just flipped out! They tried to restrain him, and he was all ‘Let me go! Let me go!’ It was scary!”

I remembered the guy being led down the escalator, and I did an internal facepalm.

What kind of moron security personnel brings someone obviously disturbed and in handcuffs into the middle of a huge gathering like a frenzied line of nerds waiting for something?? I don’t care if that was where the security office was, it was a stupid move on their part... I was grateful no one got hurt, although honestly, if shit had gone down, I would not have been surprised if there had been at least one black-belt anime geek in the throng who could have put an end to things easily.

The rest of the wait was pretty much noneventful. The line of ticket holders moved closer to the door (there was a line of people in a kind of ticket waitlist, too -- they didn’t save any, or very many, for the door, when they should have, since they’d advertised “tickets will be sold at door”) I got to talking to this girl dressed as Spock, who was from Tucson, and another Comic Book Guy, also from Tucson. We talked about many random things, the only one of which I remember was computers and my awful luck with them. When I mentioned my Gateway computer, the Comic Book Guy snorted. “Well, yeah. Um, GATEWAY!” I told him it was the most reliable of my computers, honestly, and I would still have it if my boyfriend hadn’t clumsily dropped a bunch of textbooks on it.

I thought of my boyfriend. I thought it would have been awesome for him to have been there, to dance together, to get a picture under the Geek Prom Arch (Pacman style, oh yeah), but at the same time, I wasn’t sure he would have enjoyed it. He’s not much for these kind of events (although, being geek-related, he probably would’ve enjoyed it far more than other dances I’ve forced him to). I also was okay not hearing him arguing computers with the geeks around me -- it would’ve gotten bad. He’s very opinionated on the subject, with good reason. But these guys, they were very opinionated too. Shit would have gone down, and I don’t like conflict....

Finally, at long last, tickets were handed over, IDs were held out and wristbands or marker markings given accordingly (oh yeah, there was a bar -- awesome prom, even though I didn’t imbibe), and we entered the ballroom, the same one from the previous night. The same stage, but a new setup on it. The chairs that had made up an audience were now situated at the far perimeters of the room, and people had already begun to seat themselves. Near the door was a table catered with desserts and popcorn, along with another table with cups and big kegs of water, that was almost always out of water (ah, prom). I made my way close to the stage, brimming with excitement, my new friend Spock aside me, Tanya disappearing into the chairs. I looked around and grinned.

“It would be so funny,” I laughed, “if we ended up with boys sitting at one side, girls on the other, and no one dancing. Totally befitting a Geek Prom.”

This didn’t come to pass. As the Master of Ceremonies (who’s name or identity I don’t remember, but I’m pretty sure he was famous) and the spokesperson for the charity came out and introduced the first band, a local teen band named No Big Deal, we got into the groove, and danced. I don’t remember if they did any original songs, but their covers were fantastic. I specifically remember them singing “In The Middle” by Jimmy Eat World.

And sitting? That was for quitters. I danced. I danced like crazy, surrounded by geeks who danced like crazy. We danced as stupidly as we could, on purpose, because, seriously, who dances well at Geek Prom?? Spock and I did the whole V-in-front-of-the-eyes move, but with the Live Long and Prosper gesture. We did the swim. We did the YMCA. I did the Macarena even though they never played the Macarena. I danced the way my ex-boyfriend had at Winter Formal, just to make fun of him, to kind of get back at him for ditching me before prom.

At some point, I sought out Tanya, and found her sitting out in the chairs in the corner (hilariously enough, beside the girl who woke me up to Star Wars). She was unhappy. She had told me she hadn’t had any intention to go to Geek Prom, and that she was really only there because I’d bought her a ticket.

“Just the word “prom” brings up bad memories for me,” she told me.

I recognized the look in her eye. It was the external portrayal of an internal scar, much like the ones I had of forgotten birthdays and friendship betrayals.

“I had a bad prom, too,” I told her, thinking of the night. The music had been good. The decorations had been good. But I’d spent the entire time crying, since my ex-boyfriend had decided the day before that he did not want to go, not even giving me the opportunity to get a pity date out of one of my guy friends. But I could tell maybe her hurt went deeper than mine. I turned to her, and put on a grin. “Come on! This is supposed to be our night! This isn’t just any prom -- in fact, throw out that word! Let’s not use the P-word! This is just a social geeky gathering that happens to include dancing and desserts! And I guarantee almost every one of us in here either had a bad P-word experience, or no P-word experience at all. This is our night, to be ourselves, to be geek, and to have fun!”

I don’t think she was completely persuaded by my talk, but I was determined to make her smile and enjoy herself. And she tried her darnedest not to smile as I tried my best to make her. I put on the Birdman face, failing the first time thanks to my glasses, and succeeding the second time, after removing them. “Birdman is prejudiced against glasses,” I said aloud to myself, in annoyance.

I don’t know if this made her smile - I think it did. I know for a fact I eventually did something to make her smile, if not laugh, before I ran off to dance more. And I do know that by the end of the night, she was much happier than when she walked in. I felt proud of myself. I made someone feel better, not worse.

I went back to dancing, house right of the stage, with Spock and Danielle. At one point, the band ended one song, and one of them turned to the mic.

“Hey! We prepared this song just for you guys!”

They take a moment to situate themselves, count off, and then, a blaring guitar note.

And we all glance at one another, eyes wide.

No way... it couldn’t be...

A drum beat. More guitar.

No fricken way.... could it.... is it...?

“I wanna be the very best--”

We all break into a squealing torrent of fangasm. It was perfect for us, the majority of us, those 20-somethings of us who grew up on the show. We danced like maniacs and screamed the words to one another.

“--like no one ever was!
To catch them is my real test
To train them is my cause!!!
I will travel across the land
Searching far and wide
Teach Pokemon to understand
THE POWER THAT’S INSIDE!!!
POKEMON!!!
Gotta catch them all--it’s you and me!
I know it’s my DESTINY! POKEMON!
Oooooh you’re my best friend!
In a world we must DEFEND!” At this point, we stood back to back Team Rocket-style, pulling tough guy poses.
“POKEMON!! Gotta catch em all- oh so true!
Our courage will pull us through!
You teach me and I teach you
POOOOOKKKKEEEEEEMOOOOOOON!!!!
GOTTA CATCH ‘EM ALL!!!”

I honestly can’t remember if they ended it there, or did the proper thing and continued, because there IS more to the song than what was in the opening for the show....

....yes, I’m a geek and I own two copies of the Pokemon 2. B. A Master album SHUTUP I WAS TEN WHEN THAT CAME OUT AND THEN I LOST MY COPY AND HAD TO GET A NEW ONE AND THEN FOUND THE OLD ONE AND WHY ARE YOU JUDGING ME?!?!

Ahem, anyways....

Not long after that, the band finished playing, and we applauded them loudly and feverishly, for being appropriately geeky with their song selections, with their appearance, everything. Hell, they even had guitars modeled after Rock Band guitars! Such win. Perfect for Geek Prom.

After they cleared the stage, Wil Wheaton and Felicia Day showed up, and talked a little about why they were there, why this was going on, and they both admitted to us that they honestly never went to prom themselves. I was floored. Their first prom was Geek Prom? I had to admit, I was pretty jealous, but very proud to be part of the experience.

After some more words I don’t for the life of me remember, they cleared the stage, and pop music began playing over the loud speakers as the band broke down their set, so another one could set up. We danced to more appropriately geeky songs. I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t care if I had stitches in my side or that I was thirsty or any of it. I spent as much time on the floor dancing.

And then.

Lady Gaga played.

Not just any Lady Gaga selection, mind you.

It was “Bad Romance.”

Here’s a fun fact! My roommate (okay, former roommate - it’s just weird to refer to her as such) is a huge Lady Gaga fan (otherwise known as a “Little Monster”). And she not only knows the “Bad Romance” music video dance by heart, but ended up teaching it to me and some of my other friends so we could shoot our own music video of it. Although honestly, I didn’t need much teaching -- I had seen her do it so many times that I had it pretty much down.

So, I’m at geek prom, where everyone is dancing and having a grand ol’ time, when Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” comes on.

So naturally, I would do what anyone with a roommate like mine would do.

I effing danced that dance.

...but no one else did. I looked around and everyone was just.... dancing.... as they would to any other song.

Clearly they did not have roommates like mine.

I resigned myself to being the only one who knew it, and just enjoyed it. It was kinda cool, you know? Even if no one really understood why I was dancing so weird...

But then, we get through the first half of the song, and it falls into the “Walk, walk, fashion baby, work it, move that bitch crazy” segment... and this guy jumps up on the catwalk. Not just any guy, but a kinda chubbier appropriately flaming guy. He starts doing his little turn on the catwalk in time to the music, pulling off his jacket and getting into it. I clap for him, and squeal, but in the back of my mind, there was a little tickling voice, once again.

Maybe he’ll manage to stay up there, it says.

Maybe he wont get kicked off, even though you know he should....

Maybe he’ll know the moves....

And maybe...

I hold my breath through the whole “I want your love and I want your revenge” part -- it’s a long portion of the song. I wait... and wait... Lady Gaga sings in French... and he lipsyncs them perfectly.

He knows the French. How can he not know the moves? He has to!

I don’t want to be friiiiiends.... want your bad romance....

Want your bad romance!

There’s not even a moment’s hesitation. I knew this was my chance. I knew that he knew it. I knew it would work. I leaped up on the stage, another girl leaping up from the other side, and we do the dance, together. (The other girl realized she didn’t know it as well as she thought, and ditched out, leaving just me and the first guy, who, I might point out, was off by at least one beat).

And we danced til the end.

On stage.

In. Front. Of. Everyone.

In fact, Wil and Felicia may even have been behind the stage, watching.

But I could only think of the following things as it was happening

1) Oh my god why isn’t my roommate here? This is practically her dream, and I’m living it out.
2) Oh my god. They’re going to kick us out, aren’t they? I just know it. We’re going to finish and there will be security guards there to grab us and chuck us. I know it.
3) You know what? Screw them -- I’m kicking ass here!
4) Why isn’t my roommate here?!

We finished to the sounds of a roaring crowd and a very official-sounding voice over the loudspeaker. His words are warbled and foreign, but I assumed he was telling us to get the hell off the stage and don’t come near it again. I jumped down and stumble, my friends, both new and old, cheering for me and telling me I’m both crazy and awesome. I was shaking. I was amazed at myself. And I grinned from ear to ear, and after a moment, ran out the door, whipping out my phone. I didn’t care that it was past 11pm -- I had to call my roomma-- er, former roommate.

“Why aren’t you here?!” I demanded in a squeak after securing knowledge that I didn’t wake her. “I just danced Lady Gaga in front of hundreds of people and you weren’t here!!! I’m not allowed to do the things you want to do! It’s not fair! Why aren’t you here?! I miss you!!!”

And it was the truth... I could only imagine how insanely epic it would have been if Alyssa (who no doubt would have shown up to Geek Prom as Gaga ANYWAY), and my friend Eric, in his gorilla suit, had been on stage with us....

And Rock Band, too. I’d learned to play Rock Band with those two. I had missed them while onstage the night before (although Alyssa most likely would have sang, which meant no Wil Bon Jovi, but STILL!).

(I had tried very hard over the months to convince at least my roommate to come to PhxCC with me, but she was moving out of our apartment that weekend -- I’d moved out earlier in the week).

We talked a little more over the phone, gradually talking about simpler things like moving out and her trip home and how her cat was and how awesome con was for me, basically allowing me time to get the edge off and calm down from my strange lapse in judgement into awesome. I didn’t want to be gone from the prom too long, so I bid goodbye and ran back in, feeling like a superstar.

I made my way back to where my friends Danielle and Spock (okay, this was what I was calling her, but her real name was Catherine) were dancing. More songs to dance to. YMCA. The Cupid Shuffle.

Then, at one point, Danielle grabbed my attention, and pointed it behind us.

I paused in my dancing, and gaped.

Somehow, Felicia Day and John Scalzi and Aaron Davis had appeared. On the dance floor. Dancing!!

I couldn’t believe that they had actually decided to dance among us, the fans. I kept trying to move closer, be part of the crowd that surrounded them, to just dance next to Felicia Day, cuz seriously -- come on! FELICIA DAY!!!

And not just Felicia Day.... well, and John Scalzi and Aaron Davis...

At some point, a flash of dark and denim, and Wil Wheaton leapt into the fold, and danced his brains out next to them.

Danielle and I push our way gently past John Scalzi to Wil’s side, grinning as we danced together close to him. It felt like we were now part of the coolest club -- the geek club!

As we danced, there were tons of flashbulbs igniting -- tons. You could see their faces, especially Felicia’s, grow more and more stern and less and less “I’m having fun.” Finally, Felicia frowned completely, and kinda turned, shouting something I couldn’t hear at the others but I correctly assumed was something along the lines of “Come on, guys! Stop with the photos and DANCE!”

It really was douchey of them, I thought. There were so many. Imagine this as a bulls-eye -- in the center danced Felicia, Wil, John, and Aaron. Around them, a small ring of people like me, who simply wanted to dance near their idols and have fun, because honestly, what are the chances of it ever happening again? And then, around us, an ENORMOUS RING of people with flash photography and video cameras, swinging them around and into their faces. (Beyond that were random scraggles of people who either didn’t know that these famous people were there, just didn’t care, or didn’t want to be a part of the paparazzi insanity.

But apart from the pictures, it was a blast. It was so fun to see them dancing - especially Wil. He REALLY got into it, especially when a song came on “Just for him.” He danced like a maniac, twisting and waving his arms and being every bit as geeky as the rest of us. He bumped into me a few times... just saying....

After awhile, the dancing finished. They were called up onstage, where they were to announce the Geek Prom Royalty. They had everyone “In proper costume” do a turn on the catwalk while they commentated, and I debated, so long, about going up. Did a cape count as a costume? I felt like a hack. In the end, I decided to do it, because honestly, when do you get to? But this time it was a little against my better judgement. I reprised Lady Gaga, and I felt lame for doing so. I just didn’t know what else to do. When I jumped off, though, Danielle, at least, was smiling and clapping. “I was hoping you’d do it!” she told me happily. “I would’ve hated you if you hadn’t!”

“I almost didn’t... I mean, it’s not like I’ll win...” I told her. She told me not to be so sure, but I was right. The winners were Princess Chess Girl, Prince Sheldon Cooper, and Prom King and Queen Matching Sock Nerds. It was amazing, and we all cheered and clapped. The famous people disappeared with the royalty winners, to take pictures under the arch.

After that, a new band mounted the stage - a loud heavy metal band I didn’t really care for. I stepped out of the ballroom to catch my breath, get some water, and save my ears. They were ringing, and I probably smelled of sweat from dancing. I looked around at the others who were milling about. People were still getting their pictures taken under the arch (I wanted to get one with Spock, but lost her before I had the chance). Groups of people from both Geek Prom and the neighboring Anime Rave stood around the lobby, talking. Convention members were signing people up for Rock Band, which would happen later that evening. I hung around Danielle, who was playing doorman and making sure only those with the markings or the bracelets were let in.

Danielle was lucky. I mean, I had my round of luck, but she had gotten some of her own. At some point during the night, she had been at the door, doing her job, when Wil walked by. He stopped, and held his arm out for her, to help her in. She hesitated a moment, looked at her supervisor who gave her the okay (“She told me she would have killed me if I hadn’t,” Danielle said to me later with twinkles in her eyes), and Wil Wheaton effing escorted her into the dance hall, like a princess. Not gonna lie, I wanted the same to happen... and that may have been an ulterior motive for me idling by the door, aside from hanging out with my new friend. (I’m a geek....)

After a long time, though, I decided to go sign up for that night’s round of Rock Band. However, I found out that not only did it cost money this time, but unlike advertised, it was in no way “Celebrity.” It turned out that after the royalty crowning and subsequent picture taking, the celebrity in question had all left for the night. I was a little disappointed - I mean, it felt like no time at all they had been there before leaving... and they hadn’t even said good-bye to us all...

We stuck around long enough for Tanya to try and win some free stuff in a raffle. After hanging out with Danielle awhile longer, I went and sat in the lobby, surrounded by other con-goers, many still in costume and grouped together. I pulled out my phone. At the time, I wondered if the reason Wil and Felicia and them had left was because of all the paparrazzi bullshit that had happened earlier - I knew it really irritated them, and I felt bad. I went to twidroid, and tweeted to Felicia and Wil.



(Note: I figured out after the fact that they left because that was how long they were supposed to stick around Geek Prom. They left to go have a fun time by themselves, away from the fans. They were all friends -- what friends don’t want to hang out by themselves?)

Five minutes after sending my tweets, I checked twidroid again.... and I found this....


....wut....?

....She.... responded... to my tweet??

....they actually do that????? Famously awesome people with millions of subscribers actually read @replies.... and actually @reply back?!?!

Well, of course they did. I always knew this.

But.... they actually @reply back to ME?!

If I had the physically ability to let my jaw drop ten feet to the floor, I would’ve let it.

Of course, I ran to my friends and showed them, brimming with excitement. It was yet another thing on the list of my personal lifetime achievements that I was able to cross off thanks to Comicon.

Finally, it was time for us to go. That night we were staying a cheaper Super 8 motel about a mile and half down the road. We walked to the garage that held my car.... to find the entrance locked up tight.

Uh oh.

Before panic could set in, I saw a sign saying something to the extent of “Car trapped in here? Call security.” So I did. My good luck prevailed, and in less than twenty minutes time, I had my car, and we busted on out of there (not even a ticket, wewt!) and checked in to the other hotel. I took a shower, and crawled into bed, but was completely unable to sleep because Tanya insisted on keeping the light on while she did stuff on her computer. (I am so light-sensitive at night that I will often put post-it notes over little lights on my electronics).

As I lay in bed, staring at the illuminated ceiling, I found myself feeling considerably less awesome than I had only an hour or two before.

There was a voice nagging me -- a different one from the one that had been accompanying me the last two days, but one that I knew much better.

why did you do that dance again, huh? you’re so lame. that was the lamest thing you could ever have done. people are laughing at you. don’t even start thinking people like wil and felicia, or even catherine and danielle, give a damn about you. you’re just a blip to them. a non-presence. they’ll never remember you again. you’re a loser to them just like you’ve been to every other friend you’ve ever had the last four years. you’re so lame.

“Would you just shut up?” I spat at that stupid little voice I knew so well: the voice of self-doubt, my normally ever-present companion. “Seriously, what are you doing here? Why did you have to catch up to us? Why couldn’t you have just stayed at home and away from me?”

It merely laughed, a small but spine-crushing giggle of spite. I groaned and rolled over, pulling the blanket over my head. I remained wide awake, with it tormenting me all the while, until the moment Tanya finally put out the light and I could fall into the silencing throes of sleep.

Phoenix Comicon: Part 3 -- Saturday: the Day

Phoenix Comicon - Part 3. Saturday at the Phoenix Comicon

(I've had this written for awhile.... but it ended up being 22 pages long... so in lieu of posting ALL of that at once, I'm going to do it in two parts again!)

I awoke on day two of the con to the voice of my friend Tanya. I’d somehow slept through her alarm and her getting-up and her getting-readies. I grumbled into my pillow, wondering what the time was. Nine o clock, she said. I peek through my eyelids, knowing it’s far too dark for it to be nine.

Oh, yeah. Hotels have those awesome blackout curtains. Those always trip up my mental clock.

I sit up and stretch, and look out into the amazingly awesome hotel room my cousin had paid for us to stay in that night. I look down and see that I’m still wearing my Rock Band shirt, and that, being an XL to my L, it was very comfy to sleep in.

So it all really did happen, I think to myself with a smile.

I get out of bed and go about getting myself ready for the day. I put on my badge. I use the bathroom and brush my teeth. I grab the Prilosec I’d just started taking for the annoyingly persistent heartburn I’d developed while at college, and after trying to dry-swallow the pill House M.D.-style, I hurry back to the bathroom to take a sip of water from my hands.

I swallow, wipe my chin, and turn.

Suddenly, the world shifts into slow motion, as I watch, both entranced and in horror, as the glass cup I had left far too close to the edge of the counter sails off of it, propelled by the sweeping action of my arm. I reach to try and catch it as it falls towards the tiled bathroom floor, knowing all too well what was bound to happen. I wince as it lands on the tile with a force to shatter, but somehow it bounces up fully intact, like a ball - who knew glass bounced? I grapple for it, but realize there is no way I’m going to be able to catch it. I stand back, prepared for the inevitable, bracing myself for the lashing my feet were going to get.

The shriek of glass shattering reverberates in my ears. I see sparkles as the once-complete cup becomes a puzzle of broken shards across the floor.

I don’t feel any pain. Tanya comes running over, frantically asking what happened. I look around, seeing shards as far away from the impact site as the area behind the toilet and out into the carpeting of the hotel room. But my feet, somehow, though only inches from where the glass splintered, were completely unscathed.

I still count myself as extremely lucky. The potential had been there for an emergency room visit, and yet, I didn’t even get a single nick.

Tanya lends me her flip-flops to get myself out of the bathroom (my flip-flops have holes in the heels, which makes for a fun game of hot potato on the city streets of Phoenix), and then she runs off to tell the front desk about the accident. I go back about my getting-readies, smiling at my luck, already knowing that the day was going to be a good one.

We check out of the hotel and, after a quick stop at the car to drop off our stuff and pay the fee for parking there overnight, we head back to the convention center. Kitt and the cars from the Dukes of Hazzard greet us as we approach the main doors (only the former actually talked, of course, but I don’t know if it ever said “hi.”)

Inside, Tanya and I parted ways. I can’t remember where she was headed, but I knew where my task lay -- The Guild panel with Wil Wheaton and Felicia Day!

It wouldn’t start for another few hours, so after some loafing about, enjoying the cosplay costumes wandering the halls, I make my way into the south ballroom of the convention center, to find myself in the midst of some amusing Star Wars-related shenanigans.

Upon first walking in, you passed a special “So You Wanna Be a Storm Trooper?” type training course, which I found to be epically awesome. The guys in the costumes really seemed just like Storm Troopers, and the kids appeared to have much fun training to take out the rebel scum.

...although....I have to go on a tangent and get a confession off my chest.

I am mildly terrified of cosplayers in Imperial uniform.

When I was in San Diego last year for Comic-Con, I was walking through the lobby towards the exit, for whatever reason. I glanced up and saw something that made my heart race and fear legitimately well up in my chest.

It was Darth Vader.

I don’t think you get it. Don’t think I can’t hear the chuckles inside your head, oh reader. Until you’ve met Vader -- the real Vader -- in the flesh, you will never truly understand how he was able to almost single-handedly crush opposition and destroy worlds. He was every bit as tall and menacing as you’d expect. His dark armor sucked away the light and warmth of the world. His very stance thirsted for blood and the sound of his respirator exhaling was enough to freeze yours.

And he was walking... Right. Towards. Me. Flanked by two stormtroopers, his cape wafting with his gait.

Breathing.

And I thought I was dead.

I mean... no don’t be stupid, I knew it was just a geek in costume. Of course.

I mean... I know that now...

But... yeah... anyways... since that encounter, I’d been wary of Imperial troopers at conventions. I keep my cool, but I always keep a close, watchful eye on them, while my head is silently screaming “KEEP WALKING KEEP WALKING I’M AN INNOCENT CIVILIAN I AM NOT THE DROID YOU’RE LOOKING FOR!!!!”

....what can I say? I’m a geek!

So, anyways, back to the story.... in the ballroom....

Beyond the Imperial boot camp, at the foot of the big stage of the ballroom, they were having Jedi Academy training sessions. I managed to grab a seat up front, so I would have my spot for The Guild, but also just to observe what Jedi training entails here in Con Land. It was awesome. Three Jedi, two younger Padawan and one of their older masters, would call up all of the “Younglings” in the audience in order to teach them the ways of the Force. The Younglings were split into two groups, and each group was taught the Jedi Code by one of the Padawan (which the kids didn’t exactly learn too well - there’s a lot of complex ideas at play and some big confusing words, like “serenity.” Even though I had learned the code when I was 11 (geek, remember?), I had only barely understood what it meant -- and I had had much more than a “Repeat after me” segment to memorize it.)

The kids then went on to learn how to use the Force to knock blocks of stone (read: styrofoam) out of the master’s hand. And then, all of a sudden, this terrifying Sith woman (who definitely was a canon character from the Clone Wars series that I didn’t know) approached. The Jedi and the Younglings worked together to knock the lightsabers out of her hands and drive her away. (Except for one little Youngling who couldn’t have been more than four-years-old -- he was scarred for life).

After photos with the Jedi and then a repeat performance, all the Star Wars actors cleared the area, along with the families in the audience who had only been there for the Jedi training, leaving the rest of us waiting for the Guild.

I shared a few words with the girl beside me, a dark, burly-haired twenty-something with three lip piercings and a copy of Happiest Days of Our Lives, by Wil Wheaton. I read over her shoulder, but cocked an ear at the conversation behind me.

“Did you get tickets for tonight, yet?”

“Wait, you already got yours?”

“They aren’t selling them at the door?”

“I think so, but they’re also selling them at a booth in the exhibit hall.”

I was fully attentive now. The event they were discussing... it was an event I was most looking forward to. But the advertising had said tickets would be sold at the door...

My “dude, this could end badly” sense was tingling, and despite social phobia, I turn around.

“Excuse me,” I say to them. “But, which booth in the exhibit hall?”

The two girls look at me. “Right to your right as you walk in, the Kids Need To Read booth. They’re selling them there, five bucks each.”

“Thanks,” I say honestly. “I hope there’s some left -- there is NO WAY I’m missing out on this...”

I turn back to face the stage, but a new tingling was setting in.

Dude... don’t you know that chick...?

It was that familiar voice. I turn around, though making it seem as though I was observing the ceiling or the crowd slowly filing into the seats behind her rather, to hide the fact that I wanted to stare at her.

It.... kinda looked like her....

I kept glancing back, trying to find some surefire telltale sign that it truly was her. I mean, how embarrassing of a situation is it to ask “Hey don’t I know you?” and then it turns out you don’t? I continued to check. She was sitting with a bunch of her friends, talking constantly. I wait for a break where I could possibly speak up and ask “Hey, do I know you?” but an opportunity evaded me for a long while.

At one point, she turned to talk to her friends to her right, the ones seated directly behind me. Her eyes focused oddly, a clear sign of some kind of lazy eye.

....oh holy shit.... it was her....

She turns from her friends and looks at her phone for a moment.

I leap at my chance.

“Um, hey,” I say slowly, grabbing her attention. “Um, are you from Tucson?”

She doesn’t move, but glances up from her phone. “Yeah.”

“Did you, um, ever work at Valley of the Moon....”

She lifts her chin, fully focused on me now. That was a bit more narrowing of a question than the first - after all, at least half the people in the hall had to be from Tucson. But how many people ever volunteered at Valley of the Moon (an amazing little performance center, where actors take audiences on desert tours through worlds like Alice in Wonderland, and Nightmare Before Christmas).

She slowly smiles. “Oh my god, I recognize you!” she says, and I grin. Being remotely unchanged in appearance since childhood has its advantages.

“That’s so insane!” I laugh. “That had to have been, what, ten years ago?” It was true, I realize. I was in sixth grade when we were there together.

“Yeah, that was the last time I ever volunteered there.”

“You know,” I went on, “I don’t think I even know your name....”

“Not surprised. I think everyone knew me as ‘Jedi.’”

I laugh. That was true, too. In my memory I had only been able to label her “Star Wars chick.” During the traditional Halloween “Haunted Ruins” show, she had been a teenaged Jedi tour guide, accompanied by a Padawan learner that I only wished could have been me.

“You know...” I start, probably something like wonder and gratefulness in my eye. “I should thank you... it was because of you that I ever got into Star Wars...”

Her friends, who had been listening in, all snorted with laughter.

“She does that all the time!” one of them sputters between laughs.

“I work at a high school now, as an English teacher,” she grins, a twinkle in her eye.

“Yeah, she even has a cardboard cutout of Darth Vader in her classroom. She’s always converting students.”

I laugh. “I got my little brother a cardboard cutout of General Grievous when I worked at Toys R Us.”

“That’s awesome.”

We maybe speak another few minutes, and then I turn back around, brimming with happiness. How cool was that? How befitting, that I go to Comicon, go to a Star Wars event, and not only find the very girl who got me interested in Star Wars all those years ago, but also had a chance to thank her? I may have been born a geek, but she was the one who turned me into a true science fiction/fantasy geek.

Although the bowing shelf of my bookcase would probably be happier without all the Star Wars novels.

Time dragged on slowly after that, I’m sure, but in my memory, it passed quickly. The next thing I knew, they were calling Wil Wheaton and Felicia Day onto the stage, to much cheering and applause, especially from me.

The panel was great, as anyone could expect. The dynamic between Felicia and Wil was amazing, and it was awesome to hear, from their own mouths, that Wil was going to be in Season 4, and that they were just wrapping up shooting the season. There were very few hints as to what might happen in season 4 (although, thanks to some fan questions that resulted in Wil turning to Felicia and saying “As your lawyer, I advise you not to answer that question,” there is alot of speculation), and they weren’t even able to give us a release date (“Sometime before San Diego Comic-Con” was all Felicia could say with certainty, which is certainly better than September, which is what I’d thought).

The stories they told were hilarious. Felicia talked about gaming and being a girl gamer, and mentioned she had purchased Red Dead Redemption, but hadn’t really had a chance to play it, because she had been so busy working the last six months.

“So, you haven’t accidentally killed your horse yet?” Wil asked with a childish grin.

Felicia looked over at him mortified. “WHAT?! YOU KILL YOUR HORSE?!”

“Um, you’re not supposed to... but I did, accidentally... See, you have to go out and kill some bunnies--”

“--Bunnies?! You have to kill bunnies?! Why would you do that?!!”

“You have to kill lots of things in the game. It’s the old west.”

“I don’t know if I can play this game...”

“What about cougars? You have to kill cougars---”

“Um. Cougars are endangered.”

“But it’s kill them or they kill you!”

Felicia still looked mortified, and increasingly so as Wil explained to her and the audience the story I already knew, about how he had actually managed to kill his horse by mistake, and had been so traumatized by it that he’d had to restart from a save file.

“I’ll only kill bunnies if they’re, like, zombie bunnies...” Felicia said.

In my mind, I saw Tim the Enchanter holding his fingers up to his mouth and saying “...with nasty big pointy teeth!”

I was disappointed Wil didn’t pick up on the idea.

The rest of the panel went on awesomely. Felicia and Wil discussed how much they hated internet pirates. “It just makes me so angry!” Felicia snarled, balling her hands into her fists. “I see that, and it just makes me hate your face!”

“Dear Internet,” Wil began, holding his hand out to indicate writing invisibly appearing before him for all the world to read. “Felicia hates your face. You know who you are. Love, Wil. -- Oh! P.S.: I hate your face too.”

I laugh, and relish in the knowledge that I’m a recovering internet pirate, having learned my lesson after pirating Wil’s first audiobook, and then learning just how hard he worked to get where he was. In the end, I purchased BOTH his audiobooks to make up for it. My face could now be considered unhated by him, and thanks to my copy of The Guild, legally obtained from Felicia herself, I was unhated by her as well.

At another point in the panel, an audience member approached the Question Mic, and said something congratulatory and complimentary to Felicia, probably about her writing, prompting Wil to cry out, in mock offense, “Dude! I’m sitting right here!”

“Wait, what did he say?!” the questioner asked over the roar of laughter. Wil, pretending to be further offended, promptly stood, and walked off the stage to a chorus of sympathetic “Awwwww”s, while the questioner looked around perplexed, not understanding what just happened. The guy even tried to go on asking Felicia his question, but he was drowned out by the audience crying out for Wil to come back. After a moment, he finally did, taking his seat again beside a giggling Felicia Day. He laughed a little and leaned into the mic, his voice a little strained as he tried to hold onto his act.

“I was just giving you two space to have your little talk...” he said, face pink from bottled up laughter.

After more questions, the panel finally wound down to a close, and I’m pretty sure I leapt to my feet to applause the two, standing ovation-style -- Felicia especially deserved it. This was her baby and her success.

I can’t wait for Season 4.

The moment they left the stage, I leapt to my feet, snatched up my bags, and made like Luke through the forest of Yavin with Yoda on his back, veering around slow, waddling nerds and crowds of other types of people heading out the door. I ducked around the curtains in the back of the room, and made my way out the door and down the hallway, annoyed at the crowds -- why did all the panels have to finish at the EXACT same time?! Congestion! Augh!

Somehow, I managed to make it through the crowd unharmed, and shot straight into the exhibit hall. Following instructions, I headed to the Kids Need To Read booth.

“Please tell me this is where I get tickets!” I gasp, out of breath.

“It is indeed!” responds the girl behind the table.

“Please tell me you haven’t run out!”

“We haven’t!”

“Please let me have two!” I didn’t know if Tanya wanted to go, but I didn’t want to take any chances - they could run out at any moment.

We exchange money for tickets, which I promptly put safely in my wallet.

“And please tell me those pins are free!”

“They are!”

So I grab one, thank her, and walk off.

Not long after, either Tanya called me, or I called her, and I went to meet her in the food court area. After a bit of wandering around searching for her, I found her, and I sat and told her about the tickets, and we talked about con for awhile. Soon, a couple of her friends arrived - a squirrelly sort of woman wearing a WoW hunter t-shirt, and a large man who would be the first of many guys I’d interact with who reminded me of Comic Book Guy.

We talked about cons - they were all much more experienced than I was. We talked about Wil Wheaton -- Tanya’s female friend told me that she and a friend of hers had a contest going to see who could creep him out the most.

“I asked him what Felicia Day’s hair smelled like,” the woman said proudly, and with an air of weirdness that kinda made me back away. “I ran into him, and I just made idle talk, and halfway through just blurted out ‘What does Felicia Day’s hair smell like?’ and then went right back to what I was saying.”

“Oh, wow, that’s not creepy at all,” I responded, flabbergasted.

“That’s exactly what he said.”

I sat there for a moment, chewing on some potato chips that had been given me out of charity by the family sharing the table with us in the crowded court. I stared out at nothing, chewed, swallowed, and paused.

“....god, now I want to know,” I admitted with an apologetic smile, aimed towards Felicia Day’s presence in the building than to the woman. It was creepy, to be sure, but the idea was in my head, now. What would the hair of someone like Felicia Day smell like??

“I know, right?!”

We talked about it more, coming up with strategies of how to, scientifically, go about finding out.

“We just need to know what kind of shampoo she uses....” I suggested between chips.

“Nuh-uh, when it mixes with the natural odors in your hair, it changes. Two people could use the same shampoo but have hair smelling completely different!”

“Maybe if you go get a picture with her....” piped up one of the others.

“I dunno, did I get close enough to smell her hair when I saw her?” I asked Tanya. She pulled out her camera and flipped through the album on her memory card

“Actually, yes you did,” Tanya told me with a smile, holding the camera out to me. I gaped down at it.

“Well, son of a bitch!”

(I feel I should state for the record that I would never, ever, have actually tried to actively smell her hair. That would have just been weird. Besides, somehow we found the answer out from someone -- her hair smells like strawberries, as red hair should. ^_^)

We laughed and joked more about it, finishing our food before standing up. Then, the three veteran con-goers stood and announced that they would be making their rounds of the convention floor, prompting me to ask to tag along. After all, there weren’t any other panels I wanted to see, and I was curious as to how REAL convention people did conventions. I had already seen Tanya, an aspiring comic book artist, network in the booths the previous day. But now I could tell I was with different levels of convention geekery, and I wanted to observe...

As I’d predicted, Comic Book Guy (I honestly don’t remember his name, or the name of the woman who wanted Felicia Day’s hair odor) was into purchasing stuff. He searched for specific toys, and got into conversations with Tanya about how one toy wasn’t as good as the edition of another similar toy. I just stood with them, a quiet little shadow. As they talked semantics, I just stared up at the plastic cases containing plastic figurines, passively wondering only two things of each toy booth we passed -- one, was there a Joker figurine in the lot? Two, was there a Wesley Crusher in the lot? The verdict for each question? No, probably not, and I didn’t need to spend anymore money anyway. People like Tanya and Comic Book Guy? They purchase most items for one specific reason -- how much money could it eventually get on ebay? I don’t trust online selling, unfortunately. I’ll have to get over that one day, but for the moment, the last thing I needed to do was spend money.

There were some tables that interested me. I kept getting sucked back to a Lolita table, incredibly entranced and tempted by some plastic bins full of paper “Grab Bags,” for $15. As a child, my family would go to Topsail Island, NC for a family reunion. There was this gift shop called the Docksider that sold grab bags, and we always made sure to grab at least one, most likely more.

I wanted one so bad. There would be amazing things inside.... I just... wanted.... one....

I somehow managed to find restraint.... I think Tanya had to forcibly pull me away. That’s restraint of one kind, anyway.

There was also some pretty interesting webcomics artists there, ones I hadn’t heard of, but ones I definitely wanted to check out. (I still haven’t -- I need to empty out my purse and find the ads for them).

The artist for Something Positive was there. I’d only read a few of the comics before I couldn’t stomach it, and somehow, just from his very appearance, I understood why. Sometimes you can just tell these things.

At one booth, I stopped because I felt a rush of nostalgia hit me without really even understanding why. I turned to see the opening screen, and the opening theme, of the Super Mario Bros. World game for Super NES on a television at one booth. My palms itched for the controller, and I thought of Wil Wheaton and all of his stories about playing Atari...

We made it halfway through the convention hall before I decided to bid everyone adieu and find something else to do. Between the day before and that day, I had seen every single booth, and I didn’t really have any desire to revisit any (especially with my lack of income, let alone disposable income). I walked out of the hall and back into the food hall, where I sat in the back and people watched.

All I could think about was how much I wished this had been here when I was in high school, how much I wished I could’ve been to something like this in high school, when I was far more geeky (or at least much more appreciative and outspoken with my geekiness) than I am now. I watched a group of otaku, most of whom were cosplayed-out, dancing to anime music in a huge group. They did what I can only refer to as “The Ear-Flappy Dance” (but I’m sure it has a real name) many times, along with other anime songs I really didn’t recognize (except for the end theme to Fullmetal Alchemist - that was awesome). A few cosplayers fought with foam swords. It began with two, but then another with a plastic samurai sword joined the mix. At least one of them was really good, doing some moves that would have made Ray Park proud. Many costumes in the bunch I recognized, but many more I did not, and that made me a little sad.

After awhile, the cacophony of voices and music and battling became a little overwhelming. The light shone a little too bright. The people were a little too numerous. I gathered my stuff and headed out of the convention center a little quickly, out onto the street, making my turns down the blocks and into the garage of the next building, where my car was parked.

I looked around to make sure no one was paying attention, and hopped in. I lay back in my backseat with my head resting on Totoro (who sadly was not the enormous size he should’ve been), and my hands over my eyes. The air in the car was warm, but not overbearingly so. I let silence and darkness soothe me - a geek like me can only handle public social situations for so long before it just becomes too much. After a long while, I pulled out my phone and watched the video footage of Wil geeking out over my present, as I had done randomly since the event had happened. I felt so far removed from it already, as though it hadn’t happened to me. I was glad for the video -- like I’d said before, I wouldn’t have remembered much of anything otherwise.

Not long enough after I’d retreated to my car, Tanya called, wanting to get into my car anyways. I tried to hide in my car a little longer, but she insisted that being in a garage full of CO2 gas was not healthy. I tried to counter her reasoning, but I really couldn’t. I knew sleeping in there wouldn’t kill me, but as more cars began filing in full of people there for something up in the symphony hall, there was at least some risk.

Next year, we would definitely be getting a room at the Hyatt for the entire stay.

We parted ways again, and back on the surface, I debated my next move. Would I go to the Star Trek: The Next Generation Reunion panel? It had Wil Wheaton in it, along with LeVar Burton and Jonathan Frakes. In the end, I made the decision that, no, I would not attend that panel. I’m a Wil Wheaton fan, but honestly, I’ve never consciously sat down to watch TNG since I was maybe three years old, when all I cared about was the end sequence when the ship shoots off into the background of space, and that the Reading Rainbow guy was on the show, and he wore a hairband in front of his eyes for some reason (at least, that’s how I replicated it. It was a hairband, right?)

One day I will watch TNG. But for now, I just want to be blissfully unaware of how awful/awkward Wesley Crusher actually was. And I don’t know if I’m ready to possibly tiptoe into the realm of “Trekkie.” We all know that’s what would happen to me....

Also, Trekkies are FLIPPIN TERRIFYING!! Especially en masse....

Once thoroughly rationalized in my decision to avoid the TNG panel, I stopped by Starbucks -- two butter croissants and those potato chips were the only food I would have the entire day. I sat myself outside of the cafe as the sun began to set, pulling out my sketchbook and drawing whatever I felt inspired to (which was little). I people watched -- it was so interesting to see nerdy cosplayers (some damn good ones I might add) walking around amongst the throngs of volleyball players, also there for a convention, as well as normal folks wandering downtown with no clue as to what was happening. Although that didn’t stop some of them from taking pictures with Batman, or thoroughly enjoying the Ecto 1’s presence by the hotel.

After awhile I packed up and returned to my car. I grabbed my backpack and ran back upstairs into the west building of the convention center, and made my way into an abandoned bathroom. I went about getting my outfit together for the nighttime festivities. I wore the dress I had the previous night (I know, ew, but I realized it would be best), with some leggings (I debated which ones, and finally settled on the black, not the animal print). I dug through my bag and pulled out a cape -- Batman on one side, Joker on the other. After debating which to use, I finally decided on Batman. It was as close to “formal” as I was going to get. I debated whether or not to wear my tie. I ultimately decided it wouldn’t work with the cape. I pulled out my nerd glasses - 3D glasses taped up in the middle. Last, I threw on converse shoes that were well-decorated with permanent marker. Shoving everything back into the back, I emerged from the toilet stall and went to peek in the mirror.

I think it’ll work, I thought to myself.

I wish I had a proper dress, like Stephanie and Danielle, but this will work.

I threw my backpack on, dropped it back off at my car, and walked tall and proud to the hotel, not even caring that hot volleyball chicks were probably staring. It wasn’t like I was the weirdest-dressed one with a Comicon badge.

I sat around in the hotel, reading my book, looking at the pictures in my sketchbook. Restlessness was relentless, and time moved slower than waiting for a Harry Potter book the night before. I wandered around. I contemplated and then gave up on the idea of food. Finally, I headed to the ballroom, wondering if there was a line, and if I was dressed appropriately.

Well, Spock, Link, other cosplayers and even more nerds in normal everyday clothes definitely told me I was in the right place and in the right attire.

It was just about time....

For Geek Prom.

(That concludes this overly embellished and explained segment of my adventures! Tune in to the next post for the exciting conclusion of Saturday, in "How I Went To Prom With Spock!" or "Have I Lost My Mind?")

Phoenix Comicon: part 2 -- More Friday!

Phoenix Comicon - Friday Part Deaux

When we last left our heroine, she had just reigned in a supreme victory for herself and her geekiness after presenting a grand offering of awesome to the Secretary of Geek Affairs, Wil Wheaton. Though the Fates tried to ruin her internal victory celebration by misplacing her Motorola phone and the sacred video contents within, our heroine could not be outdone, and thus, her adventure at Phoenix Comicon continues.

(What? I couldn’t jump back into the story without an interesting little interlude! I’ve also been reading me some Neil Gaiman. ... although on second thought, I really don’t think that really has anything to do with this.... that sounded more like a Rocky and Bullwinkle interlude...)

So, as the over-the-top narrator has just reminded you, and you can read at the previous post in this blog, I’d just met Wil Wheaton and had given him a glorious present that he enjoyed. After finding my phone, I was on top of the world, and my good luck and awesome times would continue.

I spent the rest of the day in a giddy daze of awesome. Not long after my encounter with Wil Wheaton and the retrieval of my phone, I went to Wil Wheaton’s Awesome Hour. I managed to nab a front row seat, right beside a family who’s mom I got talking to and discovered that even though she was from a smaller AZ town, she wrote articles for Geek Dad -- how incredibly cool is that? She and her kids were wearing Geek Dad shirts, and one of her kids was having a lot of fun doing Etch-A-Sketch drawings and showing them to us (and demanding her mom take pictures of them on her iphone -- adorable!)

Wil’s panel was HI-LARIOUS! (unsurprising). If you want to know how hi-larious it was, you can listen to a podcast version of it here: http://juliasherred.com/2010/05/the-awesome-hour-the-guild-panel-star-trek-tng-reunion-panel-and-more-available-for-download/ (Two of his other panels are included, but I’ll talk more about those in the “Saturday” post). His panel was so awesome, and so awesomely the-last-panel-of-the-day, that he was able to go over 20 minutes beyond his allotted time, to the joy of us all. Probably my favorite story he told was one in reply to a question he was asked, where he tells us about how he accidentally let a character he voiced on one of the Ghost Recon games get killed while he was playing it, and how it so emotionally scarred him he had to actually restart from a save point (something he doesn’t do, being a veteran NES player).

After this, we hit the exhibit hall (I got myself a Totoro plushy! Squee!), and then checked into the Hyatt hotel, which was the host hotel for the convention. It was amazing. I’d never really been in anything that fancy before. It was over 20 stories tall, and at the very top, there was a revolving restaurant which I neglected to visit but had long heard about while driving by downtown on I-10 with my mother. I’d always dreamed of going into it, ever since I was a child, and yet here was my chance, and I did not.

I think the elevators made me block out the idea. They. Were. Terrifying. They went so fast and so many of us con-goers would cram onto them they would shift under our weight and thus there was always the absolute certainty that the cables would snap and we would plummet to our doom and never be able to complete our con experience!!

Our room was on the seventh floor. The bed was huge, big enough for my friend Tanya and I to share without feeling weird about it. The bathroom was pretty spacious, and oh. my. god. there were massaging foot bars! They were UNBELIEVABLE! ...and yet I neglected to take one home with me. x_x cest la vie...

After taking a moment to choke down some food (conventions have a funny way of stealing away your hunger. I think it’s so much geekiness all at once fulfills an appetite that food simply can’t), I make my way downstairs to the ballroom, and become part of the beginning of the line for the long-awaited Rock Band event, still two hours on the horizon.

And near the beginning of the wait, it was alright. My friend Tanya decided she didn’t feel well and headed upstairs to bed, leaving me all on my lonesome. And then, for some stupid reason, the security people wouldn’t let us sit, which SUCKED, but I got to kinda stand around and people watch.

The group ahead of me in line (the only group ahead of me ^_^) were a set of people, two women and one man, who could not have been younger than 35-years-old each, if not older. And I thought that was AWESOME! They talked about college, playing games in college, being nerds in college, and these were women, especially, that I never would’ve pegged for the D&D crowd. And they were from Tucson, and told me about some small-time conventions that have gone on there in the past years. That was super cool. Honestly, I hope I’m still going to cons and still being excited about these things when I’m their ages. It made me smile so much.

Directly behind me in line were two girls, who, I failed to recognize until later, were staff members. They were both only two years older than me. They were pretty awesome, even if mildly uninterested in me at first. One reminded me of my friend Sarah, which was weird. Why are there always doppelgangers at these kind of things??

Not a bad bunch of people to be hanging around with, all in all, while waiting two hours to play Rock Band.

Now, here’s a fun fact. Phoenix Comicon is relatively new, and the size of the convention this year was significantly greater than it was the previous year, with a bigger venue and twice as many attendees. Rock Band with Wil Wheaton had premiered there the previous year, and had continued to gain popularity as Wil brought it to other conventions over the course of the bridging months. One would think they would’ve realized the potential for both a massive turnout for the event, and a massive turnout of people showing up early to be first for the event. They also should’ve realized that bands using that ballroom would need time to set up before and clean up after their event. However, it appears the folks at Phoenix Comicon did not prepare for ANY of these things, and no one knew what to do. As the line grew enormous and posed fire hazard risks, someone wisely brought out velvet ropes to separate us from the people using the ballrooms before us (for some godawful metal band, and also for the raves going on in the adjacent ballroom). But that was as far as thoughtfulness was carried out, and everything descended into madness. We, the attendees, understood how it was supposed to work -- you had to sign up for an instrument during the day, and then show up half an hour before the show, and sign up for a band placement spot. We thought we were in line for band placement. But they didn’t understand. First, they herded the line in several different confusing places, no one in command communicating their thoughts to one another. And then, after splitting the line, they thought those of us up front already had band placement, so they started taking people from the back of the line to be placed into bands, while we were left in the dust.

Well, can you tell what my reaction was?

I. Was. Pissed.

Fun fact about me, now. I’m the kind of person who constantly and repeatedly lets herself be beaten down and trampled on. I really just don't care about myself, ordinarily, to stop people from walking all over me in almost every situation. However, this time, nuh-uh. No way. I was NOT going to let these uninformed Con reps get between ME and WIL WHEATON! (In a totally not-creepy fashion....)

So I break out of line. I storm up to them and ask what’s going on. I did feel mildly bad for the woman I talked to -- I wasn’t shouting. I was just being stern. Justifiably concerned and upset. I was just trying to get our point across. I just wanted answers. I just wanted to be sure that I wasn't getting the short end of the stick when I've been waiting for this for months. She was so flustered, though, and I did feel bad. I reached out and grabbed her hand.

“I know, dear, I know,” I told her with a laugh. “Calm down, it’s not like I hate you! I just wanna know what's going on."

She told me to talk to the registration people. The registration people told me to talk to the line people. The first woman WAS the line people.

In the end, I convinced them to just let me sign up right then, making me the drummer for the second band lined up. I made my way back to the front of the “line” (now only called such for shape, not for purpose) and relayed what’d happened to the others. They were pretty ticked off, as well. A couple of the people in front of me just decided to leave, while Danielle and Stephanie, the two girls behind me, went to get signed up.

At some point, long after the event was supposed to start but the previous band hadn't finished, we were herded into one last line, organized by band. It was here I met two of my three bandmates, and we learned what our band (which one of us tried to name but I can’t remember it now) was comprised of: myself, drums; Cross-Between-Hillbilly-And-Punk, guitar; Bowie-with-a-Question-Mark, bass; Wil Wheaton, vocals.

“Hey,” a tiny voice said to me as we stood there, pondering what song we should play. Since none of us knew each other, it was a little tricky to decide on a song.

“Shut up,” I told it, annoyed. “Can’t you see I’m busy trying not to lose my cool and give a fangirl squeal in front of my bandmates? I’m a rock star now.” The certainty of Rock Band was beginning to dawn on the room. Energy was buzzing in the air, rivaling the frustration that still lingered from the previous events. Any moment now, we’d be going in.

“Hey, Wil is singing,” the tiny voice pressed, as though it hadn’t heard me.

“Yeah, I know. So what?”

“Didn’t he say something?”

“Huh?”

“He said something, remember?”

I pause a moment, trying to remember myself. My defensive barrier began to lift, and I tilted my ear in towards its words.

“...What did he say...?”

The voice leaned in, a little more persistent, and I listened, a little more carefully, a little more trusting.

“He said it, somewhere. ‘Someone is going to force me to sing Bon Jovi.’ He said it.”

I pause. My full attention is on this little voice now.

“He did...” I whispered. As understanding grips me, a smile played on my lips, barely noticeable.

“You’ve got to do it,” the little voice insisted, and I began to recognize it now, just as the excitement was welling up in my chest. “You’ve got to be the one to make him do it. It’s his own fault. He was the one who said it. He put the idea in your head."

“Bon Jovi....” I murmured, grinning all the way now. "Yes... yes... it must be done... thank you." I turn to my bandmates. “We have to do Bon Jovi. Please, we have to make him sing Bon Jovi!”

I’m sure they questioned why, and I’m sure that I’d told them. I’m sure they’d protested it at some level, and I’m sure I was so passionate and assured in my decision that they finally agreed, for the sake of ease. It’s all well and good, because I would not have allowed them to change my mind.

That little voice I'd heard? I recognized it now.

It was that nagging little voice of a good idea.

It’d been the same one that had inspired me to give Wil some sour cream for his burrito.

At long last, forty-five minutes late and with all of us frustrated and exhausted, we made our way into the ballroom, where a magnificent setup awaited us.

At the opposite end of the fair-sized ballroom awaited a waist-high stage with a thrust addition (you know, like a catwalk for a runway show). It was gloriously adorned with the necessary Rock Band items: on a special platform in the middle stood the drum kit, on stage left the guitar, stage right, the bass. Stage front and a little left was the Rock Band mic on its very own stand, and stage front and right was a normal mic for introductions and announcements. Each section had a special monitor set up so that one could play while looking out at the audience, just like in a real band, while the audience got to watch everything projected behind the stage. Before all this stood rows of chairs, and everyone began filing in. As member of the second band, I forwent the chairs and made my way to the wall off of stage left, brimming with excitement and anticipation, my band in wait. A stout official sort of man handed us a packet of available songs, asking us who was singing, and upon learning it was Wil, warned us that we must choose a second song in case Wil didn’t want to sing the first. We followed protocol, picking a Red Hot Chili Peppers song as a possible backup, but I was not really all that concerned. He had said someone would make him sing Bon Jovi. He knew it was coming. He could not refuse.

I don’t even remember what the first song was. I don’t even remember if it was good or not. I remember talking to Stephanie and Danielle (who managed to nab #3), who wanted me to record their performance and take pictures (and they would do the same for mine). I agreed, thrilled that my video would be up on youtube.

The first band grew close to finishing, and the stout official type waved us onto the stairwell.

People in the audience were cheering. The sound of the music was loud and encompassing, like being in the presence of a real band.

I. Was. So. Excited.

I love Rockband anyways. I’m always upset if we spend time at my buddy Eric’s house and don’t end up playing. But this was something else entirely. This was combining three parts of my life that I loved -- playing drums on Rockband, performing onstage (I was in orchestra and steel drums in high school), and Wil Fucking Wheaton.

And there I stood, on a stairwell, ready to jump up onto a stage in front of hundreds of people. I felt like a rock star. I felt dressed like a rock star. My hair was up in messy ponytails, my skirt and leggings offset with a nerdy t-shirt (I forget which one now). An ironic(?) tie completed the ensemble (my first time ever tying one for myself). All that was missing were arm warmers and converse sneakers. And taped-up glasses.

The other band finished. Wil made his way up to the normal mic to speak, to introduce us, and we were told by the side guys to run onstage.

It was really happening!

Holy crap, this was happening!!

I leap onto my platform, grab up my drumsticks with the biggest smile I could ever have, and plop down in my seat, waving my hands out in front of me and adjusting my seat to make sure I can actually reach all the panels and the foot pedal. Wil finishes his introduction and turns to me.

“What song?” he asks.

“Living on a Prayer,” I chirp happily, possibly with a gleam of devilish glee in my eye.

“Ah, of course,” is all he says, and I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused or bored. He makes his way towards the Rockband mic. The boys are situated with their respective Rockband guitars. The Harmonix guy flips through the menu and chooses the song, to a chorus of cheers and catcalls from the audience (a great many of whom probably understood the significance of this). We pick our difficulties (medium for me -- I know hard is too much for me on this song). A loading screen. My heart is racing.

This is really happening....

Be a rockstar, I tell myself. Or maybe that voice is....

The lights dim to nothing. The lines on our screens begin to move. A low hum of music surfaces from nowhere. Wil is standing with his back to me, head bowed as he awaits his cue. The audience is out there somewhere, beyond him, making noise, but I don’t really notice them.

Be a rockstar....

We come closer to the beginning segment of the bassline. I’ve heard it enough times to know when its coming.

Be a rockstar....

I lift my drumsticks and start clacking out the beat of the song to the rest of my band. They have to know how fast it goes, afterall.

Be a rockstar....

The bassline starts. The guy is missing some notes, but it’s not that bad. Wil lifts a hand dramatically, pointing over to him as he does his solo. A lead singer -- no, Bon Jovi, getting into the rhythm of the moment.

Be a rockstar....

It’s coming.... I see more notes coming onto the screen, heading towards the line I know is mine.

It's time...

...to be a FUCKING ROCKSTAR!!

We jump into it.

And I really jump into it.

I let my arms arc high. I hunch my back and lean into it. I shake my head and let my hair dance with the rock 'n roll.

And I watch Wil. The song is simple enough. A ton of yellows, with some reds intermittent. Pay attention when you know you’re supposed to hit a cymbal green note. I can do this easy. I watch, and I laugh as Wil leans into the song for his first line.

“Once upon a time... not so long ago...” he says to the audience, pulling the stand of the mic to himself as he leans around to gaze at them all.

By George, I think he’s already Bon Jovi.

Many colored lights flash on us as we charge into the full extent of the song, Wil Bon Jovi telling the story of Tommy and Gina who’re down on their luck, but believe in themselves and each other, and know they can’t give up on their dreams. His voice is similar to that of the original artist, and he sings passionately at the audience -- I can tell from even where I’m sitting behind him, by the way he swings himself around, supporting himself on the mic stand, that he is into this. Really into this.

I can understand why anyone would ever make him play Bon Jovi.

And I play my damn hardest. I take advantage of the improv sections, using them for musical accompaniment rather than the typical approach of “play every fricken note you can in the allotted time given to get maximum points.” I sing along with him, at the top of my lungs, because damnit, that’s what I do. My hips hurt because my seat is too high, with my foot beginning to lose feeling as it hits the bass notes, but I barely care. I try and make it through without falling off or seizing up.

We go into the second verse, about Tommy selling his guitar, and how tough life is. The bassist, the Bowie-wannabe in a crushed velvet suit and a wig half-obscuring his hair, runs over to Wil, and they scream “Baby it’s OKAY!” together into the mic. I’m a little jealous, but I’m just happy I can kick ass behind them - and I was. I knew I was. I barely missed any notes.

This is incredible, I tell myself.

Thank you, voice, for reminding me.

You're welcome, it says. Now be a fucking rock star.

The music is all-encompassing, and I never want it to end....

She says we gotta hold on to what we’ve got

‘Cause it doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not

We’ve got each other, and that’s a lot for love....

WE’LL GIVE IT A SHOT!!!

“Woooooah, we’re halfway there!” Wil belts into the mic, and then he leans the mic into the audience to sing “Woooooah-hoh! Livin’ on a prayer!!” “Take my hand, and we’ll make it I swear!” “Wooooooah-hoh! Livin’ on a prayer!! LIVIN’ ON A PRAAAAYER!!!”

There’s the big music break, and Wil throws down the mic and struts out on the catwalk, to much screaming and cheering. I burst into laughter as I continue drumming. The girls kneeling on the floor in front of the stage look the appropriate height as Wil wiggles his fingers at them, pretending to be one of those pop artists who grabs the hands of the fans in the pit. Oh my god, that’s awesome! I thought, making a mental note to sit there during the rest of the night. At about this time, the bassist jumps up on my platform and rocks out hardcore as a guitar solo rips through the air -- I know it’s not him playing, but I’m glad he’s getting so into it, unlike the actual guitarist, just standing to the side barely bobbing a head.

Wil runs back to his mic and uprights it just in time for my favorite part...

“We’ve got to hold on... ready or not.
You live for the fight when it’s ALL THAT YOU GOT!”

[KEYCHANGE!] (thanks alot Eric)

"WOOOOOOOAH, WE’RE HALFWAY THERE!!!
WOOOOAAAAAH, LIVIN’ ON A PRAYER!!!
TAKE MY HAND, WE’LL MAKE IT I SWEAR!
WOOOOAH-OH! LIVIN’ ON A PRAYER!!!!"

I repeat until my lungs are empty and my voice is hoarse, along with everyone else. I screw up a part of one of the drum improvs. Shit! That was lame! But it doesn’t matter! This is still awesome! I move with great purpose, arms arching dramatically, body moving, head shaking -- just like a goddamn rock star.

I’m a FUCKING ROCK STAR!!!

We repeat the lines over and over until it fades into memory. As the song truly ends, one last bass phase, two last hits on my drums, I can’t contain it. No sooner had they fallen on their last notes, my drumsticks fly high over my head, and I scream as loud as I can, causing the rest of the audience to burst into cheers as well.

I’M A MOTHERFUCKING ROCK STAR!!! I want to scream at them, but I restrain myself. I feel it in my heart, though, and it felt awesome.

Rock Band will never be the same for me again.

The audience cheers as we all congratulate ourselves on the epic win we’d just performed, Wil reaching over my tv and drum setup to give me a high five. I’m jittery, like I’d just finished the most intense roller coaster I’ve ever been on. I stumble a little as I dismount my seat and make my way back off of stage left. Everyone tells us we did awesome, as the next band jumps onstage.

I still can’t believe it happened.

Not only did I get to play with Wil Wheaton, but I made him sing Bon Jovi, and holy fucking crap we kicked ASS!!

I was still jittery an high on life as Danielle handed me the camcorder to record their performance. I fought to both take decent quality video with it while simultaneously trying to figure out how to use Stephanie’s point-and-shoot camera to take pictures with. Sadly, I didn’t manage to do either -- turns out, unbeknownst to me, Stephanie’s camera was out of juice (I’d just thought I was incompetent), and somehow, while trying to one-handedly make it work, I other-handedly accidentally shut off the videorecorder halfway through. I felt terrible, and apologized as fiercely as I could to them when they finished. They didn’t seem that upset, or I may have told myself otherwise to allow myself to enjoy the rest of the night.

I planted myself on the floor in front of the stage, half because there weren’t any other close-up seats, half because Danielle was down there as well, to take more video of the upcoming acts, and half (yes, I know there are three halves, deal with it) because I secretly hoped Wil would go out to shake people’s hands again. He didn’t, but I didn’t care, because being in the front was so awesome!

And, I had my sketchbook. Plot point. (Yes, lives have plot points).

The 30 or so acts (yes, there were over thirty acts!) that followed mine never seemed to quite live up to the level of the Bon Jovi performance. There were some great acts, to be sure -- one girl sang the song from Portal amazingly well, a family with two young kids played Enter Sandman by Metallica, and Wil tried his hand at Poker Face even though he’d never really heard it before. But still, a light began to fade pretty rapidly after our band performed. I’m sure the events that preceded Rock Band didn’t help.

At one point, Danielle looked around crestfallen. “No one’s dancing....” she said, and not for the only time. “Last year, we all danced. It was like a real rock concert...”

“We’re all tired...” I pointed out.

And it was true. I, personally, didn’t feel like doing much of anything except simply sit there and enjoy the show. And as I watched Wil up on stage, I felt both incredibly sorry for and incredibly thankful of him. I really hope that some other fans went to him later and thanked him for sticking it out up there for over three hours -- he was exhausted, and it was very noticeable not long into the evening. Con must be tiring enough as it is - travelling, meeting fans, doing panels - but staying up til 2am playing Rock Band? (And he truly played Rock Band -- he played either hard or expert on every instrument, INCLUDING drums). That’s dedication. I know he’s not reading this, but I have to say it anyways -- holy crap, Wil, thanks so much!

And another thing I, personally, had to thank him for.... and am still indebted to him for....

Twice during the night, they paused between bands, probably to allow Wil a water break and a chance to catch his breath. To keep us occupied, one of the Harmonix people walked out to the edge of the stage with FREE ROCKBAND T-SHIRTS!!!

And I wanted one. Of course I wanted one! It's a free t-shirt! It's a Rock Band t-shirt! It's a FREE ROCKBAND T-SHIRT!! Not everyone gets one of those, you know.

I begged and pleaded and jumped for one the first time he threw them. I missed out.

The second time around, I screamed and begged and pleaded and jumped for one. I was RIGHT THERE!! How could he NOT GIVE ONE TO ME!!

Some went in my general direction, but I never actually managed to get my hands on one. They always either went too far, or strayed a little too much to one side or another, grabbed by people of greater stature or vantage point than me.

I was devastated, already resigned to defeat as the Harmonix guy prepared to throw the last shirt in the direction opposite from me.

All I wanted was a free t-shirt to commemorate the night.... I mean, come on. I was the one who came up with the plan to make him do Bon Jovi as the second song in. Didn't that mean anything??

Apparently not.

But, suddenly, there was a flash of black and denim, appearing from nowhere and descending on the Harmonix guy like a panther.

The next thing I knew, I was staring at a Rock Band t-shirt, held out before me by Wil Fucking Wheaton.

I automatically grab it without even being able to register what had just happened, a flabbergasted "Thank you" rolling off my lips. I just hold it with my mouth dangling open, staring as he runs off to the back of the stage.

Did... he just grab a t-shirt for me??

I immediately rip off my suddenly-lame nerd shirt (I wore a dress underneath it, don't freak out), and pull my brand-new completely free Wil-Wheaton-gave-it-to-me Rock Band shirt on.

I could not stop grinning.

I didn't know why he'd done it. Some part of me wondered if it was his way of thanking me for the awesome gift, or something like that. Maybe he thought I was the best fan evur, misspelled purposefully, and wanted to reward me as such. I also considered the possibility that I was just in the right place at the right time. (The true reason would not be clear for another two days -- oooooh, reason to keep tuning in for more!)

The last song Wil played that evening was “Don’t Stop Believing” by Journey, with writer John Scalzi on vocals. It was a great way to end it (there were a few performances afterwards, but this was right at 2am, and the boys needed their sleep for the next day). Danielle and I, and some other people, did end up jumping up and dancing for it. We sang. We enjoyed the last song. We didn't care that we were tired, or that our voices were gone. It was the last song, and it was pretty awesome. Then Wil and John left. I can’t remember if I stuck around long enough to see the last acts, or if I just decided to head out. If it was the latter, sorry last-in-line....

When I got to my room, though, I was wired!! I couldn’t believe what had happened! Rock Band! With WIL WHEATON!! I couldn’t believe it! I'd PLAYED with him-- no, correction, I'd ROCKED OUT with him! I'd gotten a high five from him! I'd gotten a FREE T-SHIRT, personally, from him!!!

Tanya was fast asleep, but I was wide awake, and not sure what the hell to do with myself.

I plugged my phone in (my only means of communication to the outside world during the entire weekend, a burden which causes phones to die rapidly if you’re stuck in line and waiting for panels for hours on end with nothing to do but check twitter over and over again). I tweeted and updated facebook. I whispered a video that I still haven't watched back. I stared at my hands and tried to remember which one had been the recipient of Wil’s high five -- I’d never had a reason to not wash my hand before, but now that I did, I honestly had no idea which hand it was. Was it the right? That... felt right... but Wil was left-handed.... wouldn’t that mean he would high-five on the left...? In the end, I decided there are far too many germs in the world for me NOT to wash my hands, no matter who may have touched it. But just let it be said that, for about five minutes there, I made the conscious choice to “Never wash this hand again,” like a silly preteen 90‘s television show dreamer.

I got into bed about four times over the next two hours, but never really lasted long before getting back up again, either to check something on my phone, or to sit in the bathroom and just kinda silently fangirl out, or whatever. In the end, I took a shower (oh mah GAWD that massaging foot soap was AMAZING on my poor soles....) and finally went to bed and stayed there.

I dunno what I dreamt that night, but I’m sure it was amazing.

All I remember was that Living on a Prayer was stuck in my head, and I didn’t care. In fact, I relished in it, a smile to my face as I drifted to sleep.

(Postscript: In the end, it turned out that our band’s performance would be deemed “My best performance of the night” by Wil on his blog, and as such, I think it’s safe to say that we were the best performance of the night. Not that I’m biased or anything. XD Check it out here: http://wilwheaton.typepad.com/wwdnbackup/2010/06/the-2010-phoenix-comicon.html )

Coming up soon -- Comicon Saturday, or How I Went To Prom With Spock