First, it was great to be back in the City, where I haven’t been for years and years. Not that I got to see a lot of it. But that feeling of being a tiny insect among the monuments of cement and steel, amidst the hum hum hum bustle bustle of everyone dashing somewhere, and people yelling out to each other in that plainly New Yawk way…it’s like the blood needs an infusion of that occasionally to wake me up.
First off, what a rush. One of my favorite actresses, and one of the people I was bound and determined to find, put me on Clouds 9, 10 and 11.
Sitting less than 10 feet away, on an autographing break, by the way, was Danny Glover. Natalie Dormer was a few rows down, but while I would have loved her autograph, too, every single one of them costs money. $30 for Felicia was fine but then another $60 for Queen Margaery, and then of course I never even looked into the price for Loras Tyrrell, but you can see where they’d add up quickly. I was content with this, and a copy of The Shannara Chronicles from Terry Brooks.
There are, however, freebies everywhere. Scan your badge and get gift cards and books and figurines galore. Load up on the Comic Con exclusives.
The downside? My legs were complete rubber by the end. It’s a buttload of walking. Granted, I need to do more walking, but my body isn’t really up to it, especially the hip I messed up years ago when I picked up my goddaughter and yanked my sciatic nerve to hell and back. Heating pads and lidocaine patches and a scalding hot shower eased it up finally.
And lastly, be warned. The later at night you take the Metro, the weirder and more repulsive it will get. We took the 10:47, which is the second-to-last one. We were treated to Uri the barfing drunk (only one brief puke, fortunately). The drunk couple who alternated between getting stuck in the bathroom and having apparently uncomfortable sex on the seat. (Quite a few people got stuck in the bathroom, until later on, when the sober folks seemed to get in and out of it with no problem at all). And finally, Barky the Lung Butter King, who was actually MORE disgusting than the Puker, since he kept hawking up monumental quantities of phlegm which must have simply gone… back down.