Sergio and I drove down here Thursday evening. He drove, I navigated. As an experiment, I used an iPhone app called Waze that folks say is the best Global Positioning Route out there today. It's one that's constantly updating and refiguring your route to avoid accidents or police incidents or a moose in the road or whatever. It performed flawlessly up to a point and then suddenly, it seemed to want to send us to San Diego for Comic-Con instead of Anaheim for WonderCon and I overruled "her" — the female voice telling us where to turn, when to stay to the left, etc. — and got us here more directly.
These things are fine if you have some idea where you're going. Follow them blindly and they'll have you in Ethiopia before you know it.
We could have used some guidance in selecting a place to stop for dinner. We picked a place called the Overland Grill not far from the convention center. Sergio ordered a Prime Rib Dip and I ordered the BBQ Chicken, and though the joint was nearly empty, it took a full hour for entrees to appear before us. Near the end of that hour as we waited impatiently, the waiter began telling us, "Your meals will be right out. The chicken takes a long time." Gee, thanks for telling us that 52 minutes after I ordered it. I'll bet it doesn't take that long when the restaurant is full.
Finally, chow arrived. Sergio thought his was pretty good. I thought mine had been lingering in the kitchen since the previous WonderCon.
The con yesterday was quite enjoyable…full of folks but not packed wall-to-wall. I suspect in about an hour, it will be packed wall-to-wall. Due to my knee problems, I haven't been walking the length and breadth of the hall but dealers seemed to be doing a brisk business and attendees seemed to be very happy to be there. I did two panels which went well and seemed to be appreciated in the right way.
Outside the con as usual, there were these folks with big yellow signs telling us to accept Jesus Christ into our lives. A year or two ago, I had to laugh: One of the fellows holding one was telling everyone who passed him, "We are not the Westboro Baptists! We are not the Westboro Baptists!" Yesterday, because my knee needed a rest and my right shoe needing tying, I sat on a bench not far from the outdoor festivities and one gent with a Jesus sign sat down next to me to rest his feet for a moment. He turned to me and this is approximately how the exchange went…
HIM: Have you recognized Jesus Christ as your personal saviour?
ME: No. Have you recognized that not one single human being has ever been affected by one of those signs? The only thing you change is the route some people take into the convention so they can avoid you.
HIM: (A deep sigh, then…) I know. I just feel I have to do something.
ME: Heed the words of Jesus. Sell all that you own and give to the poor and the needy.
That's my new answer to all who preach the word of Christ. But at least that fellow with the sign could be easily ignored. As I write this in my hotel room, I can hear the annoyingly-amplified voice of someone outside the convention center, yelling at attendees that they are nerds who must accept Jesus Christ or spend all eternity in Hell. That's not the kind of thing that has ever concerned me…although last night, I did fear I would spend all eternity waiting for BBQ Chicken.
At the moment, the guy with the portable loudspeaker seems to be directing most of his wrath at the folks in costume, telling the they will feel like fools if they show up at the feet of God dressed as they are. Apparently, if you die while dressed up as a Storm Trooper, your armor carries over into your next life and God, who isn't usually depicted wearing a three-piece suit and tie, is very judgmental about your attire.