The ticket booths are pretty dead – even if someone wanted to purchase tickets on the spot, there are no lines. The truly dedicated have already planted themselves for walk-on privileges since about 9am, and the line ‘to get in’ was about 500 people long. Not awesome. To illustrate:

There were a LOT of people ahead of us.

Once 10am rolled around, though, it was pretty much smooth sailing to get in.

“Hold your wrist up, lemme see your wristbands, please!”

A free bag of swag later, we were in. For reasons unknown, I personally homed in on the Booth of James Marsters, knowing that Christina really wanted to meet him.

Lacking a price for autographs, but promising an arrival time of 1030, we decided fourth in line would be best than last in line, so we waited.

We waited until 1049. In the 30 minutes of waiting, we met a group of our friends, who decided not to share in my misery, and left us posthaste.

Christina felt awkward because “just walking up” to a celeb was weird, but she stuck it out, with me in tow. 1049, the man shows up. A little bit of prep work, photo piles organized, his assistant let us know the prices per photo, and that it would be perfectly okay to take pictures of James, so long as the rhythm wasn’t broken. Mainly, the rhythm was “say hi, shake hands, and walk away.” Pictures were to be taken DURING the dialogue, not ‘after’ the dialogue, to facilitate a smoother experience for everyone.

I told Christina I’d be pissed if he wasn’t bleach blonde.

Lo and behold.

James Marsters after first sitting down.

He’s definitely without the hair! Then, this happened (my jaw dropped when I saw her first.)

James Marsters talking to Clare Kramer.

Then it was showtime for my Christina. This is the only picture of that meeting:

Holy Crap, they meet!

After a pleasant 2 minutes of conversation, I, too, shook his hand, and, to my surprise, leave starstruck.

Meandering about the floor, I first notice Brent Spiner. Then I notice a significant commotion (lotta photocameras) by Brent Spiner. Then I notice, the really FAT guy that cut in line (with his friend that arrived later) was ALSO taking pictures! WHAT IN GODS NAME!

HOLY CRAP!

Holy Crap!

And the Delorean made an appearance as well.

1.21 Jigowatts.

Overall, I enjoyed this convention more than the last one, and by a long shot. It seemed like more people that I wanted to see there were in attendance. It also seemed like there were more people in attendance, but also more room to hold them in.

I met up with Brandon DiCamillo, whose facial dummy mask I helped create with Dave Deneen for the movie “Minghags“. True to what I remember him being like, he was really cool.

Bought a $5 picture to round off the day (along with chinese food, which rounded off my belly).

Stay tuned for part II – Germany / Australia – a 4:0 game.

Alright, say what you will about Nike. Say that their shoes cost $5 and people pay twentyfold for them. Say that the Tiger Woods ad was creepy. Say that there are better running shoes. Say that the swoosh is annoying.

Say all those things and I’ll agree with you.

What appeals so much to me is the way it ramps up from the semi-plausible audience participation (bars, clubs, and city streets stopped and watching, baited breath) to the ridiculous statue unveiling – the message conveyed is that to some people, soccer reigns supreme.

I’m well aware that the Manchester United fanclub isn’t the only team that can rough up a sandy beach. By that I mean, people can get shanked by a beer bottle in the same room in which the world record for “Most Men Kissing” is attempted to be broken. I guess what it boils down to is that I really love watching soccer. I can’t wait for the World Cup to start. I can’t wait to lift a stein and a $7 Rindswurst with total strangers, emulating a sportsbar closer to home. Seriously. Go Team Deutschland!

PS. I love playing Soccer, too. But I need some shoes.  Nike, see what I did there?

As fans of the genre may know, Night of the Living Dead by George Romero is in the public domain, which means anybody can take it, do whatever to it, and sell it.

I plan to animate it. I plan to animate it using Flash. This will be a long, drawn out process. Exporting the film into individual frames and tracing over them. (This is not cheating – Ralph Bakshi’s Lord of the Rings did the same thing – without computers!). I’ll do the first scene, completely, at least. I realize this undertaking might take a year or two, if worked on diligently.

In the meantime, any input might help.

Stay tuned for me to start delivering! (There, I’ve said it, now I’m bound.)

I don’t remember what caused my sudden need to fix up my bike and ride like the wind from the Art Museum to Valley Forge National Park. I guess it may have been so that I’d have a reason to sweat like I’d been working out in this stifling heap of heat.

A few mandatory supplies later (water-bag by Coleman – the Camelbak kind), lights for the bike (front and back), an emergency patch kit (useless without a pump, I later realized with an audible “D’oh!”), and some Trail Mix bars, I arrived home to attach my mud guards to my bike, a purchase made well over 2 years ago now.

The weather forecast couldn’t have been more wrong, as it predicted thunderstorms and isolated thunderstorms from 3pm until 4:30 pm. Nary a rumble was heard.

Getting to the Art Museum was no issue. Boathouse Row, specifically, the east bank of the Schuylkill River, was the opposite of fun. The wind was blowing in my face, with a force strong enough to offer me resistance. That *may* mean sporadic gusts of 5mph, but I FELT those gusts, man.  You weren’t there, man.

I made it to the Falls Bridge, and that’s where Joe’s words first came back into my brain: “You’ll find something to make you turn around.” So, I didn’t. I rode on until Manayunk greeted me with the sign for its Main Street. It was at that point that my head registered a little dizziness. A trail-mix bar and some more water (the trick is to REALLY bite down on that sucker) later, I decided I’d reached my limit for today.

All in all, I made it back home in one piece. No drop of rain from the skies. It’s probably an instance of “everybody does this”, but I find myself promising … myself  that I’ll get back on that narrow-seated horse on wednesday. Maybe ride a bit longer. Maybe reach another bridge to cross. Maybe I’ll bring a camera that time, and if the goslings haven’t grown up by the next time I’m riding, they’ll be front and center.

Tomorrow? Pushups and situps. Unless the 80% humidity kills me tonight.

For close to six months, a curved backwall to a dresser has made my bedroom an unpleasant place to be in.

Leaning up against the wall, behind a very full dresser, there it’d be, that project I should have completed at the same time as when I build the dresser to begin with. Why didn’t I just hammer 24 nails into the back of the dresser? It was actually for reasons of consideration – I am extremely cautious about creating too much noise in my apartment, as a courtesy. I’ve lived under loud neighbors, and the “fine line” I promise myself they’re toeing ends up being an apartment-sized grey area named “that’s life, and they’re only walking.” The fact that I’d be hammering into a piece of wood ON a wood floor – well, that permeates a building!

On tuesday I’d had enough. Clothes and trinkets everywhere, I decided to get a headstart on spring cleaning. Fueled in part by discussions with Nies about “Lots of Material Possessions -> Magic -> Minimalism,” I realized that the only way to get there is with Elbow grease. I recruited Christina, with what I’d now consider to be “desperate enthusiasm”, got home from work, and got busy cleaning. Dresser drawers were pulled out, dumped on the bed, and placed in the living room. The top of the dresser was cleared. The space in front of the dresser was cleared. As Christina sorted clothes (categories being “Keep”, “Donate” and “Toss”), I finally attached the back of the dresser.

Something bothering me for so long is finally done and over with – but the thing is, I’ve gotten so used to being annoyed by its presence, its constant reminder that I left a job incomplete, that my mind STILL gravitates to that one thing, each time reminding myself that that slight issue/major nuisance is non-existent outside of my mind.

I asked Christina to really think about whether she “just wants it” or actually needs it, and she complied. When it came time for me to chuck or keep my 1980′s era Summer Battle Dress Uniform, she claimed it was emotional attachment before the hanger touched the rack. She doesn’t believe it’s of historical significance. Except for laundry (how? HOW!? can there be so much laundry to do!), and shelves now cluttered with small trinkets and whatnots, the bedroom is clear.

That first day made me (as I tend to) think of xkcd.com. Wanting something to be true doesn’t mean it is. Getting rid of things, truly scouring the place, putting “need” above “want”, is exhausting. On a semi-dramatic note, it gives me one more chance to look at every single item I possess, and seal its fate, one way or the other.

UPDATE – Today (3rd of May, 2010) – The bedroom is a mess again.

Today, on a whim, which hit me quite frequently, it occurred to me that I’d never before created hot sauce.

A quick Google search later, I found a delicious reading recipe, hurried to the grocery store, and purchased around $34 worth of goods.

So fresh and so clean.

First, the recipe called for preparing the Habañero peppers, and I obliged. Didn’t touch anything other than my hands – I was good.

A couple of pointers here: I chose the most difficult recipe regarding fruit. Mango?

Never before seen one whole, let alone touched one, let alone attempt to dissect this slippery, seriously-shelled fruit. Google to the rescue, a couple quick tic-tac-toe slices later, four mangoes found a new home in my giant pot.

Then, the pineapple. xkcd.com had it exactly right. Pineapple is kinda tasty, but is a real pain in the ass to dissect. This hurdle took about 6 minutes to overcome.

I didn’t actually use all five heads of garlic – I have jar’d, minced garlic, and used that by the spoonful. Saved me a bunch of time.

Looooooong story short, everything ended up in the pot, thusly.

Everything ready to rock.

Oh, my mistake? Wanting a reminder as to what exactly Pineapple tastes like. The habanero oils said hi to my mouth for about 20 minutes. Was alright though. Kept me alert.

The Zoomy, on the other hand, wasn’t very helpful. In fact, he was mostly a distraction. A distraction in a paper bag.

Paper bags are his favourite forts.

I think he would have taken apart my ankles first.

I brought the mixture to a boil for a bit, and then pureéd it twice. I bet the professionals have sieves, as the hot sauce ended up being a bit like a slushy.

I canned two batches successfully – would have been more cans, but I forgot to purchase more Mason Jars.

The color is just about what it should be, given that most of its color comes from Pineapple and Mango.

In conclusion, it was a great experiment. I’m sure I lack a bit of patience, and perhaps the proper tools, such as glass-EVERYTHING (non-reactive, whatever that means). Next time, I believe I’ll wear some latex gloves, as I did manage to develop some first-degree habanero burns, which made my thumb and middle fingers heat-sensitive.

After processing.

On the bright side, up until JUST now, I hadn’t touched my eyes. I am very happy to truthfully report that only minor irritation is commencing.

I’ll have to do this again sometime. The real test will be tomorrow, as I’ll be presenting this at work to colleagues, and post-work to friends.

~Paul

There are approximately 12 cuts on my neck, one on my chin, and one other near my mouth.

NO idea why that’s becoming a trend, apparently. I’m not very pleased.

Practice makes… better?

:D

How can you NOT!

~Paul

~!=1N