"San Diego’s booming prosperity attracts unscrupulous characters ... This includes prostitutes and gamblers."

Unscrupulous is such a subjective characterization. Effervescent? Of course. Adventurous? Certainly. Creative? Sans doute! We, specifically of the Comic-Con ilk (as this post pertains to that segment of the San Diego populace) are merely carrying on Rabbitville's long-running, luxe and intricate tapestry of the curious, the frivolous, the entrepreneurial, the artistic, the devoted and the odd. We also like a good martini, an unobstructed sunset and free parking.

“Comic-Con is the one time of the year when all nerds can set aside their personal opinions and focus on their petty differences … ”

-Will Arnett

Two Daphnes: post-apocalyptic and classic. Photo: JSDevore

Cheers, kittens! ‘Tis July and that means Comic-Con in these here parts! Final touches to costumes, triple-confirming hotel reservations, extra days at the gym and squirreling away all the forgotten pocket-dough you find doing laundry. Oh, wait … how rude of me. You didn’t get a badge? You’re not attending San Diego Comic-Con (San Diego Convention Center, July 21 – 24, 2016)? Oh, dear. Well, in that case …

San Diego's annual invasion of dapper Doctor Whos, mysterious Batmen, chubby Lolitas and steampunk Poison Ivys has ceased; the marauders having retreated to their workaday lives and quiet homes, wherever those might be. (In fact, roughly fifty per cent of those homes are right here in San Diego, based on attendee registration info.) No one throws a Con quite like America's Finest City and the financial handshake between Comic-Con International (CCI) and the City of San Diego is hearty, healthy and mutually-beneficial.

The streets were eerily quiet last night. With the exception of oddly quiet construction setups and a formidable sense of a looming pop culture storm, San Diego's Gaslamp District was nearly devoid of any signs of the true onslaught of geekage fast bearing down on America's Finest City. Yours Truly used the time to enjoy the vast amount of personal space and the ability walk about the Gaslamp District with arms akimbo and even engaging in the occasional twirl. (I was wearing a tutuesque skirt, after all.) Still, amidst the serene dusk, one could feel a slight tremble in the Earth, like a TGV heading down tracks on the French countryside, or a tornado steadily rumbling toward a calm, Kansas burg.