HOME IS WHERE THE CON IS

You don't really have full control over your weekends working at the Embassy. Many a Saturday and Sunday is spent on consular outreach programs, Filcom activities and - ahem - doing laundry. When there is a free weekend, it usually doesn't present itself until the preceding Friday, and by then you find yourself pressured to find something to do -- because you didn't think to make plans ahead of time, and you'd feel like such a loser if you couldn't find anywhere to go to in a city as active as London. You scour the internet, look closely at all the city posters, even (gasp) buy print media in a desperate attempt to discover something interesting enough to take you away from another night of TV, microwave dinners and a washing machine humming in the background.

You don't always succeed.

There are some magical times, however, when the answer is laid right before you, inside a discarded free newspaper, on a Tube seat.

Daddy's home.



What to wear, what to wear?

My bro-in-law suggested I go as a Pinoy superhero, but I deferred since Cracked just called two of them out, and I don't think anyone would get it if I went as Babman, The Pork Knight. And, truth be told, I wasn't sure I was ready to go as far as dress-up; I'm a dork, not a fanboy. In fact, I was so insecure I went the opposite direction to compensate. Thus:

Badminton shirt, to indicate some athletic activity



No wristwatch, to display tan lines/prove I get out in the sun sometimes

And, above all, wedding ring to say HA! I ACTUALLY KNOW SOMEONE FROM THE OPPOSITE SEX!!!

Grand Entrance

Oh...oh, Good Lord. A Cylon Centurion standing guard at the entrance right next to a Clone Trooper; Darth Vader shoulder-to-shoulder with Jean Luc Picard. I'm not even gonna make it inside. I'm gonna faint right here.

Fortunately, this came along: right on the entrance driveway, a guy in Darth Maul make-up and some other dude with a light saber decided to go at it right there and start a supposedly bad-ass sword fight. They were stopped, subdued and led away. . . by a 50-year old lady parking attendant. I feel better already

Despite its "Film and ComicCon" title, it became immediately apparent inside that there was a lot more "film" than "comics"

Although it was also immediately apparent that there were a lot more guys who resembled "Comic Book Guy" than film stars.

If Superman had stubble, how'd he shave?

This guy was great. Not only was he in costume, he was in character. He'd go all over the place and check everything out with a consistently wide stance, a purposeful walk and a steely gaze for no apparent reason other than he was Superman, goddamit! Bakit ba?!

Meet the newest crossover franchise


Alien vs. Stormtrooper: The Bromance


The Autograph/Photograph heirarchy

I've never been to this sort of thing before, so I wasn't aware that there was a very structured order to proceedings. Best I could tell, it was composed of the following levels (in ascending order):


Level One: Not even "That Guy"

This was actually kind of depressing. As you enter, there's a long desk of people you wouldn't recognize without the poster screaming above their heads. (The guy from Harry Potter! The guy from Meet the Spartans!) Most visitors just glance sideways, maybe pause a second, then move on. Sad.

Level Two:"That Guy"

Definitely recognizable, but you know them more by their characters than by their real names. Still, some are more "That Guy" than others. Michael Ironside, for instance, had a steady stream of visitors while, right next to him, Danny Trejo just kept on quietly churning out the autographed posters.

And it's a sad, sad world we live in when some dudes from "Twilight" get more attention than the Haitian and Dr. Suresh from "Heroes". (I don't even know who Peter Facinelli is, or why we should be so concerned about his passport issues [and I work with passports!])

I might add that some "That Guys" are famous enough to be occassionally taken out of the assembly line and given their own private session time and place. Every celebrity's autograph - except one - cost £15. You may think that's steep, but the long lines outside the walled off area show there's more than adequate demand. (and, hey, someone did come as Babman!)

Level Three: The cult leaders

I have no clue who this guy is but, damn, he had a really devoted group of fans. Best I could tell, he's just the voice of some anime characters, but the love his groupies showed him went well beyond that. They lined up hours in advance just so they could listen to him from the front row (even though he could be seen and heard from everywhere else in the room); they hung on his every crowd-pleasing antic - from telling "The Donut Story" (personally, meh) to prompting a "Kamayamaya" (ok, that was pretty cool); and after the talk they all hugged him with affection reserved for someone who genuinely touched their lives. Fascinating.

Meanwhile, Stubble Superman stands guard and makes sure things don't get out of hand.



Level Four: Scott Bakula

Remember when I said everyone's autograph - except for one - cost £15? Well, meet "The One". His cost £25. 'Nuff said.

And above absolutely anything and everything -- it's not even a level, really. It's heaven.