Long day today. One of those deals where I pause and wonder why I go so far for a comic con. Or maybe that's the lack of sleep talking.
After breakfast, Stephen and me went to the Hockey Hall of Fame. Comparison: the Baeball Hall of Fane is located in an isolated town in upstate New York, where the population tripes/quadruples in size during induction. The Hockey Hall of Fame? Plopped in downtown, with a church-like exterior. However, it's actually attached to a mall. Really.
So...I'm not a hockey person, really. I went to the one game, and I wouldn't have gone if it wasn't for a class assignnment. Still, there were some good stuff, including the trophy room. There were trophys they give out at the end of every season...including the Stanley Cup. Not only did they have the big one on display (wanna get photographed with it? It'll cost $10 for a glossy), but the original as well. And they had all those honored in the Hall. Of course, this is when the lithium batteries in my camera gave out. Silly me, thinking I didn't need to bring extras, especially after San Diego. Made a frantic trip to the gift shop...disposable cameras for $20. Then I remembered...mall. Had to be an electronic place somewhere. End of story? Bought a pair of batteries, and I'm back in business.
I wouldn't write this Hall off. While the international exhibit didn't do much for me, there was a room that celebrated physcial fitness and the dominace of the Motreal Canadians. The weirdest part was a stuffed figure behind a desk. A video was run...I think the stuffed shirt had a son, because that guy was talking about the differences between hockey then and now. It was funny and creepy. To wit:
Son: Wow, thins sure are different now! These days, the players make millions of dollars! It's hard to keep a rich guy's attention, y'know?
Father: (always offscreen) Tell me about it. Back then, they played for a buck-fifty an hour. One time, a guy asked for a raise...so I kneecapped him. Hard. And we didn't have these fancy medical procedures. We just rubbed lintament on them. Sometimes, they'd die on their feet, but they'd smell good.
Now it was time to go the convention. Turns out the Canadian National Expo has several components: Comic Book Expo, Festival of Fear, Science Fiction Expo, and Gaming Expo. There's also an anime expo. How di I find out? From the hundreds of people in costume. No, I mean it. Now, I'm not a stranger to this...it's never a con unless somebody's tarted up as a Stormtrooper. But there were all these people, representing all these shows...and there they are, on line out in the open. Weird hair colors, tight costumes, the whole magilla.
After I went off by myself for a bit, I joined Stephent on line...and he had been waiting some 20 minutes. Not moving. Some outfit, huh? We ended up getting in amide all the freaks, geeks and weirdos. I had some bad moments where I couldn't find anything to buy. Some places offered Canadian prices with American numbers. In other words, a copy of Top Ten: The 49ers than goes for $33.95 up north went for $24.95. I think I could've gotten in cheaper, but what the hell, right? Most of the stuff I look for is out of reach, sad to sad. On the up side? I got two sketches: Lethargic Lad by Greg Hyland, and Peter Parker by Ty Templeton. Sadly, my book is on its last legs, the cover held very loosely. Even if I don't get the book filled, I think this is the last roundup.
It was an exhausting day...I kept nodding off during the panel for Infinite Crisis. After the con, Stephen and myself went down the street to meet some friends, the anime freaks thinning out the further we got. We ended up at a street fair, which was pretty cool. I didn't get back until after midnight.
I got two more days. If I get bored of the con for any reason, I still got the (eyeroll) Rogers Centre and the Blue Jays. And I'm still wanting to see a few more things in the city. Stephen says I've only been on one street this whole time, so I'm looking to branch out before I cme home.
Edited after comment. And Stephen ezcorted me from the airport, so I wasn't that brave. You want brave? Try lugging bags from O'Hare to Midway via the Els, because I was stupid to think I'd save some dough when I boked the flight, not accounting for the taxi ride to the hotel near O'Hare. And aside from being Amerian, I have nothing in common with Ted Turner...unless he also gets a sick sense of joy watching his Braves swoon in mid-October,