Anaheim Comic Con - Day 03: Hurricane Doherty

As was foretold by the Prophets of WizardWorld, Saturday descended into anarchy.

It was mostly due to the actions of one star. Not Adam West. Not William Shatner. Not Verne Troyer. No, gentle reader. None of these stars were able to achieve as much infamy, or generate as much general chaos as the one and only:

SHANNON DOHERTY.

It started out simple. As do all stories of hell unleashed. Doherty’s handler, a fellow named Mike, required the attentions of three volunteers to help escort Doherty, and fellow Charmed star Holly Marie Combs, to their autograph booth. As we waited for them, the number of volunteers needed grew to a total of six. 6 volunteers should have been overkill. I began to wonder if they would really need me. But Mike was resolute, so I remained with the large group.

The plan changed slightly, because Doherty and Combs had brought along their own photographer, and would need to unload the equipment nearby. They pulled their cars around the back, and entered through the loading dock. I ran to retrieve a cart to take the equipment. Emphasis on “ran.” It had been a farther distance than I had thought it would be. Argh.

We set up the autograph booth, and the fans arrived. About a hundred, if my math was right. Because there were so many, we had to separate the main body of the line. This was problematic because we would need to go retrieve small groups of the line to ferry over to the booth. But what really became problematic was the price. Because, in a word...

It was pricey.

Doherty and Combs were charging $40 to have their photographer take a picture of them with the fan. ON TOP of that, it would cost $20 for their autograph. EACH. So you were looking at a total of $80 by the time you were stepping out of the booth. Wow. But the fans agreed, and the line was still long and strong an hour or two later.

Then Shannon Doherty went on a cigarette break.

By the time she came back, the price for a picture with both Combs and Doherty went up to $60. And the price for each autograph? $30 each. EACH. So now you were spending $120 easy.

*CHOKE*

And like magic, the line got cut in half. What had originally been an hour wait, was now 15 minutes. Fans were pretty pissed. Heck, I was pissed. Honestly, if she had stuck with her original price, she would have gotten a hell of a lot more money in the long run. Tsk, tsk.

A little later, I got shifted around to other duties. I even got to hang out with Ted Raimi at his booth for a bit. After the madness of ShaDo, it was nice to talk to a genuinely nice guy like Ted Raimi. Let it be heard from the mountain tops! That guy is an okay guy.

I met up with Justin to catch my lunch and figure out the plan for later that night. My friend Jamal was going to have a Doctor Who night watching the first three episodes of the 5th Series with Matt Smith, the new, 11th, Doctor. Hopefully I would get out of the Con in time to watch it with them.

I began the slow process of collecting signatures for my volunteer shirt. I started with Ted Raimi, then got Doug Tenapel (creator of Earthworm Jim), and continued from there. But I wouldn’t be just segregated to celebrities and the such. I fully planned to collect the other volunteer’s signatures by the end of the 4th day.

After the Con, I hitched a ride with Justin AND Jamal, who decided to come along to show some love. We picked up some dinner and then headed to Jamal’s apartment. Ben joined us before the first episode was finished.

We watched The Eleventh Hour, The Beast Below, and Victory of the Daleks. Let me first clarify that David Tennant is going to be my Doctor for all time. Nothing can, or will, change that. That being said…

Matt Smith is really, really good.

I mean, wow. This guy has a really incredible grip on who his Doctor is. He’s weirder. He’s more sly. And he is the equal to every actor that’s gone ahead of him. My hat goes off to him. He quite possibly went into being the Doctor amidst more nay-saying and bitterness than Tennant had had to deal with. And he impressed me. Good going, Mr. Smith.

And Stephen Moffat, the new show runner, is going all out. With great writing and new creations to help bolster the already 50-odd years of continuity and rogue’s gallery. Though I think the new opening credits are a bit ridiculous, and the new version of the theme isn‘t quite hitting the right note with me, it cannot be said that the new run will go unnoticed. So my over-all feelings about the new Doctor Who? In two words:

I’m down.

Topics of Conversation @ The Con: Tasers, travel with no excuses, ferries, vicious lawyers, how can electricity be individually allocated, Hawaii fever, The New Doctor Will Skull-F**k You!, the kindness of burritos, Amy Pond, the genius of the green tongue, etc.

-Nate

Frisco Trip - Day 03: A Lame Goal Achieved

March 27, 2010:

The Golden Gate Bridge isn't all that big. Go figure.

I’m a total newbie and tourist, so we started the day with visiting the Golden Gate Bridge, the symbol of Frisco if there was one.

We started on the side of the bridge that was opposite of San Francisco. And as it turns out, the cliff that overlooks the Golden Gate Bridge was a perfect spot for an artillery, a place called Battery Spencer. I was never aware of this, but Spencer was, until the mid-40’s, one of the main lines of defense for any attacks on San Francisco. It had a cool look to it, and reminded me, movie geek that I am, of just about any local where you needed an abandoned military base/ghost town feel.

We crossed the bridge and parked on the other side to walk across the bridge. We only went half-way, seeing as we had to pack a lot into the day. I’ve been noticing as of late, and especially when I walk around areas that are both high up and have an open view, that I have a mild fear of heights. Its not so bad that I can’t even look down, or get terrified, but that I have to focus on anything that has nothing to do with how high up I am. I felt it at the top of the Eiffel Tower, I’ve felt it when looking out over office building windows, and I definitely felt it on the Golden Gate Bridge.

My opinions on the Golden Gate Bridge? What hasn’t already been said a thousand times? Let’s just say I’m for it.

Afterwards, we headed to Haight and Ashbury to grab lunch and to earn the right to say that I’ve been there. We ate at a place called Magnolia Brewery, where one of there claims to fame is that they have direct access to some of the purest water in the entire city. The water was cool, but the food was even better. And the beer was pretty dang good, too.

We exited and walked down the street to head to my requested destination, which was the San Francisco Amoeba Record Store. With this store, I would complete my easy quest of being to every Amoeba Store in the world. But before we got there, we tried a number of the stores along the way. Ranging from musical instrument stores, book stores, and even the area Goodwill store, which was impressively stocked with nice vintage clothes and items. Not a big surprise, considering the address, but an all around world of difference.

But besides the businesses, the people on the street are incredibly interesting, from the everyday citizen, to the homeless man, to the new generation of deadbeat hippies. Within a block of walking, we had been offered a gold watch, a used newspaper, a cell phone, and metamphetamines. Veronica had even been sniffed by someone. Very strange.

But within this entire myriad of questionable antics, not once was I offered marijuana. I was a little sad at that.

We arrived at the San Francisco Amoeba, and I soon achieved my admittedly weak sauce goal of being in every Amoeba in existence. It felt cool. A simple accomplishment, but it was all mine, darn it. I even picked up a hard to find copy of Twelve Small Steps, One Giant Disappointment by the band Bad Astronaut. Used, even! Good on ya, SF Amoeba.

We exited Amoeba, found our car, and headed off to check out even more of Frisco. One such place turned out to be a set hills called the “Twin Peaks” (nothing like the movie or show, darn it), and got a panoramic view of all of San Francisco, from the Pacific Ocean to the Bay. Beautiful city and location, to say the least. We then went to the Golden Gate Park and walked around for a bit, though we were too late for the Japanese Tea Garden. By the way, the Golden Gate Park is staggeringly gi-normous.

Following the King of Public Parks, we went to lazily named Ocean Beach and walked through a defunct salt water park and a mysterious cave. I love caves. I don’t know why, I just want to grab a torch and explore for lost items of monetary value and fight nazis. Simple joys, people. Though the “cave” was really just a tunnel, the cool part was that half-way through, there was a opening in the wall that led into a cavern where ocean water would roar in and out of. Again, simple joys.

At this point, our hunger had achieved levels of urgent distress. We headed further into the city proper, valiantly searched for parking, and walked to a restaurant named Tadish Grill. The place had an old school feel to it. In fact, it had been established in 1849. They were in there 161st year of continuous operation. The entire wait staff was male, and they all wore white coats. These guys had that feeling of experience and stand-offishness that can only be achieved through years of working at a place that I would have to sell blood to eat at more than once a year.

BUT SWEET DANCIN’ ZEUS, THE FOOD!

I got the Lobster Thermidor Baked in the Shell, Served with Small Salad or Cup of Chowder, Potato and Vegetable. I opted for the clam chowder.
Dennis got the Filet Mignon (6 oz) Broiled, Topped with Jumbo Prawns, with Bearnaise Sauce, Potato and Vegetable.
And Veronica got the Seafood Cioppino with Garlic Bread, (includes: clams, prawns, scallops, bay shrimp, crabmeat, and white fish).

(I know all this because I promptly swapped a menu. Don’t worry, the menus change every other week or so).

To say the food was delicious would be a gross understatement. It was perfect in every way. I can rarely say that, and when I do, I might be wrong. But not in this case. And it wasn’t even obnoxious in its excellence. It was more in a way that the restaurant didn’t have any other choice but to be the source of such awesome fare.

We all tried a little off of each other’s plate. The lobster was big, sweet, and covered in an amazing sauce. Dennis’ steak was perfect. And Veronica’s cioppino had some of the best broth I’d ever tasted, not to mention amazing seafood. I’m not much for seafood, but DAMN that was good.

And clam chowder I had there was the best clam chowder I’ve ever had. And it seemed right that the best clam chowder I’ve ever had was not only in San Francisco, but in the Tadish Grill.
After stuffing ourselves till our eyes watered, we headed home and slept the sleep of the righteously gluttonous.

Topics of Conversation @ San Francisco: Yellow pits, beer production, Muir, hippie elves, chill offers for illegal wares, Hetchy water, bands starting with the letter “Z”, the Guano Wars, “Damn it, China!”, Two Schulz’s = Disaster, Zachary’s Lament, the crack of sunset, etc.

-Nate